2truthsand1lie

--WIP--

House of Cards - Alexia x Jenni

Masterlist

The Ultimatum - Most of the Barça couples (incl Alexia x Jenni)

Masterlist - updates on a whim and a prayer

--Long Works--

Made in Mexico (220k) - Alexia x Jenni

Masterlist

Are You Home (135k) - Jenni x Reader

Masterlist

Let's Play A Game (26.9k) - Alexia x Jenni x Reader

Masterlist

They Were Ours (22.6k) - Alexia x Jenni

Part 1 (6.9k) Part 2 (7.4k) Part 3 (8.3k)

This Thing Is Toxic - Jenni x Reader

Continuation of muffinpink02's toxic Jenni fic (aka Part 1)

Part 2 (7k) Part 3 (5.6k) Part 4

--Oneshots--

Spanish or Dating? (7.7k) - Alexia x Reader

Part 1 (4.2k) Part 2 (3.5k)

Comeback (4.3k) - Alexia x Reader

Us Mere Mortals (4.9k) - Alexia x Reader

Laid Bare (1.3k) - Alexia x Reader

The Kids (2.2k) - Alexia x Jenni

Don't Forget Me (2.3k) - Alexia x Jenni

Girlfriend Privileges (4.3k) - Jenni x Reader

Un Dedo (2.7k) - Patri x Reader

Gentle But Firm (1.4k) - Patri x Reader

Madrid, Spain — November 2025

Jenni blows into camp with a smile that lights up the room.

Alexia watches from where the physio has her stretching out under a watchful eye as many of the girls stop their weight lifting to swarm the dark-haired madrileña at the door. The catalana gives her the moment, finishing her thirty-second hold before the physio slaps her on the back in approval and let's her know she'll be cleared for light work tomorrow and full training the following day.

The catalana nods distractedly, eyes locked on Jenni across the room where she stands in the center of a loud and chaotic circle, everyone vying for her attention. The striker's grin is wide and full. She's been so missed on the National Team, and clearly she's missed being here just as much, if not more.

Slowly the training staff direct players back to their sets, and that is the moment Alexia walks over.

"Hola," the midfielder murmurs softly.

Jenni huffs out a laugh. "So demure for someone who told me she's planning on jumping me after we win this final," the striker quietly replies.

Alexia's ears heat up. "Jenni!" she hisses, looking around to see if anyone overheard.

The madrileña just tips her head back and laughs, a hand reaching out to squeeze Alexia's tightly as she is called over to the fitness coach across the gym for her initial assessment.

Camp is in full swing from that moment forward.

Gym sessions. Recovery. Stretching. Field training. Tactical meetings.

The days are packed full. The atmosphere is intense and focused.

Jenni brings an air of competitive challenge, often convincing others to stay out on the field even after hours long sessions to work on their first touch or free kicks or penalties. She makes it fun like she always does, but the edge of challenge that follows every professional athlete leads to passionate arguments on who won and a level of goading that has been missing in her absence.

Mariona, Leila, Jana, Irene, Jenni, and Alexia are the usual group. Vicky and Clara sometimes join, sometimes just to watch. With Misa not in camp, Alexia convinces Cata to stay in net for them, upping the competition. Pina hangs around as a result, usually sitting off to the side but upping the shithousery with her commentary and poking comments.

It is a fun week, even with the stress of the upcoming final.

But Alexia is suffering.

Because Jenni looks happy and light and everything that makes the catalana's heart jump in her chest. All she wants to do is wrap herself around the striker. All she wants is to bury her nose in the crook of the madrileña's neck and sink into her chest.

But instead she settles for glances across rooms and inconspicuous touches designed to not raise suspicion. Alexia is fairly certain Irene knows. But then again, Irene knows basically everything that happens on the team somehow. Cata and Pina still grumble at how she always stops their shenanigans before they even get started.

It is agonizing to be so close to Jenni and yet maintain a wide berth to protect their privacy from the gossip machine that is the futfem circle in Spain. Alexia would bet Alba would be alerted all the way in Barcelona within 30 minutes if the midfielder was so much caught holding Jenni's hand by one of the girls on the team.

Their loyalty, especially among the Barça contingent, is strong.

But gossip is much, much stronger.

At least the first leg match against Germany for the Nations League final gives the catalana something to focus all her tense energy into instead of staring at Jenni longingly across the pitch.

It is comforting to have her original training partner back for drills. They fall back into step like they never left.

That isn't unsurprising to anyone on the team, so at least that raises no suspicions.

The first leg of the Nations League champions match in Kaiserslautern, Germany turns serious quickly. And not just because of the persistent rain and cold temperatures. Alexia is wet and cold but those thoughts are quickly overridden by the need to intensely focus on the play at hand.

The Germans are incredibly disciplined, physically tough, and have clearly studied how best to shut down Spain with the likes of Klara Bühl and Jule Brand posing as consistent threats in Spain's final third.

Spain sits back, trying to get a read on the match. Germany is playing with tight lanes, removing Spain's usual paths through traffic and resulting in the home team controlling more tempo than Alexia likes.

