#auswnt

You and Steph have been together for years, but no one ever really knew, only your families. And after being together for four years, you decided to propose to her, which you still believe that to this day was the best decision that you had ever made. Neither of you really meant to hide it, you just never knew how to tell any team mates and so it just kind of turned into your little secret, and five years later and still no one knows. You have both got into a habit of when you're at training or just with any of your team mates in general that you both put your wedding rings onto matching necklaces, so that you both still have them always with you.

It helped that all of your team mates and friends knew that you and Steph have always been best friends and so no one questioned the fact that the pair of you turn up to and leave training together or that you live together. You and Steph also always shared a room on camp, like now, giving you some alone time amongst the mental schedule that national camp demands of them, which is how you got to where you both are now.

"Babe we need to go down, Sam will kill us if we're late for breakfast again," you shout through the bathroom door, where Steph was still getting ready.

"I'm coming, calm down." Steph replies, finally opening the door and moving past you to slip her sliders on. "Come on then, let's go down"

In the haste to get downstairs, neither of you notice that Steph still has her ring very much on her finger. When you get downstairs you both go and get some breakfast before sitting down on a table with Caitlin, Kyra and Sam, which looking back was probably the next mistake you both made. They don't notice the ring straight away, well if any of them do then they don't say anything to begin with, it's after you've all finished eating and are just finishing coffee's when they notice, Caitlin reaches to grab her cup at the same time Steph is, causing them to look in the same direction and Caitlin just gasps.

"Oh my God, Steph!" Caitlin practically shouts. "Is that what I think it is on your finger?"

"Uh well, uhm" Steph fumbles, looking right to you for help.

"Steph you're married? Who to? Why have you never told us? Actually more importantly why were none of us invited?" Caitlin asks frantically before Steph can even try and get a response out. "Y/n did you know?" She continues, turning the full attention towards you.

"You could say that, I suppose I knew," you replied, subtly placing your arm around the back of Steph's chair, sensing your wife's discomfort.

"Woah Steph, I'm a bit offended, I know you and Y/n/n are best friends but how could you not tell any of us?"

At that comment, Steph winces slightly again, clearly feeling bad that this is how the secret is going to come out, seeing this, Y/n reaches up to the back of her neck to unclasp the necklace which now felt so heavy beneath her shirt, once she has, she slips the ring off and puts it back on her finger, not trying to draw too much attention to it until you have got it onto your finger and you take your wife's hand in your own, making sure your ring is obvious to your friends.

"Caitlin, calm down, I think we know why only Y/n/n knew," Sam joins in, gesturing towards your hand.

"Wait oh my god guys really? How long have you been hiding this from us?" Caitlin asks, lowering her voice a tiny bit from the shout it was at before.

"Well we have been married for nearly seven years now, and before that we were together for four years I think, so about eleven years if I've got my times right." You reply, not letting go of Steph's hand, who was definitely still panicking about this whole situation. "You alright babe?" you ask, turning your attention to Steph.

"Yeah, I'm sorry because we woke up late I was in such a rush that I completely forgot to take my ring off," Steph says, her voice dropping slightly, making this part of the conversation just for the pair of you.

"It's okay, don't apologise, personally I think it was the best way to find out, low-key, very us."

"Wow, why have you kept it a secret this long?" Sam asks, not in an intrusive way, instead just being insanely curious.

"I mean when we first got together we were both young and just starting our proper careers, I guess we wanted it to be something we had for ourselves, and then I guess we just never found a good way to say it and so we kept it to ourselves and our families." Steph answers this time.

"Kyra? You okay? I think this is the longest I have ever heard you be quiet for," You joke, laughing playfully.

Kyra just looks between you and Steph silently for about another minute before a few tears come to her eyes. Since she joined Arsenal and when she first came up to the senior team for the national team, Kyra had kind of in a way been adopted by you and Steph, the pair of you both being very protective over the younger athlete. So when you see her crying, your instincts kick in and you stand up, rounding the table to bring Kyra in for a hug, making sure she is okay.

"Hey, what's up?" You ask her, concern lacing your voice.

"I can't believe it, you two are like my older sisters, especially in London, and you're married, I'm so happy for you." Kyra replies, trying not to let any other tears escape her eyes.

"Oh Kyra, you big softie, you had me worried there I thought you were upset." Steph comments.

"Right as cute as this whole thing is, we need to start making our way down to the bus so we can get to training," Sam says, getting up and clearly going back into captain mode.

"You heard captain Sammy, come on let's go," you reply, standing too.

After the team has all got on the bus, you and Steph finally get a bit of time almost alone together, you turn to your wife, smiling.

"Well our secret is out, are you alright? You got a bit flustered back there,"

"Yeah, I just didn't really know how to react when they found out, I mean I think we always knew that they would eventually but that was not how I thought it would happen, I guess it was just a bit of a shock," Steph replies.

"Yeah that's understandable, but at least it's out now, now we don't have to hide away in our room when one of us wants a hug"

“Oh, c’mon,” she whined, rushing to catch up with you. “I was just joking around.” You ignored her, barging through the door and out into the summer sunshine. “It’s not that deep, lighten up. It’s just a phone call home,” she called after you. 

“Whatever,” you huffed, dismissing her entirely. 

“Are you mad at me?” She said in that teasing voice that made your heart flutter annoyingly. 

“Yes,” you deadpanned, beginning your walk home. 

You could tell it had shocked her a little. You weren’t really paying too much attention though - your head brewing with anxiety at the prospect of what awaited you at home. 

