Spain is in the World Cup final. Mila is intently watching. She doesn't understand why they can't seem to get a goal. Her Mami is known to have a good shot, maybe the striker can help them out.
Wordcount: 1.8k
a/n: Inspired by this ask
Masterlist
Mila watches intently next to Alexia, both leaned forward over the edge of their seats as the game clock on the television ticks upward with still no goal for Spain.
Jenni smirks from her spot off to the side of the couch, bouncing a two-month-old Luna softly to sleep.
"It's scary sometimes how in sync they are," Alba mutters as she crosses behind Jenni on her way to the kitchen.
The striker laughs lightly, pulling a sleepy half-smile out of the newest member of the family at the sound.
Alexia's head pops up, finding her wife's gaze across the space and smiling. Her head tilts towards the baby in a silent question.
Jenni grins and nods. The baby is asleep.
Mila is now coming up on four. The months spent with a newborn in Mexico feel so distant. Jenni was navigating it alone back then. That time is a blur of sleepless nights and exhaustion and overwhelm.
She is soaking in the newborn stage this go around with Alexia firmly glued to her side. Life is so much better together.
The woman in question pushes up from the couch, saying something quietly to Mila and dropping a kiss to her head before she walks over to where Jenni and Luna stand slowly swaying.
The catalana reaches up, lips landing softly on her wife's mouth.
Alba wolf whistles from the kitchen, a smirk on her face.
Alexia doesn't even remove her lips, her middle finger raising in sarcastic response to her pest of a sister and she continues kissing her wife unbothered.
"Ugh!" Mila declares from the couch in frustration. "They missed again!"
Jenni pulls back as Alexia grunts in annoyance at the kiss ending abruptly. "Shh, later, amor, hmm? Mila will crash tonight with all this excitement. And Luna is such a good sleeper already. She definitely inherited your sleep habits," the dark-haired woman teases. "We'll have some time for us once we kick all of our family out."
The catalana sighs, head nuzzling into the crook of the madrileña's neck. She drops a soft kiss to the juncture of her jaw in reply. "Okay," she breathes into the skin.
"Oh!" Jenni whisper yells when another play peters out just in front of Argentina's goal.
Alexia gently scoops Luna into her arms. "Go watch with Mila," she directs softly. "Maybe you'll be better luck for them than me."
The striker laughs. "Ale," she chuckles, "you're arguably the top winning Spanish player of all time, even over Iniesta, at this point. Just muttering your name brings luck."
The catalana rolls her eyes but smirks and pushes her wife towards the couch.
"Join us?" Jenni asks.
And that is how Mila finds herself sandwiched between her Mama and Mami as Spain battle Argentina in this dramatic World Cup final.
"Mami?" the toddler asks.
"Yes, mi sol?"
"You do training classes, right?"
Jenni's head tilts in curiosity of where this is going. "You mean like training camps? For kids? Sometimes, yeah."
"Maybe not kids need it sometimes too."
"Huh?" the striker asks in confusion, eyes leaving the television briefly to look at her oldest. "What do you mean?"
Mila points to the screen. "They need help, Mami. Big help. You score a lot of goals. They need practice. You help them find the back of net," the little girl clarifies, using phrases she has heard endlessly throughout her short life with football at the center of it all.
Alexia snorts.
Jenni laughs, pulling Mila up onto her lap and peppering the side of her head in kisses. "My love," she states, her voice a touch breathless from the laughter, "they do not need pointers from me--"
"Yes they do," Mila replies seriously. "Or you play with them? So you can score the goals. Is that good, Mami?"
"I can only play for the women's team," Jenni replies with a grin. "I already play for Spain. We will have to leave the men's team to just the men."
Mila pouts. "But you do so much better," she complains. "You score goals. Is more fun to watch goals."
"They will score too," Jenni answers. "Just wait. We need to have patience. Sometimes it takes many chances, even for Mami."
"No," Mila answers stubbornly. "You score a lot. I never wait this long."
Alexia laughs, her chest jostling Luna.
The baby mewls at the movement, clinging to the edges of sleep.
"Shh, Mama," Mila reprimands quietly. "Don't wake her. She needs to grow big and strong so we can kick the football together. Mami says sleep makes me grow big and strong. Lulu needs sleep."
"Is that why you slept in your big girl bed last night?" Alexia asks with a smile.
"Yes. I stayed in my bed all night last night," the three-year-old says proudly with her chest puffed out. "I a big grill."
"Girl," Jenni corrects with a grin.
The mispronunciations are her favorite thing about this age. Mila's vocabulary is impressive. But the moments where the mispronunciations or incorrectly used words crop up make Jenni's heart clench in affection at the cuteness.
Their first baby is growing up so fast, but these moments act as small reminders that for today she is still a three-year-old.