Sonia's game plan is to wait them out. A safe and conservative choice, but one that definitely is not going to give Spain any breathing room. The coach claims that they will have the advantage come the second leg when they're playing in front of an electric crowd in Madrid.

Alexia thinks forfeiting their best in this match to try and eek out the tie and place all their hopes on the Madrid match is a mistake. But she's not the first captain. She's not at Barça where her opinion matters. She is still a chess piece under control by the Federation. They may have a new head coach, but it's the same playbook and the same people in power.

The catalana navigates most of the match with a tight stomach. By sticking within Germany's established bounds and not taking the risk to open up lanes via stretching the field wide and high, Spain is one misstep away from Germany slipping a goal past Cata and taking the lead. That is the very last position Spain, and especially Alexia, want to be in, so she prowls in the midfield, interrupting Germany's possession as much as possible and playing forward balls that just skirt Sonia's direction.

Alexia gets a pinched lip look directed at her when she slips a perfectly weighted ball through to Esther to run onto. But a glance over at the bench sees Jenni leaning forward instinctively as Esther sprints into Germany's final third only to have the ball stripped. The madrileña leans back with a frustration that Alexia feels in her bones. This isn't Spain's usual style of play. The weather isn't helping, but the lack of strong leadership and decisive tactical changes now that they've seen just how strongly Germany is pushing forward by the coaching staff is largely to blame.

Germany dominate possession in the first half.

It pains Alexia to admit that when Spain are known for their ball carrying technical skills. But it is true. She has had to sit far deeper in this match than usual to counter the constant attacks by the Germans. Thankfully, attempts haven't landed and those that petered past Irene the defense have been stopped by some unreal reflexes on Cata's part.

Jenni leans over as they sit at their lockers at halftime, Sonia using far too many words to not really say anything at all.

"Germany think they have our number," the striker murmurs.

"They do."

"No, they did," Jenni corrects. "The second half is a whole new match. What are we changing? What are you," she points softly at the crest on Alexia's soaked jersey, "pulling out of the other ten players on the field representing Spain? They need a leader, Ale."

"That is Irene, she's first captain."

"And she's doing all she can, Alexia. But the defense is being hammered. Your voice in midfield is the game-changer. You connect her to the forwards. Without you, it's space and air and silence in a match that can afford none of those."

Alexia's brow furrows in thought.

"La Reina doesn't get left in Barna, Alexia. Let The Queen loose."

The catalana snorts.

Jenni smirks. There. That is what she wants to see. Alexia not stuck so deep in her head that she isn't present enough to be the visionary playmaker for the team, especially in the absence of an injured Patri.

The younger woman takes the madrileña's words to heart and rallies the team as they walk back out onto the pitch.

Irene gave the main speech in the dressing room. One about digging deep and increasing intensity and staying aligned.

But Alexia shares the war cry there on the grass, words traveling from player to player.

The captain covers the Sonia approved message.

The catalana does not.

We play our football. Here. Now she murmurs to Ona. Barcelona born means we represent our city every-time we slip on a jersey no matter what badge it holds. And this is not football I'm proud to claim for Barna. Let's change that.

Sonia is not on the pitch. We are. We adapt and overcome. We cannot end this match playing scared she states to Mariona. Germany will not bow down to safe, they will bulldoze over it. We play hungry now.

Whatever you need to do, Alexia mutters to Pina, ignite the fire. We need the wonder kid with the bullet leg. I know you were told to stay wide, but you belong in the box. Carve that space out for yourself and take any opportunity you get. We're not scraping by this match. We're winning it.

The change is visible from the start of the second half.

Spain actually find themselves with connected chances in front of Germany's goal.

The other team seems surprised as now they find themselves on the backseat of Spain's rapid possession-driven tempo shift.

Alexia takes a cracking shot only minutes into play, whipping a ball around towards the far post. It goes wide, but the whizz of the ball cutting through the air with speed ignites an electricity for the Spanish team that was missing in the first half.

The catalana is everywhere, dropping deep when needed to support Laia Alexandri in what is usually Patri's role. Alexia sends a pass up the line to Mariona who lets it roll through her legs, losing her defender when she turns decisively, collects the ball, and sends a cross into the middle of the box towards Esther who has a German defender close on her shoulder.

Esther's toe poke to redirect the ball hits to the post with a clang.

The crowd gasps. That was close to a goal. It only heightens Spain's hunger.

"Keep it up!" Alexia yells as they reset.

But Germany aren't willing to take the change in Spanish momentum sitting down. No, they counter. They push and drag and pull against Spain.

Klara Bühl has her own moment, ricocheting a shot off the post to match Esther's earlier almost goal.

The two sides settle in for a battle of a second half. But at least Spain aren't quietly absorbing, they're launching their own attack back. And despite the scoreline remaining tied come full time, Alexia is much happier with their performance the second half, even if a touch frustrated they couldn't get a shot to land.

"That score is because of you," Jenni states as the post-match greetings on the field wind down.

"Thanks," Alexia deadpans. "I know…I over curled that shot in the 48th minute. We could have won."