“Wait!” She was running now, tugging on your arm to slow you down. “Seriously?” She asked in a tone you had never really heard from her before. 

“Yes.” You weren’t looking at anywhere but her. “You might not give a flying fuck but I do. I have to. The club won’t take girls who piss about. They made that clear. Rugby is about discipline and order.” You echoed your coaches words. “Your talent will get you far in football, Ky.” You sighed softly. “I can’t rely on that with rugby.” 

You were fairly sure you stopped breathing when her fingers intertwined with yours. You both waited a moment. 

“I’m sorry.” You both said at the same time, drawing a funny huff from you and an amused smile from her. 

“Why are you sorry?” Kyra asked, her dark eyes wide. “I’m the one who keeps landing you in trouble.” 

“I was rude.” You shrugged. 

“No,” she took a step closer. “You weren’t.” You swallowed, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks as you realised just how close she was. Not for the first time, you wondered if she tasted like the way she smelled. Warm vanilla with a hint of … something you couldn’t quite place. 

“I never noticed you have a scar on your cheek.” Carefully, her free hand traced the faint line that rested just under your eye. 

“From a scrum.” You were whispering now, eyes locked on Kyra’s lips. “A girl hadn’t trimmed her nails.” 

“Sounds painful.” You just shrugged.

“I really am sorry that I keep getting you in trouble,” she whispered, so quiet you almost didn’t hear her. “It’s … I just …” You had never seen Kyra at a loss for words. “It’s just sometimes I think that that’s the only way I can get your attention.” 

Your heart froze and then sped up all at once. 

“The only way you look at me for longer than a second is if I piss you off. Plus you look cute when you’re angry.” She was smiling shyly now, eye eyes tracing your features, her body still impossibly close. 

“You always have my attention, Ky.” 

The rest was history. You hadn’t kissed her that day. No matter how much you had wanted to. You hadn’t even asked her to be your girlfriend or ask her to just simply hang out. But you had eventually. 

It was after your call up to the Wallaroos. She was making waves in the Young Matildas, finally being recognised by the senior squad for her talent. She was the first person you told. Before your parents, before your coaches, before anyone. It wasn’t anything dramatic or full of fanfare. You had told her you had the call. She had cupped your face. You had leant down. She had reached onto her tiptoes. You weren’t sure who kissed who technically. 

It was a no-brainer for Kyra to move to Sweden. You had never been. Rugby wasn’t big there, so you never had a reason to go outside of a holiday that you would never have been able to afford anyway. But then, suddenly, there was Kyra. She insisted you come to her as much as you could. You were being noticed by English clubs more and more now you had cemented yourself in the national team and the offers were looking tempting. You had to admit. The quick flight from London to Stockholm was far more enjoyable than the over-a-day-long trip that usually left you tired and sore. 

You had signed for the Quinns on a foggy day in April. 

Kyra had called the moment you texted her the news. Her voice was groggy but the excitement in it was unmistakable. You could picture her smile, that same crooked grin that hadn’t changed since high school. She was proud of you. She always had been.

“London, huh?” she’d teased. “Guess I’ll have to get used to you being all fancy now.”

You’d rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, right. You still owe me dinner for missing my debut against France.”

Kyra laughed softly, that warm, lazy sound that never failed to calm you. “You mean the debut where you got sin-binned for tackling someone twice your size?”

“She deserved it,” you’d argued, smiling despite yourself. “And you loved it.”

There was a pause. Just a second too long to be casual.

“I did,” she whispered.

That was the thing about the two of you. The distance never really dulled it. No matter the miles or the time zones, it was like muscle memory. The rhythm of being hers, in every way that counted, was carved into you.

When she came to London a few months later, everything slotted back into place. You’d met her at Heathrow, both pretending not to notice the cameras or the fans who recognised her, or you, first. She’d dropped her bags and ran straight into you, laughing when you caught her, breathless and bright, like nothing in the world could go wrong.

You’d kissed her properly then. No nerves, no hesitation. Just months of wanting and missing, finally finding home again.

For a while, life made sense. Early training sessions, weekend matches, FaceTime calls from hotel rooms, and those rare nights when you could fall asleep with her hair tickling your chin. You didn’t need much more than that.

But the world had a way of testing you. Injuries. Media scrutiny. Her endless travel schedule with the national team. Your travel. Your pressures. The little gaps that began to widen until even texts felt delayed, forced, heavy.

You weren’t falling out of love. That wasn’t it. You were just... running on empty. Both of you.

The night before she left for another international camp, she’d found you sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at nothing.

“Hey,” she said softly, crouching in front of you. “Talk to me.”

You’d swallowed hard. “I just miss you even when you’re here.”

Kyra’s eyes had softened. She reached for your hand, tracing small circles on your skin. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

And figure it out you did. Or well Ian Wright did for you. In the form of a shiny new contract for Kyra. 

So now you were sat in your joint flat in the middle of London. With your joint TV showing some random show as you lay, tangled up, on your joint couch.

“I have a question.” Kyra announced, her voice muffled in your hoodie as she rested her head on your chest.

You grunted your response, almost half asleep from how warm you were. She was like the perfect weighted blanket, oozing out heat and that soft, warm scent that was so uniquely her.

“Come to the game on Sunday?”

That was the only downside of both of you being professional athletes. You were almost never able to see each other’s games. If you were playing, so was she. It sucked, but you made it work, often refusing to look at the scores until you were able to rewatch the match.