"Let her sleep all day, okay, Mama?" the dark-haired toddler whispers, her fingers gently touching the corner of Luna's cheek.
The baby sighs in contentment.
"So she grow big enough tomorrow to play."
"Eh, might take a bit longer than that, mi amorcito," Alexia replies, welcoming Mila in to cuddle under the arm not holding the baby.
Mila yawns as the game stretches past midnight. "But Spain needs us now," she sleepily argues. "Else they won't win."
"They need you? Why is that?" Alexia asks softly.
"Cause Hermosos are built for goals," the toddler murmurs as her head cuddles in closer to the midfielder's side.
Alexia laughs. "What? Where did you hear that?"
The midfielder wishes she could record these moments sometimes. To watch back later. To remember the hilarious things this girl says when she's a grumpy teenager in the future and embodying all the attitude that Alexia knows the universe is gearing up to throw back her way in retaliation for her moody years.
"Tío," Mila mutters, answering the question. "Spain needs goals," she trails off, " Need Mila's goals…". Murmured with eyes closed as the little girl's breath evens out into sleep.
Alexia's eyes lift up to see her wife filming the moment, her bottom lip bit between her teeth to stop her laughter at their daughter's adorable words from ruining the video."
Jenni ends the recording, placing her phone down. Her mouth opens to say something softly to her wife when Spain finally finds the net.
"Yes!" Alexia hisses, body held impossibly tight and muscles tensed to prevent herself from jumping up from the couch and waking her daughters.
"Vamossssssss," the room yells.
Jenni's eyes flick to her wife and babies, worried for a second the noise will wake the kids. But when both stay blissfully asleep, she leans over and slips a hand behind Alexia's head, tilting her chin upward as lips claim the catalana in a quieter version of celebration.
Alexia sighs into it.
Alba groans from behind the couch. "You too always do this to me. I've been watching you make out for like fifteen years at this point! Stop it already! I'm going to need therapy from the trauma."
Jenni pulls back, her chest heaving slightly from the need for air. Eyes still locked on her wife, she only spares her sister-in-law a brief, "well, you better stop looking then," before her lips land back on her wife's.
Eli and Soledad laugh.
Alba snorts.
Jenni and Alexia continue in their own bubble on the couch, their daughters asleep and sandwiched in between them.
And Spain go on to win the World Cup.
"You know what this means?" Alexia whispers in Jenni's ear as their family and friends gather around to watch the award ceremony on the television.
"What?" the madrileña murmurs back.
"Our daughter is going to expect you to notch at least a few goals next year when we win the World Cup for the second time."
Jenni chuckles into Alexia's shoulder. "I'll do my best. I can't let the boys outshine us."
"They could never outshine you," Alexia replies, gaze soft.
"Having kids made you into such a romantic sap," the dark-haired woman teases lightly, cheeks red at the attention.
"No," Alexia corrects, "loving you did that."
"Let it be written on my tombstone," Jenni whispers dramatically, her mouth advancing until her breath mingles with Alexia's, "'Here lies Jenni Hermoso. She was Spain's top goal scorer, but the best shot she ever took was when she asked out Alexia Putellas.'"
The catalana's breath hitches. "Kiss me?"
Jenni's lips are on her wife's before Alexia can even finish the ask.
It is a night of triumph.
For Spain.
And for them.
The babies both sleep through the night.
Alexia wakes the next morning missing the years she used to get ten hours rest in a night. Her body definitely feels the difference in her new normal. Six hours is not quite enough.
She smirks as she recalls the couple hours of sleep they both sacrificed last night in place of other, more important activities.
Little feet slap against the tile outside the room.
"Shhh," the catalana hears Mila whisper-shout to Andy as the dog trails behind her, his nails making considerably less noise than her toddler-self. "Mama and Mami sleepin'," the girl tells the dog as her voice trails off down the hallway.
Alexia's ears strain to hear where she has gone.
But a second later, when the faint sound of the girl's favorite show hits her ears, Alexia relaxes back into the mattress.
For a few minutes longer, the midfielder is going to enjoy the way Jenni's arm tightens reflexively around her middle as it pulls the catalana back into the striker's chest.
Sighing, Alexia closes her eyes. She is just going to rest her eyes until Luna is up.
The baby monitor crackles to life, a soft cry filling the room a few seconds later.
Laughing to herself, Alexia slowly disentangles herself from Jenni, letting the madrileña sleep. The catalana knows her wife will be doing the same for her tomorrow morning.
This is her life now.
Less sleep.
Less moments to herself.
Less alone time with her wife.
But so, so much more love.
This family of theirs has become the biggest part of her world, even more than football.
the lake? more like the puddle (artist's secret: its not his lake actually he's just standing on one of the puddles that froze over in the winter. trust. i would never deceive you.)