The striker shakes her head. "No, Ale. That tie is because you changed the atmosphere on the pitch in the second half. We were going to lose playing the way Sonia wanted. We both could feel that, no?"

The catalana nods. "Your words helped."

"Good. That's what I'm here for," Jenni states with a solemn smile.

Both have noticed the lack of integration of Jenni into the obvious starting XI training group when they split up for scrimmages. It has Alexia feeling some kind of way. It's like Sonia called her up just to use the same tactics as Montse, but even more veiled.

Jenni doesn't deserve it.

The team doesn't deserve to have their all-time leading goalscorer on the bench in a match where finding the back of the net in a decisive minute could secure them the win.

Much to the shock of most of the public, very little has changed within the RFEF. Conditions are better. Management is not. And the Federation wants very little of Alexia's opinion after the past few years. Her igniting the Se Acabó movement. Her testifying for Jenni along with Irene and Misa and Codi. Her and Irene spearheading the push of a large volume of Spanish players signing a petition to refuse to play for the badge until the situation with Rubiales and Vilda was addressed.

The Federation only wants her name in a marketing sense. They let her play football because it is undeniable that she is the best at what she does on the pitch, but the catalana is especially aware they are sharks circling in the water, waiting for the first sign of blood.

Alexia is tried. So undeniably tired.

The expectations are enormous. From fans. From teammates. From her club in particular with all the obligations and emotional weight that comes with wearing the colors of a club steeped in a long legacy and her own history and memory of her late father.

She is exhausted if she is honest.

It feels like pouring from an empty cup. Where she used to look forward to a new season with vigor and excitement, quiet tiredness now greats each new preseason, something she never thought would happen.

Alexia loves football. She lives it every day. But now nearing thirty-two, football isn't filling up all the cracks in her personal life like it managed in the past. And therapy has made that glaringly obvious to her.

She isn't quite sure what to do with that truth yet. Instead of tucking it away like she would have in the past, she allows it to exist but relegates it to the back corner while she moves forward with recovery and training and preparing for the second leg against Germany at home in Madrid.

The catalana knows the wear on her mentally is stacking up. These past years haven't been kind to her with the ACL injury and an almost punishing need to prove she could recover to her prior glory. She feels recovered. Different. But not worse. Goal accomplished, but at what end?

She wakes up in the morning with a long list of to-dos and an even longer list of expectations it feels like. She can hardly walk around Barcelona these days without being mobbed. And while she loves the fans, they helped build up the Femení just as much as she has, it's exhausting to not have a chance to just breathe and walk the streets that built her without being stopped by people, by demands, by obligations.

Jenni and their slowly blooming relationship have brought a breath of fresh air to her days. Now she wakes in the morning with a layer of excitement she didn't have before because she can always count on something waiting for her from the madrileña.

But Alexia knows now that she cannot run from the feeling waiting quietly but unsettled in the back of her mind by using Jenni as an escape. Not only because she never wants the striker to feel like she is a crutch Alexia is clinging to but also because Alexia cannot keep pretending that she is fine, that this cycle for the next four, six, eight years of her career is manageable when it is not.

Something has to change.

But first, the Nations League Final has to be won.

---------------------------

The air in the Estadio Metropolitano is positively electric with over 55,000 fans in attendance.

Alexia knows her Mama and family are in somewhere in the stands. And Jenni has even more members of her family here since the match is in her hometown of Madrid and after the hell the striker has been through on the National Team front in recent years, the catalana knows nobody was sure she would ever have a chance to don the red jersey again.

"I think this might be the last time, Ale," Jenni murmured to her the other day as they sat at a park nearby Las Rozas training facility in their small window of downtime.

"Why?" Alexia asked. She wanted to argue back that isn't true, but she has learned to lead with listening ears that open the conversation up to communication instead of injecting her opinion in right from the start.

"Sonia hasn't said anything, concrete, but that video they made? They didn't run it by me. It feels like a send off video when they haven't even let me set my boots on the pitch," the madrileña says with a sharp laugh. "It's like she called me up only to wash her image with the media and appear differently from Montse. But she isn't playing me. I mean sure she said she'll get me in at the end…but the end, Alex? As if I am only good enough to this team to be a late match substitution to time waste. I think she wanted me to announce my retirement from the National Team," Jenni states with a grimace. "But fuck that! I'm not going to let her use my name for her dirty work."

"Good," the catalana responds. "None of them deserve to absolve themselves of the situation the Federation doubled down on backing by using your name as a PR stunt."

Jenni nods. "Exactly."

"Do you resent me?" the younger woman asks quietly.

The madrileña's eyebrows pinch together in confusion. "What? No! Why would you ask that?"

"Because I wasn't dropped like they treated you? Because I'm still answering call-ups?"

"Ale, what RFEF and all these bullshit representatives for the Federation have done falls squarely on them. You couldn't stop it. You couldn't change it. I know people online like to place blame on your shoulders for some reason, but I sure don't. Am I sad I've lost the past few years that should have been the best of my career after we won the World Cup? Yes. Am I glad you and Irene have still been here to help guide the new players into conditions so much better than we ever had to battle? Absolutely," Jenni ends firmly.