It was a big game for Kyra - a place in the final up for grabs, and Renee had promised her a spot in the starting XI.

“Huh?” You were still lagging behind a little, your brain not quite there yet.

“Sunday. The semis. Emirates. Sold out stadium. Starting XI.”

“Yes, I am aware of what’s happening on Sunday, baby.”

Kyra shifted, moving to straddle your hips. “Will you come watch? You’re free, right?”

You blinked at her, trying to fight the smile creeping onto your face. “You checked my fixture list, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” she said, drawing out the word in that singsong way that told you she definitely had.

You sighed, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me.” She was grinning now, sitting taller, her hands resting against your chest. “And I really want you there. Please.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You nervous?”

Kyra scoffed immediately, but you caught the flicker in her eyes, the tiny spark of uncertainty that only you ever seemed to notice. “No. Just… you know. It’s a big one. First time I’ll start in front of a full Emirates this season. And I don’t get many minutes anymore so.” 

Your hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing gently over her skin. “You’ll smash it. You always do.”

She leaned into your touch, her eyelids fluttering closed for a second. “Yeah, but I play better when I know you’re watching.”

You felt that familiar tug in your chest. That same stupid, aching love that had followed you since you were teenagers getting yelled at again in maths. She had this way of making even the simplest words feel heavy, important.

“Alright,” you murmured. “I’ll be there.”

Her eyes lit up instantly, wide and bright. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Kyra grinned like a kid, bouncing slightly where she sat. “You’re gonna love it. Big crowd, big stakes-”

“Big ego,” you teased, laughing when she swatted your chest.

“Shut up,” she said through a laugh. “I’m serious. I want you there. It feels like… I don’t know. It’ll be more … with you there.”

You stared at her for a long moment - the way her hair fell in soft waves around her face, the glint of determination in her dark eyes, the faint freckles that the cameras never seemed to catch.

“Baby,” you said quietly, voice full of love.

Her smile softened. “You’re such a sap.” She rolled her eyes.

It was your turn to scoff now. “Maybe.” You grinned up at her. “But I’m your sap.”

Kyra leaned down and kissed you, slow and lingering, her breath tasting faintly of mint and something sweet. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m scoring one for you on Sunday.”

You chuckled. “Make it two, and I’ll wear your kit to training Monday.”

Her laugh filled the room, warm and alive. “Deal.”

The Emirates was loud. Louder than any of your matches ever were. Tens of thousands of people swarmed around you, the sound rolling like thunder through the stands. It was electric - alive in a way that made your heart race that little bit faster.

You could feel the other friends and family watching you, sneaking curious glances when they thought you wouldn’t notice. You didn’t blame them. To them, you were just some stranger sitting stiffly in a hoodie that was far too warm for the occasion, jaw tight and eyes locked on the pitch. 

Despite being with Kyra for years, you’d never really met her teammates or their families. During the regular season, you were just as busy as she was - your own games, your own camps, your own chaos.

“Hello.” A slightly older woman had approached, her tone friendly but cautious, like she wasn’t sure if she was interrupting. You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. You’d been staring down at the pitch, eyes flicking from where Kyra was stretching with her teammates to your phone screen, where your knee was bouncing impatiently against the row of seats in front of you. God, it wasn’t even kick-off yet and you were already nervous enough to be sick.

“Oh, um,” you cleared your throat quickly. “Hi.” You straightened a little, automatically shifting to the side as if you were in her way.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” she said kindly. “Which of the girls are you friends with?”

“Oh, uh, Ky-” you stuttered, your mouth suddenly dry. “Kyra. Kyra Cooney-Cross.” You mumbled the words like a secret, just in case she somehow hadn’t caught the name.

Her face brightened instantly. “Oh, how lovely! She’s such a sweet girl. Mario, Gio, come say hi.” She waved two men over - both of whom eyed you curiously as they approached. You offered a polite, sheepish smile.

“This is…” the woman started, turning to you expectantly.

“Y/N.”

“This is Y/N,” she repeated warmly. “She’s with Kyra.”

“Cool, cool.” The younger man, Gio, you think, grinned, lifting his beer in greeting. “So,” he began, clearing his throat like he was buying time as he came to stand next to you, “how do you know Kyra? Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

You hesitated for half a beat. “Oh, um… I’m … she’s my girlfriend.”

His eyebrows rose. “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Going on six years now.”

“Wow.” He gave a low whistle, impressed. “Didn’t realise she’d been off the market that long.”

Mario laughed quietly beside him. “Shows how much attention you pay.”

Gio shrugged, grinning. “Fair point. How come you weren’t at the Champions League final or anything, then? Don’t think I saw you.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I wasn’t able to go. We had World Cup prep camp.”

That caught his attention. “World Cup?”

“Yeah,” you said with a small, self-conscious shrug. “I play rugby.”

Both men perked up. “No way,” Mario said. “You play in the PWR?”

“Yeah. For the Quins-Harlequins,” you explained. “And the Wallaroos. The Aussie national team.”

“Boo,” Gio teased immediately, grinning. “We’re Saracens fans.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Of course you are.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Mario said, nudging his friend. “He boos everyone. It’s a talent, really.”

“Yeah, well,” you shot back lightly, “I’ll remember that next time we thrash you.”

That earned a few laughs from the small group. You felt your shoulders relax, just a little.

“So you’re the mysterious girlfriend,” Carol said with a knowing smile. “I’ve heard your name before. Kyra’s mentioned you once or twice.”

“Only once or twice?” you joked, though your cheeks warmed all the same.

