Pequeña | Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader
Word count: 1.8k
Summary: you make stupid decisions but you got your girl in the end.
Warning: fluff, horrible self-care, fainting
My parents and I moved from Spain to England when I was 5.
I was a quiet kid with no friends, who spent most of her time reading or listening to music. At seven years old my parents decided to sign me up for my local football kids club to try and get me to ‘open my wings’, their code for ‘stop being a fucking loner we value popularity over smarts’. I haven’t seen them in 8 years.
Turns out I was fucking great at football and by 12 I was in the Arsenal Football Academy. At 15 I was playing for their Women’s team in the WSL and was debuting for England’s national team. I spent most of that time on the bench of course, but by 17 I had a large ‘1’ on my back and was starting 90% of games at Arsenal. I didn’t have many friends though, especially when I knew most would either leave to bigger leagues or transfer teams. I preferred it though because that meant I had plenty of time between training and games to study and read and play music.
Another 6 years later and I’m playing for England in the Semi-finals of the 2023 World Cup against Australia. I wasn’t our main goalie, but Mary had gotten a concussion so that left me and like hell I would let us lose this close to the finals. I’d nearly managed to keep a clean sheet until Sam Kerr came running up from halfway, past Millie and chipped it behind me into the goal. Despite the goal, we won.
As I’m walking toward the girls, I tripped over something, or someone, sitting on the sidelines near the tunnel. One of the Aussie girls, clearly tired and upset, curled up to their goalkeeper. If there was one thing I could do, it was recognise a phenomenal goalkeeper when I see one, and Mackenzie Arnold was just that.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper to her as I pat her shoulder and copy the gesture for the girl next to her.
I didn’t know much about her, but I’d seen her play. Her footwork was incredible, and she was clearly underrated and underestimated, something Arsenal could benefit from.
“Wanna swap jerseys?” it comes out soft, I almost miss it as I turn away. When I turn back around, I expect to see Mac offering her’s, but instead I see the younger girl looking up at me questioningly and I smile. I’d already swapped with Mac in a friendly earlier this year, and I love collecting jerseys from different players.
“Fuck yeah.” and within seconds she has my jersey pulled over her head, and it hangs loosely, clearly a few too many sizes too big for her.
I then pull on her’s, for a moment fearful it would be too small, but I’m thankful for her clear preference for baggy clothes as it slips over my torso. Mackenzie beckons over their photographer, and I pose with the still nameless girl. She’s small in comparison to my 5’11 stature and I giggle at the difference before offering her a piggyback for a silly photo.
As she jumps up, I notice shocked stares of my teammates from the corner of my eye but shake it off as she wraps her arm around my neck as if to choke me.
“Has anyone told you how small you are?” I ask her as I drop her back to the ground.
“They don’t shut up about it.”
“I think I’ll call you Pequeña.” I chuckle at her confused look.
“It means small in Spanish.”
“What the fuck!? Fine I’m calling you fucking Giant or something.”
I don’t get her actual name that night, but I look it up when I get back to my hotel room, Lotte missing from the space.
Kyra Cooney-Cross. An unexpected star.
I watch one of her games instead of doing my uni work and fall asleep to one her interviews playing.
~~~~~
I don’t expect to see Kyra until whatever friendly we have with Australia before the Olympics. In the time after the World Cup and before pre-season, I’ve hung her jersey in my hallway, along with all the others. I put her’s at the entrance with others like Mapi León and Christine Sinclair, people I consider special.
We also begin talking. A lot. I spend most of my spare time calling or texting her, but I don’t tell anyone.
The shock I get when the final minute of the pre-season transfer window approaches, and I get a notification from the Arsenal Women twitter account.
‘KYRA COONEY-CROSS IS A GUNNER✍️’
~~~~~
We’d been knocked out of the qualifiers for the Championship League and yet I walk into training on Monday with a slight spring in my step and excitement buzzing through me. I wave to all the staff and greet everyone, asking how the girls are when I walk into the locker room.
It’s Katie who asks.
“What the fuck is up with you Ms Dark and Broody?”
“Whatever do you mean?” I giggle.
She gives me and incredulous look before turning to the rest of the locker room who share similar expressions.
“W- wh- wh-” she continues to babble as Steph pulls her back to her cubby and pats her shoulder as a way of reassurance.
“You just… you’re never so smiley or talkative. At all. Like ever. Like in the past 8 years you’ve said maybe 100 words per season to me.” Lotte speaks up.
“Not true!”