"Your heart is too good for them," the catalana murmurs, a hand reaching out to squeeze the striker's thigh as their eyes stay locked, saying all the things they don't need words to verbalize at this point in knowing each other for over twelve years.

"But it's perfect for you," the madrileña replies, voice cracking slightly.

Alexia smiles, nodding. "The best thing for me."

So when the midfielder heads out onto the pitch for the final leg in the Nations League final, last in line where a dark-haired striker used to always reside, it feels like her purpose and Jenni's have merged into her 'why' for this match in particular.

Win for herself. To prove that the loses of earlier this year, the Champions League final and the Euros, belong to a version of herself that no longer exists, and therefore the weight of those failures are no longer hers to carry day-to-day.

Win for Jenni. To cement her name down in Spanish Federation history one more time—against the Federations wishes probably—by inking the madrileña's name onto yet another victory.

The only thing to soften the loss of the recent Euros earlier in the year came from a random Twitter comment that Spain has not won a single title without Jenni Hermoso on the roster. And while that didn't remove the ache of loss, it does make Alexia smile. Jenni cannot be erased from this team, her contributions are there in black and white. And no matter how hard the Federation tries, not all fans are willing to swallow down the narrative that the striker is anything less than one of the driving forces behind the success the Spanish team has found in recent years.

So this match is for Alexia.

It's for Aitana who broke a leg in an eerily similar trajectory Alexia found herself on in the 2022 Euros cycle, bleeding herself dry and running full speed towards a wall of reality that bounced her twenty steps back and onto her ass. The loss to the team is pronounced, especially with Patri already missing. Alexia holds out hope Sonia will slot Jenni into her spot on the right, but that very clearly becomes not part of the new coach's plan.

So this match is for Jenni too. To carve J. Hermoso into the record books for what is starting to feel like one last time.

This ending will not be like their failed Champions League final in 2021, when Jenni left Spain almost immediately after. It will not be the Euros this year when Alexia couldn't help propel the team over that last hurdle in the final against England. And it damn well isn't going to go like the last match in this Nations League championship.

For one, Sonia hasn't dictated that they should play reserved. As if any of them would abide by that request anyways with a final here at home in Spain in front of their people, their fans.

And secondly, because Irene gives over the reins to Jenni for the pre-match speech. For many of the youngsters who have been called up in the striker's absence, it's an awe-filled moment. Because despite Jenni always pointing to Alexia or Irene as the head of the squad, she is the heart. And she shares that with her call to the starting XI to carry them all out there with them in this final. It is not Germany's best eleven players against Spain's best eleven. It is Germany's best eleven players against Spain's best twenty-five even if only 23 were permitted to dress (Alexia sees how Jenni added that for Clara's benefit, the young midfielder left off the bench for this match but still included in the pre-match activities because she is a part of the squad) and Spain's 50-some-thousand fans.

Germany has a battle before them tonight, and it's while facing the entire army of Spain.

Alexia watches as the speech lights a sense of pride in the chests of the other players. She can manage that easily for Barcelona, but has a harder time rallying this mixed team of Barça and Real Madrid current or former players in quite the same way. Maybe because while she's proud of her accomplishments on the National Team, she bleeds for Catalonia in a way she never will for the country, not with the history between her people and those in the capital city pulling the strings.

The first half of the match is scoreless but Spain dominate possession in a flipped script from the last clash with Germany. They carry the ball more. They have more chances. They put the pressure onto the German back line. But the goals aren't falling.

Alexia watches Jenni pull Pina to the side during the halftime break, talking quietly but drawing the young attacker's attention despite all the noise going on in the dressing room. Jenni claps the young catalana on the shoulder, flashing her a smile before she sits down next to Alexia.

"What did you say to her?"

"What she needs to hear," the madrileña answers simply. "And that she should talk with Mariona about using one of our old moves—the one where I would pass off and you'd head for the center of the box, drawing all the defenders to you only to present your back to the net and lay off a perfectly weighted pass back to me at the top of the box. Germany is too singularly focused on ball first coverage to realize the trap."

"Smart," Alexia mutters, working out the play in her head.

"When you've been around as long as I have you learn a thing or two," the madrileña says with a shrug.

"You talk like you're ancient."

Jenni laughs. "Maybe not quite that old, but the years creep up on you."

"I know," Alexia admits. "I feel it."

"You should still be feeling young, chica," the striker jokes, "you're four years younger."

"Not sure it's your birth year that ages you but all the other bullshit you experience in that time."

Jenni's eyes sharpen. They aren't just joking around now. There is something there to talk about.

"Later," Alexia states quietly. "I'll tell you everything later."

The dark-haired woman nods as the team filters back out to the field for the second half.

Whatever words Jenni gave to Claudia, it lights a fire in the young striker. She scores using the precise move the madrileña mentioned in the 61st minute with Mariona assisting.

Vicky Lopez scores her own not even ten minutes later, pulling Spain up 2-0.