“Oh, maybe more,” she teased. “She talks about you a lot, actually. Always smiling when she does.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just smiled softly and glanced back at the pitch. The players were warming up now, and even from a distance you could pick out Kyra’s figure instantly - goofing around yet had that familiar fierce determination etched into her movements. You felt a lump form in your throat, a mix of nerves and pride.

“She looks good,” Mario said, following your gaze.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “She always does.”

The older woman reached out, giving your arm a gentle pat. “You must be very proud of her.”

You nodded, unable to take your eyes off the pitch. “More than she knows.”

If you thought the atmosphere pre-match was intense, you were proved wrong after the final whistle. It had been a tight match, ball rocketing from end to end, countless of almosts from both teams and what felt like a thousand hours of extra time. 

Kyra had stayed true to her word, sending two goals rippling into the back of the net. 

“Kyra,” Alessia called, waving her friend over to her. “Who is that?” 

Kyra followed one of Alessia’s perfectly manicured nails. 

You were standing in between Alessia’s dad and one of her brothers. At some point during the match, you had taken your hoodie off, revealing the Australia shirt on you had underneath. Her Australian shirt. With her number on the back of it. She couldn’t help the blush that rose over her cheeks. 

“That’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And who is Y/N?” 

Kyra just shurgged, smiling and winking at Alessia before running off. 

You weren’t really paying attention when Kyra entered the family and friends room - you were distracted, looking out at the now-empty Emirates. It was strange, that you, a girl from Queensland, had fallen into this life. From being terrorised by Kyra in the maths classroom to watching her perform on the world’s biggest stage. You were in awe of it all really. 

“Hey, stranger.” Kyra’s teasing voice sounded from behind you as she slipped her arms around your waist. 

“Hey, baby.” You turned, tucking her under your arm and kissing the top of your head. “Good game, lovie.” 

“Scored for you.” Kyra squeezed you tighter. “Twice.” 

“And they were stunning goals too.” 

“So, do you want my match-worn shirt for tomorrow or have you got one already?” She teased, lifting her head to look up at you. 

“Fuck off,” you laughed rolling your eyes. 

“Kyra.” A familiar Aussie accent cut off whatever Kyra was about to say next 

You looked over, two brunettes were standing side-by-side, one more tanned than the other with perfectly highlighted blonde streaks. 

“Yes, Steffy?” 

So that was Steph. You had heard all about the woman Kyra admired the most in football. Her honorary big sister that kept her sharp eye on the younger player now that she was in London. 

“Who is this?” The non-Steph asked. 

“Y/N.” Kyra blinked, smiling cheekily. 

“Hi,” Steph waved awkwardly. 

Non-Steph didn’t acknowledge you. “Yeah, and who is Y/N?” 

“Youse are lookin’ awfully chummy there, mate.” A thick Irish accent cut Kyra off before she could speak. 

“Shut it, Katie,” Kyra huffed. “If you’d let me finish my sentence…” Kyra paused. She always had a flare for the dramatics. “Y/N is my girlfriend.”

Steph blinked. Katie blinked. You blinked.

Then Katie let out a howl that echoed through the family room. “I knew it!” she yelled, smacking Steph’s arm so hard the older woman winced. “I told you she had a missus! Didn’t I, Steph? Didn’t I say there was no way she just disappears after every trainin’ session because she’s ‘catching up on sleep’?”

Steph was rubbing her arm, deadpanned. “Yeah, well, you also said she was secretly seeing a DJ from Hackney, so forgive me if I didn’t take you seriously.”

Kyra groaned, burying her face in your shoulder. “Oh my God, I hate all of you.”

You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to laugh. “DJ from Hackney?” you whispered to her.

“Don’t,” she muttered into your chest. “They’ll never shut up.”

Steph, to her credit, recovered first. She extended her hand politely, all captain composure. “Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard about you.”

You took her hand, smiling. “Good things, I hope.”

Steph smirked. “Depends who you ask.”

Katie cackled again, already halfway across the room shouting for someone named Leah to come meet “Kyra’s Amazonian rugby girlfriend.”

Kyra groaned louder, hiding her face again. “This is the worst day of my life.”

You snorted. “Pretty sure you just scored two wonder goals at the Emirates.”

“Second worst day,” she muttered darkly, voice muffled against you.

By the time Leah, Alessia, and half the Arsenal squad had been dragged over by Katie, all grinning, all far too amused, Kyra had accepted her fate.

“So,” Leah said, folding her arms and grinning, “you’re the mysterious Y/N we keep hearing about, huh?”

You blinked. “You’ve heard about me?”

“Oh, constantly,” Alessia said, bouncing on her heels. “Usually followed by Kyra sighing dramatically and saying ‘you wouldn’t understand.’”

Steph nodded sagely. “Or blushing at her phone.”

Kyra pointed at all of them, glaring. “Traitors. Every single one of you.”

Leah snorted. “Please. We’re just relieved you didn’t make her up.”

That got a full belly laugh out of you, the kind that made Kyra’s head snap toward you, eyes soft even as her cheeks turned red. You were laughing so hard you barely noticed Katie sidle up beside you.

“She’s been smitten with you for ages,” the Irishwoman whispered conspiratorially. “It’s disgusting, honestly. We had a bet about whether you were real. I owe Russo twenty quid now.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Tell her to buy herself something nice.”

Katie grinned, clearly delighted. “Oh, I like you.”

Kyra groaned one final time. “I’m never bringing you to a game again.”

“Sure you are,” you said easily, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Someone’s gotta wear your shirt.”