“I’ve only seen you without a book off the pitch 13 times. I started counting after the 1st.” My jaw drops.
“She’s not wrong Y/n. You’re pretty reserved and stoic. Which there’s nothing wrong with! But it’s just odd to see you, well like this.” Manu points at me as if that’s explanation enough.
“Wow thanks gu-” I’m cut off by someone jumping on my back and screaming.
“BEANSTALK!” and I’m smiling all over again as I turn my head to see the young Australian I’ve been missing.
“PEQUEÑA!”
“I can’t believe I had to put up with your nerdy shit in person every day now.” She jumps off my back and moves to greet the other girls except for Steph and Caitlin who she obviously knows.
We don’t get much time to talk before Jonas calls us into the meeting room. He introduces all our new players like Kyra and Lessi and announces the return of Vivianne and Beth to our playing squad, before going over how we need to improve after our defeat in the Champions League.
“L/n, I know you just came 2nd in the World Cup but you cannot be slacking like you did in the game against Pairs. You’ve got to be doing more.” I don’t get to reply before he’s ushering us out onto the pitch.
I’m left in a sour mood the rest of training, once again avoiding everyone, including Kyra who seemingly found a close friend in Alessia. I had given my all in that game against Paris, but they were good, and I’d stayed up until 2am the night before completing one of my assignments for my uni degree, something Jonas had encouraged me to do.
I was more mad that he didn’t allow me to tell him why but either way, I’d decided I would be staying after training to practice until I couldn’t any longer. So I did. And I came in an hour early the next morning to get more training in. I continued to do this for a while, studying once I got home until I couldn’t keep my eyes open now that my usual study time was booked. Eventually the girls stopped inviting me for coffee or team bonding and Kyra stopped trying to talk.
We were playing against Man United when I began to sway side to side, and my eyes began to droop. I think Kyra noticed first while on the sideline, and whispered something to Katie as she passed by the bench, but nothing came of it until United got a corner. They didn’t even get to kick the ball before I crumpled to the ground beside a clueless Lotte and Katie Zelem.
I don’t feel myself get carried off the pitch or get transferred to an ambulance. I don’t think I recognise anything happening around me until hours later. The clock on the wall says 9:21 and I think I’ve only slept for a few hours, but then I notice the sun streaming through the curtains and realise the few might actually be a lot.
I then recognise the limp bodies spread across the room. The awfully sterile white room which is nothing like the warmth of my olive-green bedroom. I don’t think I’d been so slow to figure out what was going on in my life.
“Beanstalk! You’re awake!” I look to the small brunette who has been hunched over asleep next to me for god knows how long and smile.
“Hey pequeña.”
“You are so stupid!” Kyra slaps my arm and sends me a sharp glare.
“What the fuck is going on. You’ve been exhausted 24/7 and no one sees you outside of training.” I then decide to explain my rather stupid schedule and reasoning to her.
She stares blankly at me for a while.
“You are genuinely so fucking dumb. I was so worried about you.” She whispers.
“Why?”
“Because I love you.” Her eyes drop to her lap.
“Te amo.” I’m not sure she understands it but she smiles either way and leans in.
Just as our lips meet, Katie abruptly wakes up in her corner of the room and shrieks.
“What the fuck!” and we’re left to quickly pull away as she tries to wake everyone else up to tell them what she saw.
“Katie don’t be fucking ridiculous! They’re both sound asleep.” I hear Kim whisper shout, followed by more of Katie’s babbling about how we’re just pretending as they trail out of the room, assumedly getting coffee.
As the door clicks shut, I open one eye to glance around the now empty room. It seems everyone needed some coffee. Except a certain Australian, whose eyes also peak open.
“Kiss me.” And then her lips are on mine again.
~~~~~
I don’t play again until our game against Bristol for the Conti Cup. Jonas apologised for pushing me too hard but made it clear I was to properly rest before I get to do anything and makes Sarina Weigman promise not to play me during our international break.
Kyra also gets her first starting debut.
It’s a tough game, and in the 84th minute, Kyra drops to the ground. I nearly run to check on her, but she gets back up, and within another minute she gets subbed off for Vic.
The whistle blows, signalling the end of the game, we win 3-1.
I meet Kyra in the middle of the field, pick her up and swing her around. Our first proper game playing together seems like an obvious thing to celebrate. And before I can think, I’m leaning down and kissing her, something I’m not sure if I’ll regret later.
She smiles that smile, brighter than the sun, and I melt.
“Te amo pequeña.”
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