Jenni cheers from the bench, hands clapping as the youngster celebrates her rocket shot into the side netting.

Alexia grins.

Spain is winning this.

And two of her people, girls she's helped coach up the ranks on the first team, ones fans on the internet jokingly refer to as her kids, have been the ones to propel them to what is looking like an already secured victory.

Irene brings them all back down to Earth with a quiet "this match isn't over. We play like we're still tied, yes?"

Alexia nods, patting Vicky on the back one last time as she slowly jogs to the center circle for kickoff, taking the words to heart.

But Pina scores her own screamer of a goal not even five minutes after, taking the ball all the way into German's defensive third herself and shooting a rocket into the net.

Spain leads 3-0.

The youngster sprints to the corner, arms thrown wide in celebration.

Jana meets her first, the two going all the way back to their youth days together.

Jenni is quick to follow, arms wrapping around both of them as she drops her lips to Claudia's ear with a quick, "I'm proud of you. That is how you do it."

The entire team converges on the circle, the fans and the team feeling the likelihood of a win growing with each additional goal added to the scoreline.

Alexia ends up directly across from Jenni, their heads nearly touching. The catalana's head stays bowed as she wrestles with a small upsurge in emotion. This won't end up like the past. Spain are winning this match. And her unofficial promise to herself to make sure Jenni gets a win if this is her last time with the National Team is coming true. For once, it feels like things are all going to plan.

She bites her lip to stifle the half laugh and half sob that threatens to escape at that truth.

Jenni whispers in her ear, Catalan very rusty but still decent enough to get the point across. "They flourish now because of what you helped build before them," the striker states softly. "Look at this next generation. They are going to change the game, eh, Ale?"

And if that doesn't almost topple the catalana over the emotional edge.

She doesn't raise her head. Alexia knows the second her eyes find Jenni tears will start. And they can't. Not yet. Not with a match to still close out. Not with legacy still to cement.

Wait.

Jenni was at the corner flag, and that would only be true if she is warming up.

"You're coming in?" the midfielder asks as the group starts dispersing at the referee's insistence.

"Yep," Jenni states with a smirk. "You ready for your own goal, cari?"

Alexia can't stop the smile that answers for her as she jogs back to position.

Sharing a pitch with Jenni will always be a special occasion. All she can hope is Sonia gives her at least five minute with the madrileña before subbing off the catalana. Especially if this might be Jenni's last match in red.

Jenni's name is chanted throughout the stadium in the lead up to her taking the pitch.

Alexia can feel the shiver racing down her arms at the weight of it. This moment is something many people will never experience in their lifetime: the chant of a crowd just for you.

The catalana knows what it feels like. She doesn't have to describe it to Jenni because this isn't the first time the madrileña has experienced it either.

And that is one of the beautiful things about their connection. They've lived the majority of those moments side-by-side. There is no need to explain something in words when both lived it in the moment. Alexia knows exactly the level of emotion hitting Jenni in how the striker swallows thickly before jogging onto the pitch.

They don't get five; they get eight. Eight glorious minutes where Jenni's contributions to the game are still so evident. A poked ball through to Athenea and the resulting play almost gets Alexia her goal. The ball soars high, though.

Alexia's goal never comes. She is subbed off eight minutes after sharing the pitch with Jenni again. But she's more than content with the ending when the final whistle blows and she's gotten to spend the last four minutes of the match watching Jenni play.

She's still magic.

She still drags the ball through multiple German players like she's walking the dog on the streets of Madrid, not playing a highly competitive game with some of the best footballers in the world.

Nobody makes it looks as effortless as her.

And Alexia realizes she wants more of this. More playing with Jenni before either of them hang up their boots for the last time. More watching the madrileña up close. More time together and less oceans apart.

That nugget of truth joins the pile at the back of her mind, the one cataloging all the ways in which Alexia's desires for the future have morphed this year, all the ways she has grown and maybe no longer fits the life she has like she once did.

But before they unpack that…champagne and dancing and medal photos with Irene and Jenni. A win each year for the past three years—one World Cup and two Nations League championships.

What a ride they've all been on together. And capping it off with another title win—the three of them the last of the remaining inaugural 2015 Spanish squad that qualified for the country's very first World Cup tournament—feels like the ending they deserve.

---------------------------

Their attempt to keep a lid on their resurgence of romance lasts exactly 30 minutes after they all make it back to the dressing room.

The kids pull Alexia into an argument over which one is her favorite. Claudia argues first kid in means she's the automatic winner. Vicky chirps that if she was the favorite why does Alexia keep collecting new children? Jana argues she's clearly the winner because of a recent visit to London. Clara stares in utter bewilderment.

Alexia pleads the fifth.

Jenni eggs them on only a little bit.

But when Alexia's heavy sigh tells Jenni just how much weight the catalana is carrying, she can't stop herself from pulling the catalana into a tight hug. And when Alexia just sinks into her hold, the striker realizes in all the chaos within her own life lately, they haven't spent much time talking about what is happening in Alexia's world. From the way the midfielder completely sags into her chest, there is a lot to unload here.