That earned you a chorus of “awwws” and a dramatic gag from Katie, who shouted, “God, get a room!” before running away laughing.

Kyra tilted her head up at you, eyes still warm despite her mock pout. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You smirked, leaning down just enough for your breath to brush her ear. “A little.”

She tried to fight it, but the grin slipped through anyway – small, bashful, and so perfectly her.

“Fine,” she muttered, poking your chest. “But next time you wear my kit, you’re sitting in the away section.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That a promise or a threat?”

She laughed, shaking her head and stealing a quick kiss. It was brief but certain, the kind that made every teasing voice around you fade into the background.

When she pulled away, she was smiling so wide it almost hurt to look at her. “Both,” she said softly.

You chuckled, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “God, you’re impossible.”

Kyra: Port what now? 😭

Ellie: Port Fairy?? That’s not a real place 😭😭

Mini: It is!! Tiny coastal town in Vic according to Google. Looks like a cute lil surf town.

Sam: it says she's 15 YEARS OLD??

Macca: No way she’s fifteen. Thought that was a typo.

Kyra: I’m looking her up right now.

Kyra: Hold up. found her Insta 😏

Sam: SEND IT

Kyra: yn.ln tell me this doesn’t scream beach kid 😭

Mini: Wait she’s so small. She looks like she’s 12 but jacked at the same time 😂

Steph: Her feed is literally half football, half ocean.

Foordy: That’s the most Aussie thing I’ve ever seen. soccer boots one day, diving fins the next.

Ellie: Hold up. Look at this caption “Me and my dive girlies. Today we did our first shark dive 🦈💙”

Ellie: SHARK DIVE???

Macca: Nope. I’m out. I don’t mess with anything that has teeth.

Sam: Bruh she’s FIFTEEN and already cooler than most of us combined.

Mini: I’m watching her videos. She’s actually so good. Look at her handling in that beach clip 👀

Steph: Wait did you see this tagged account? “P.F. Dive Club”?

Kyra: It’s her and three other girls. They’ve got a whole page! They vlog every dive 😭

Ellie: They look like a Disney Channel surf squad.

Sam: “Four girls, one tiny boat, and way too many sharks.” I’d watch that.

Mini: Nah but she’s serious. She's posting match vids too. This one’s against some local men’s team. Look at the pace.

Steph: Okay but imagine her rocking up to camp. She’s gonna be like 5’2” surrounded by us lot.

Kyra: And she’s from a town of 3000. Bet she’s never seen traffic lights.

Foordy: Can’t wait to see everyone lose it when they realize she’s the one on the list 😂

Sam: We better not scare her off first day.

Ellie: No promises 😏

Mini: New baby Matilda unlocked 💚

The air smelled different here. Less salt, less seaweed, more grass and sunscreen. The kind that made you squint because the sun bounced off freshly mowed fields and brand-new goalposts. It was so different from the pitch you were used to back home.

You dropped your duffel bag beside you and took a deep breath, feeling the hum of excitement somewhere behind your ribs. It wasn’t nerves exactly. More like the feeling of bubbling excitement you also felt standing on your board before catching a wave. The world just kind of… waited on you to make a move and decide how this would go.

You adjusted your bucket hat, squinted at the Matildas logo engraved into the facility gates, and grinned. So this is camp, huh?

Inside the national team base buzzed with activity. Players milled around, pulling suitcases, tossing balls, stretching out travel aches. You could hear Ellie Carpenter laughing from down the corridor and Sam Kerr’s voice somewhere behind her. It was loud and warm. A nice environment to be around.

You felt tiny walking through them all. Not just short but small. But that didn’t bother you. You had been the smallest in every team you had ever played for. It was kind of your thing and you knew you had the skills so it didn't matter what anyone thought.

“Hey, you must be our Port Fairy girl.” came a cheerful voice. You turned to see Mackenzie Arnold, smiling like she’d been waiting for you.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You said, voice soft but steady. “Call me Y/N.”

“Welcome to camp, kid. Fifteen, right? You look younger than my niece.” Mackenzie teased, bumping your shoulder lightly.

But you just shrugged, an easy grin in place. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I’m small but fast, though. Makes up for it.” Mackenzie chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

When you walked into the locker room, a dozen eyes turned your way. The Matildas, every player she’d watched on TV in the last few years, were there. They were real and chatting and just tying boots while laughing.

Sam Kerr was leaning against a bench, grinning like she already knew who you were. “So you’re our little shark diver.” Sam said, arms folded.

You blinked, a smile tugging at your lips. “You found the Insta, huh?”

Ellie Carpenter snorted. “Found it? Half the team’s obsessed with it. You’re insane, by the way. Shark diving?”

“Sharks are chill.” You said simply, setting down your bag. “They don’t bother you if you don’t bother them.” The room went quiet for half a second before erupting in laughter.

Mini leaned forward from her spot by the lockers. “You talk about sharks the way we talk about match pressure.”

You shrugged again, your calm vibes were pretty refreshing. “Same thing, kinda. Just don’t panic and you’ll be fine.”

“Mate, you sound like you’ve been meditating your whole life.” Caitlin said, shaking her head.

“Just beach stuff.” You replied. “The ocean teaches you to chill.”

When the training session started, your calm carried onto the field. You jogged beside Steph Catley and Kyra Cooney-Cross, barely breaking a sweat, loose and fluid like the tide you'd grown up with.

There was no tightness in your shoulders, no fidgeting or hesitation. Just focus and that quiet kind of confidence that made the coaches exchange glances.