Clara hesitantly walks over not long after, clearly set up by the cackling group behind her of Vicky, Pina, and Jana.

Jenni can't stop her snort.

Alexia groans in annoyance.

Clara skitters back to the group who are losing their minds.

And when the madrileña cracks a semi-joke about being referred to as Dad instead of Mami in this weird pseudo-family they created with the youngsters, Alexia makes a comment that unintentionally lands in Jenni's chest about the striker being around for the fun bits but not the hard ones.

"Ale, you know I want all of you, yeah? The easy and the hard. All of it?"

"I know," the catalana sighs. "I'm just tired. This season has been long already."

"It just started," the striker murmurs softly, "what's really going on?"

Alexia looks around the room, nodding at Irene and then the group of youngsters off to the side in an unofficial handoff of responsibility. The defender rolls her eyes but nods in acceptance.

"Want to go shower?" the catalana asks softly.

Jenni's eyebrows raise. "Together?"

Alexia's hand reaches out to sway at her stomach softly. "If you announce it to everyone it sure won't be together."

The striker closes her lips tightly, reaching into her locker for her shower bag as Alexia does the same.

Stepping out of the main room and heading for the hallway that leads to the showers, the noise lessens.

Alexia's shoulders drop, battery already drained from the match and the post-win energy. She needs a recharge if she's going to survive this celebration after party.

The two silent peel off their kits, dropping the items into the large push cart meant for the kit manager to handle tomorrow. Both grab a towel from the rack near the showers and push open the door.

It's silent. Some of the team have already showered. The rest are still vibing and making TikToks (knowing Vicky).

Alexia walks into the very end shower, turning the handle on the water to two ticks shy of scalding. She jolts as cold hands find her hips, lips settling at the base of her neck as Jenni presses up against her.

"No funny business," Jenni states softly. "Let me take care of you, okay?"

The midfielder hums in appreciation, head tipping back onto Jenni's shoulder as the older woman pulls the curtain to the cubicle closed and grabs Alexia's body wash, gently soaping up one arm and then the other before descending down.

"You've been carrying the weight of the world, hmm, querida? Want to tell me about it?"

The catalana sighs. "I'm exhausted," she confesses.

"From this past week?" the striker asks, perceptive to the fact that this weariness isn't a short-lived things.

"No," Alexia replies. "Since my ACL, I've emptied myself every season. Every last drop I wrung out on the pitch season after season. And I'm not sure I can keep doing it."

"It's not healthy," the striker agrees.

"Nothing about the sport at this level is healthy," Alexia amends.

Jenni's hands pause before restarting their slide up the catalana's tattooed back. "It can be healthier, though," the madrileña replies. "Maybe not at Barcelona," she adds, well aware of the pressure and expectations having been the clubs lead goal-scorer for a spell before Alexia dethroned her.

The younger woman sighs. "I know," she murmurs barely audible. "I'm not sure I can do another season."

The striker sucks in a breath. How readily Alexia has admitted she sees her time coming to an end at Barcelona is a bit of a shock. The woman has always said she would stay in blaugrana as long as she could serve the club but that she would never overstay her welcome. So, Alexia's willingness to look at what comes next isn't surprising. But her making the decision before the club has indicated the tide may be turning is.

Jenni wraps her arms around the catalana's front. She knows how tied Alexia's heart is the club and the legacy due to the memories of her father. That is not a statement said lightly. "You have given Barça your heart, Ale. If it feels like it's time to say goodbye to save yourself from burning out of the sport completely, then do it. You know I was at that fork in the road too?"

Alexia turns in the hold, eyes searching. "No. When was that? After Paris?"

The striker smiles . "No, if anything I had more of a drive after Paris to get back to Barcelona to be with you. But this last time. When I left. It's why I chose Mexico."

The midfielder bites her lip, struggling with whether to voice what she's thinking.

A tattooed thumb reaches up and gently pries Alexia's bottom lip out, swiping over it affectionately before dropping her hand down to the hip it rested on before.

"Say it, Ale."

"You…you didn't leave to Mexico because of me? Because of the breakup?" Her voice cracks at the end. It is still a painful memory for both.

"I left Barcelona because I couldn't be on the same team and watch you love someone else," Jenni states with a pained expression. "But I had offers from Atleti and even Real Madrid. WSL teams made offers. I had one from the French league and a couple from Germany too. I could have stayed in Spain or Europe. I chose Mexico because I was so close to just walking away from football altogether. The pressure felt too much. The fan speculation and name calling and trolling online was too much. My passion had waned. But I felt something different when talking through the Mexico offer. It felt like the early years of Liga F. When we were building up something others weren't aware even existed yet. When the football was the main focus, not our personal lives or expectations for a Champions League title every year."

The silence lingers for a minute as Alexia's gaze stays locked with Jenni, searching for something that helps her believe Jenni is speaking the truth and not just a softened version to protect her heart.

"You left Mexico to fall in love with football again? Not to fall out of love with me?"