Tony Gustavsson stood near the sideline, clipboard in hand, watching as you received a long pass from Kyra, trapped it with a deft touch, and sent it spinning across the pitch like you'd been doing it your whole life.

Mini called out, “Alright, Port Fairy, didn’t expect that from a fifteen-year-old!”

You just grinned, hair sticking to your slightly forehead. “Guess you’ll have to stop underestimating small towns.”

After training, you sat out on the grass by yourself. Still in your new kit, sipping a bottle of water and watching the sun dip over the field.

Kyra wandered over, plopping down beside you. “You’re like… the chillest person I’ve ever met. You even get nervous?”

You thought about it, then smiled. Your eyes were distant. “Sometimes. But nerves are like waves. You can fight ’em or just ride it out.”

Kyra laughed. “You sound like a surf coach.”

“Maybe I am.” You said, lying back with your arms behind your head. “But the pressure is the same. If you're under water a mistake can cost you your life, here it can cost you a game. If you don't stay calm and go with the flow you won't make it. Football’s just another kind of ocean in a way is it not?”

The next few days at camp were packed. Between training drills, tactics meetings, recovery sessions and interviews. It was a whirlwind of emotions and it was your dream. But even dreams could feel heavy when you were used to saltwater instead of ice baths. You were missing the ocean so bad, that you started to watch YouTube videos of the beach sounds just to calm down. For a girl that hadn't been without a dip in water for more than a day or two in her life this was horrible.

You didn’t complain, you never did, but you felt it deep down. That tug of longing, that quiet ache for the ocean. You'd grown up where you could hear waves in your sleep. Here, there was nothing but wind through goal nets and the hum of city life.

By the fifth day, it must’ve shown.

Because when you came down to breakfast, still in your hoodie and half-asleep, Sam looked up from her phone and said, “Hey, fishy. We’ve got an off day tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

Steph leaned in with a grin. “So we’re thinking… road trip.”

Kyra held up her phone, flashing a map. “Two hours from camp. Proper surf beach. Real waves, clear water.”

Caitlin Foord smirked. “You in, fishy?”

Your entire face lit up like the sunrise. “Are you serious?”

Mini laughed. “We’re dead serious. You look like you’re about to start growing gills if we don’t get you near the ocean soon.”

Your laugh was quiet but full, shoulders relaxing for the first time all week. “Let’s go, then.”

The next morning, you guys loaded up two cars. Between towels, snacks, snorkels and a speaker that Sam refused to let anyone else control, there was a lot of stuff. The drive was full of loud music, bad singing and Caitlin trying to feed everyone gummy snakes over the seat.

By the time the cars finally reached the coast, the air already smelled like home. The kind of clean, salty air that stuck to your skin and hair. The sound of the waves rolled up over the dunes, steady and familiar.

You stood at the top of the sand hill for a long moment, bare feet sinking into the soft warmth. The sea stretched wide and endless in front of you, silver-blue under the sun. You exhaled, shoulders dropping. “Finally.”

Steph watched you with a soft smile. “You really missed it, huh?”

You nodded slowly. “It’s weird, yeah? The ocean’s just… everything. It’s like being home and free and small all at once.”

“Go on then.” Sam said, tossing you a snorkel mask. “Show us what the Port Fairy prodigy can do.” She didn’t need telling twice.

In minutes you were waist-deep in the surf, diving beneath the surface with the kind of ease that made it seem like you belonged there more than on land. The others watched from the shallows, laughing as your head bobbed up, hair plastered to your face.

“Look at her go!” Mini shouted. “She’s like a little seal!”

“She’s literally talking to fish.” Caitlin joked, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Oi, tell ‘em we said hi!”

You surfaced, grinning, water dripping off your chin. “There’s a school of angelfish over there! Come look!”

Kyra shook her head. “No chance. I’m not getting in there, it’s freezing!”

But ten minutes later, she was waist-deep too, shrieking as the cold hit her while you laughed like it was nothing. Sam and Steph joined in next, splashing around like they’d forgotten they were national icons.

You spent hours in the water. Snorkeling along the rocks, floating on your back, chasing schools of fish that darted through the sunlight like confetti. The ocean wrapped around you like an old friend, every ripple familiar and safe.

The others eventually migrated back to the beach towels, collapsing in the sand, half-asleep and sun-warmed. But not you.

Even when the sun began to dip lower, painting the sky gold and pink, you were still there. Just resting in the water and floating.

Steph called out, “You planning to come out anytime soon?”

You shook your head, voice carried by the wind. “Not yet! The fishies aren’t done hanging out!”

Mini laughed from her spot in the sand. “We’re gonna have to drag her out, aren’t we?”

Sam shaded her eyes. “Yep. She’s officially part fish.”

When you finally came back out of the water, you were shivering. Your hair was tangled, your cheeks flushed with salt and sun. But your grin was wide and peaceful.

“That.” You said softly, toweling off. “Was perfect.”

The team packed up slowly, the car filled with laughter and the smell of saltwater. You fell asleep in the back seat, head against the window, hand still clutching a tiny shell you'd found near the rocks.

Steph looked over from the passenger seat, smiling. “She’s happy now.”

Sam nodded, eyes on the road. “Yeah. Got her ocean back.”

-----

While Steph was at camp with the Matildas, she had asked you to take care of her dog while she was away. It was the first time she had asked you to dogsit, and somehow, the level of trust she showed in that felt like the next step in your relationship. Not only were you now dogsitting Calvin, but also her best friend’s dog Myle.

Steph and Beth lived together, so you had met Myle a bunch of times, and it helped that the two dogs seemed to be the best of friends. Beth and Viv were also with their respective national teams, and you were happy to help out.

You stayed at their place, taking Steph’s room for the time being. It felt a little weird the first night, sleeping there without her by your side, but you quickly started feeling more and more at home, surrounded by everything that was your girlfriend’s.

While you took out the dogs for their morning walk, you listened to Steph’s voice note she had sent earlier that day, during the night for you. It was great hearing her voice in the form of a quick recap of her night and morning. What made you even happier was hearing that she would be able to call you in a few hours since the team didn’t have any plans in the evening.

The rest of the walk, you had a smile on your face, looking forward to spending some time with Steph, even when it was just over a video call. 

Both dogs were running around the park, and you took a couple of videos to send to the girls. They loved every little update you sent of their doggos, so you gladly provided them with the pictures and videos daily.

When you got back, there was still a bit of time before Steph would call, so you sat down on the sofa and opened up YouTube to watch something.

The first video that pops up on your screen is the arrival video of the Matildas. Steph had told you about her start to camp, but you loved being able to see a bit of the behind the scenes. You knew some of the girls, the ones playing at Arsenal and some others that were based in London, but the rest was still pretty new for you.

You get comfortable on the sofa and start the video. It started off with all of the girls arriving, some alone and some in small groups. Your smile grew when you saw Steph step out of a van, followed by Caitlin and Kyra. You could see she was tired from the long flight, but could also read the excitement on her face.

The video went on to everyone saying their hello’s in the common area as soon as new people arrived. And then Steph popped up on your screen again. “Hi Steph, may we have a quick room tour for the video?” you heard the crew say as she opened her room door. With a smile, she opened the door, “Sure, come on in.”

As soon as they stepped in, you saw something familiar. The teddy bear you had won her on your second date when you went to the fair was lying on her bed next to her neatly folded pajamas. Steph gave a quick tour of the room, but your eyes kept landing on the stuffed animal on the corner of the bed, your heart filling with warmth knowing that she took the bear with her to camp.

A couple videos later, Steph facetimed you. “Hi baby.” She said as you picked up the phone, “What are you smiling about?” She said, full of amusement. You hadn’t even realised, but the smile after seeing the Matildas video hadn’t left your face. “You sleep with the stuffed animal I got you?” You asked with a hint of curiosity. Steph’s cheeks turn a dark shade of red, “Who told you that?” 

“I saw him in the new Matildas video when you were doing your room tour, no one told me about him. Why would someone tell me?” Your girlfriend hides her face from the frame a little. “Well, some of them have been making fun of me for bringing a stuffed animal with me to camp.”

“I would never make fun of you for that, I actually think it’s really cute that you did. I had no clue you loved that little bear I got you so much.” You said with a smile to reassure her. “I love him very much. It’s like I have a piece of you with me. A little piece of home.”

Now it was your turn to blush. Luckily, before Steph could comment on it, the dogs jumped up on the couch after hearing Steph’s voice. “Oh, someone wants to say hi.” You chuckled as Calvin tried to climb onto your lap very excitedly. “Calvy, I love you, but you’re a little big to be jumping on top of me.” You say as he nearly knocks the phone out of your hand.

Eventually he finds his place after Steph’s calming voice helped him settle. “Hi buddy, I miss you so much.” She said over the phone. “I hope you’re being very nice to my girlfriend. I’d like her to stick around when I get back, so you better be behaving well.” 

Myle, who had also joined you on the couch, quickly fell asleep with her head on your lap, while Calvin was fully laying on top of you. You didn’t mind the cuddles, while you talked to Steph for as long as you could.

A little bit after you hung up the phone, you got a notification that you had been tagged in a post. It was a post from Steph with some pictures from camp, including a picture of the bear laying in her bed with the tag to your account. You quickly liked the picture and commented a bear and a heart emoji under the post with the biggest smile on your face.

-----

stephcatley just posted

stephcatley: camp 💛💚

-----

That’s how you ended up here, you suppose. In the toilets of the Arsenal dressing room before the game against West Ham. You’d locked yourself in the farthest cubicle, elbows on your knees, forehead pressed to the backs of your hands, trying to breathe past the tight, thumping of your heart in your chest. The loan to Arsenal was never in your plan, you had never once wanted to play against your sister, only with her. You had told everyone and anyone that you were ready, that you were mature enough to step out of your comfort zone and try a different culture, but the truth pressed on your chest like bricks, crushing and squeezing the honesty out of every pore. You didn’t want to be the kind of player who had to pretend she wasn’t looking for her sister in every new locker room, every new huddle, every new pre‑match ritual and you certainly didn’t want to step onto the pitch where Katrina was stood in a different red jersey to yours instead of wearing your name on her back with pride.

A knock echoed against the cubicle door as Kim gently but firmly called your name, reminding you that kick off wasn’t going to wait for you to get your breathing under control. 

You swallowed, hard. Your throat felt tight, your pulse too loud, your palms damp against your knees. For a moment you let yourself stay folded over, eyes closed, forehead resting against your hands as if you could hide here forever, as if the match might dissolve if you stayed still enough.

But it didn’t. The noise outside only grew, studs on tile, laughter, the low hum of nerves, the thud of a ball being bounced off someone’s thigh. Life moving on without you. You forced yourself upright. Your legs trembled, but they held. You wiped your palms on your shorts, breathed once, twice, three times, and unlocked the door.