Jenni smirks. "Well clearly if I fled to Mexico to fall out of love with you that failed spectacularly, no?"

The catalana laughs, her forehead dropping to Jenni's shoulder in a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

"I went to Mexico to rediscover a love of football that would sustain me for the rest of playing days, querida. And it sounds like maybe you need to dig in to discover what you need in that regard too, no?"

Alexia nods. "It feels like such a big decision…"

"Because it is, Ale. And it's scary, no? You've played for Barcelona basically your entire professional career. It will be a massive change when you do leave the club for everyone. But that doesn't mean you should avoid making the change if that is what you've decided you need."

"Everyone will be so disappointed," the midfielder whispers.

"Everyone can get the fuck over it," Jenni replies instantly with a snort. "All I care about is your happiness. And for once, that is what you should prioritize—not the club, not the team, not the fans. You. We have limited time in this career in the first place. The love for the sport will always exist; we both know that. But one day we'll wake up and never make our living kicking the ball again. You should make your choices with that future in mind, my love. What will leave you happy and thriving when that day comes instead of drained and lost."

"You always know just what to say," Alexia replies.

"No, I don't," the striker responds with a laugh. "I'm just four years older, so I'm hitting some of these milestones before you and having to figure it out as I go. And I know you, Alex. I know what goes on in that heart and head of yours."

"Some things have changed. You know, with therapy. I've changed."

"Sure," the madrileña replies with a smile, "but the core of you is the same. You have always been consistent in who you are, Ale. You carry around this duty to your family, your people which leads to a predisposition to drain yourself to make sure you have enough to water everyone else. You take care of people. That has always been the truth. And I have always been here to love you the the way you love everyone else. To make sure your cup gets filled too."

"I love you," Alexia replies quietly. "More than my 'duty'. More than watering everyone else. I knew it before but didn't quite have the strategies to trust my heart over my head. That is what therapy has solidified for me."

"I'm not sure I've said it enough," Jenni replies, turning Alexia around as she reaches for shampoo, hands threading into wet locks and lathering up the soap. "But I'm so proud of you. For giving therapy a try. For sticking with it. For carving out peace for yourself. I can see it: the calm behind your eyes now where anxiety used to live in wait. I can only imagine the knotted mess your chest would be with all these considerations of what comes next in your career if you hadn't done the work you have in therapy this year."

"I think therapy is why things feel so much clearer for me on the fact that I'm near the end of my time with Barça. I love the club. I'll always be a culer. But I'm ready to be a fan in the stands instead of the main attraction for once."

Jenni snorts, turning Alexia around to rinse out the soap, hands never leaving the midfielder's locks. "You will always be the main attraction wherever you go, mi reina. That will never change."

Alexia rolls her eyes but flushes lightly at the term of affection Jenni used to call her year back when a small contingent of fans first bestowed that title upon her.

"Is that how it's like in Mexico for you?"

"Much less than Spain," the striker replies, dropping a kiss to the side of Alexia's temple, the midfielder now all showered.

The catalana's hands take over, tracing tattoos down the madrileña's bicep as she reaches for the body wash with her other hand. "That sounds nice," Alexia mutters to herself.

"It is," Jenni responds with a sigh as hands slide down her body, pressing into muscles and washing away the stickiness of champagne sprayed on her by Cata and the sweat from both playing and jumping around in the team mosh pit celebratory dance party when they first made it back to the locker room. "It's like the days from before. I get to leave the footballer on the pitch mainly and just be Jenni outside those lines."

"I miss that," Alexia states with a sigh. "I'm not sure any league can give me that anonymity again."

"Probably not," the madrileña agrees.

"But I think I'm ready to say goodbye to the version of me who needed Barcelona and football to survive my papa's death. The game, the club, it saved me when I thought my whole world was over. And," the catalana states softly, "I think…I think I have repaid them both for saving me."

"You more than have, Ale," Jenni affirms quietly. "And he would be so incredibly proud of you. With or without the titles. Because you stayed true to yourself, and you've impacted so many people, so many other girls, because of all your work off the pitch. Football was a shared passion you two have, but the love he carried for you was not based on it."

"How do you know?"

"Because are we so different? Our relationship?" Jenni asks, dipping into the stream of water to quickly wash the soap out of her hair. She wants Alexia to fully understand the comparison here. Only once she's finished and can lock their eyes again does she continue talking. "Football brought us together. Football is a passion we carry so deeply inside ourselves it seems impossible to separate from our identities most of the time. But my love for you? It has nothing to do with what you can do with a ball or how many trophies you have amassed. It has nothing to do with your Ballon d'Ors. It has nothing to do with you being the best footballer in the world. I am proud of you for all of that, don't get me wrong. But I love Alexia. Not La Reina. And you dad was exactly the same."

Alexia is crying. Tears mixing with droplets from the shower head.

"Thank you," she whispers, the striker's words landing like a balm to one of her biggest worries about walking away from this era of her life in blaugrana. She has been silently worried (and ignoring it for now) about losing the connection the club gives her to her dad. She has been scared imagining him watching from wherever souls go after death and shaking his head in disbelief at her willingly leaving the club of her life, of his life. "Thank you for always carrying me through the storm."