The corridor outside felt too bright, too real. Teammates brushed past you, focused and ready, offering small smiles or nods that you tried to return. Your heart was still hammering, but at least it was moving you forward now, pushing you toward the place you’d been avoiding and then you reached the mouth of the tunnel, that narrow, echoing stretch of concrete where the world seemed to hold its breath. You could see the edge of the pitch from here, the green slicing through the shadows, the roar of the crowd swelling like a tide.

Arsenal filed into their line, West Ham into theirs, and for a moment you kept your eyes fixed on the floor, on the studs of the player in front of you, on anything that wasn’t the possibility of seeing her but then you felt it, that familiar prickle at the back of your neck, the one that had followed you your whole childhood, the one that meant Katrina was looking at you before you’d even realised she was there.

You lifted your head.

She was only a few metres away, standing at the front of the West Ham line, her arms loose at her sides, her expression composed in that way she’d perfected years ago. But the second your eyes met, something in her softened. Just a fraction. Just enough for you to feel it.

Katrina stepped out of her line without hesitation, ignoring whatever protocol she was meant to be following, and crossed the narrow gap between you. A couple of players glanced over, amused, but no one stopped her. “You alright, limpet?” she murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

The nickname hit you square in the chest anchoring you with the familiarity only she could bring. You swallowed, your throat tight again, but this time for a different reason. “I’m fine,” you tried, but it came out thin, unconvincing.

Katrina’s eyes flicked over your face, reading you the way she always had, the way no one else ever quite managed. She reached out and hooked a finger under your chin, lifting it just slightly.

“Hey,” she said, steady and sure. “You’ve got this.”

Your breath wobbled. “I don’t want to play against you.”

“I know.” Her thumb brushed once against your jaw, a tiny gesture, grounding. “But you’re ready. More than you think.”

You shook your head, barely. “I don’t feel ready.”

“That’s alright,” she said, and her voice was so calm it almost undid you. “You don’t have to feel ready to be ready.”

The teams were being called to order now, captains stepping forward, officials lining up. Katrina glanced over her shoulder, then back at you. “Listen,” she said, leaning in just enough that her forehead almost touched yours. “You’re not here because you followed me. You’re here because you earned it. Because you’re good. Because you deserve to be on this pitch.”

Your chest loosened, just a little. Enough to breathe.

“And,” she added, a small smile tugging at her mouth, “because I’m going to absolutely flatten you if you try to dribble past me.”

A startled laugh escaped you, shaky, but real. Katrina grinned, satisfied. “There she is,” she said softly.

The official called her name. She stepped back, shoulders squaring, slipping into captain mode with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times but before she turned away, she reached out and squeezed your wrist,  firm, warm, and certain. “I’m right here,” she said. “Even if we’re wearing different colours.”

And somehow, that was enough to steady you as you moved into line, the roar of the stadium swelling around you like a tide you were finally ready to step into.

You don’t remember much of the game, only the blur of it. The rush of bodies, the sting of cold air in your lungs, the bright snap of the ball leaving your boot. Five goals. An assist. Daphne’s unlucky own goal. Everything else dissolved into motion and noise, a kind of feverish clarity where your body knew what to do even when your mind was still somewhere in that bathroom stall. But the away end, that you remember. The way it pulsed and roared, a living thing made of colour and sound. It hit you like a wave, lifting you, filling you with a fizzing, childlike joy that made your skin feel too small for your own happiness. For a moment, you forgot the fear, the pressure, the shadow you’d spent years trailing behind.

And then, through the chaos of handshakes and exchanged shirts and players drifting toward the tunnel, you felt a presence at your back, steady, and unmistakable.

Katrina.

She didn’t call your name. She didn’t need to. You turned, and there she was, hair damp, cheeks flushed, jersey clinging to her frame, the captain’s armband still tight around her bicep. Her expression wasn’t the composed mask she wore for cameras or teammates. It was open, bright, almost fierce with pride.

Before you could say anything, she reached for you, one arm sweeping around your shoulders, pulling you into her with a force that knocked the breath from your chest. You folded into her instinctively, the way you had since you were small, your forehead pressing into the warm, sweat-damp fabric at her collarbone.

She held you like she was anchoring you to the earth. 

“I am so proud of you.” She muttered, kissing your head like she used to do before bed.

There was no need for a large speech. Everything she could have said was already there in the way her hand slid up the back of your head, fingers threading briefly into your hair; in the way her chin rested against the top of your skull; in the way her breath steadied against your temple. Pride. Relief. Recognition. Love, the quiet, unshakeable kind that didn’t need to be spoken aloud to be understood.

When she finally eased back, her hands stayed on your shoulders, thumbs brushing once in a gesture that felt like sealing something in place. Her eyes swept over your face, taking in the flushed cheeks, the wild brightness in your eyes, the disbelief still clinging to you like static. You had stepped onto the pitch terrified you’d lose her by standing on your own. But here, in the aftermath, with the stadium roaring and the floodlights painting everything gold, you realised something else entirely: you hadn’t lost her. You’d simply met her as an equal for the first time.

Katrina gave your shoulders one last firm squeeze before letting her hands fall away, turning toward the tunnel with the easy confidence of someone who knew you’d follow, not because you needed her to lead, but because you were walking in the same direction now, side by side, even in different colours. And as you fell into step behind her, the noise of the crowd swelling around you, you felt it settle deep in your chest: a new kind of steadiness, one that belonged entirely to you.