"You do the same for me," Jenni whispers, her head dipping down slightly to touch their foreheads together.

The sound of reggaeton grows louder and someone with it blaring from a speaker heads towards the showers.

Jenni sighs and laughs lightly. "Odds that is one of ours making a racket?"

"Very high," Alexia respond dryly, reaching a hand out to turn off the water.

"How did we end up responsible for so many kids before we actually have our own baby?" the madrileña asks rhetorically.

Alexia freezes mid-motion of wrapping the towel around her body.

Jenni only notices a few seconds later when she's wrapped her own around herself and begun to gather their water bags, containers of soap returned to their respective owners. "Ale, what's wrong?"

"You—" the catalana's voice cracks. She clears it, eyes dropping as she searches for an ounce of composure. "You said 'our baby'."

Jenni smiles softly. "I told you that future I envisioned had our kids and grand kids in it, no?"

Alexia nods, mind floating over all the possibilities, still somewhat in shock.

"I want that," the younger woman whispers softly. "I want that with you."

The striker laughs lightly, "Good, Ale. Maybe marriage first, eh? And finding our way back to the same country. I think an ocean apart might make the whole sharing of the middle-of-the-night wake ups a little difficult," she jokes.

"You wants kids. With me. Someday?"

"Querida," Jenni replies, voice sincere where it could be teasing. "I want it all with you. You know that, right?"

Alexia nods.

She does.

She knew it once before too. But then the original plans went up in smoke and Alexia wasn't sure she would ever be able to rebuild what existed there once before. But here is Jenni, offering her reassurance that while things have shifted, time has passed, and they've both grown and changed for the better, their joint future is still waiting beyond the doors of tomorrow.

---------------------------

The night is long and full.

Alexia is grateful for the time she and Jenni had alone in the shower before the chaos of the night truly began.

She typically needs quiet and alone time away from everyone else to recharge her social batteries. Jenni has always been the exception. And if that is not an obvious sign the woman is her person, Alexia's isn't sure what could be clearer. Well besides the way she always finds herself gravitating into Jenni's orbit, even from across the room.

The madrileña is magnetic.

Alexia had every intention of finding her family, of celebrating with them the way Jenni is with hers.

But instead she blinks and finds herself steps away from the grinning striker, her hand already reaching out and slipping into Jenni's own before she can stop herself.

Jenni looks over, gaze softening as she pulls Alexia into her side by their linked hands.

The madrileña's family aren't surprised in the slightest, folding the catalana easily into their conversation. And while Alexia enjoys being around Jenni's family, she really would rather have the woman to herself.

Her eyes can't stop roaming over the striker's body.

The promise of them tonight has her body burning hot, incrementally increasing in desire the longer Alexia watches Jenni navigate the crowd. A hand sliding through her hair as it tips back in laughter. Dimples flashing as her brother makes a joke. Biceps flexing as she gestures animatedly to her cousin.

Alexia's palm finds its way to her clothed abs, feeling the contraction as Jenni tightens her stomach in response to the unexpected touch.

But the dark-haired woman seems to understand exactly the point Alexia has entered: horny and hungry for a private celebration.

It doesn't take Jenni long to make a probably poorly veiled excuse for their retreat. Judging how Rafa rolls his eyes, he definitely isn't blind to the reason. But Alexia has no shame about it. She's known him long enough for him to be like a brother to her as well. And, well, she's been existing in a dry desert of no sex for a while now, the last time being when her and Jenni had sex after the Ballon d'Or ceremony in September.

A lot has happened since that night.

They have talked plenty.

They have supported silently.

They mended themselves.

And now they get to reap those rewards.

Somehow they almost escape without any notice.

At least until Jana finds them at the coat check. "Well, well, well, Mom and Dad are skipping out for a little kid free time, huh?"

"You are an adult, Jana. You can just say sex," Alexia responds.

"Ew. I don't want to think about my parents having sex!"

"Your parents are in the back corner of the room talking with Pina's parents," Jenni responds with a grin.

"I have two sets of parents," the young defender states. "The ones who raised me in the world. And the ones who raised me on the pitch."

"That is…" the older catalana states softly, trailing off as the emotion of it lands.

"We love you too, kid," Jenni finishes, her hand squeezing Alexia's.

It's a soft and quiet moment. One that leaves Alexia thankful for the ragtag family her and Jenni have created because of the sport.

And then Jana opens her mouth and ruins it. "Oh and we all know you two at the very least showered together after that win. There are bets on whether you fucked when we were all literally 30 feet away. Results are inconclusive, but the investigation is ongoing."

"You little—" Alexia growls, a hand reaching out to swat at the youngster's head.

Jana laughs and dodges the hand.

"Oh, if we had sex you would have known," Jenni states with a smirk. "Ale is loud and shower rooms echo."

"My poor ears!" Jana cries, covering them with her hands as she runs away.

"You probably just scarred her for life," Alexia states, watching the girl retreat back into the party to share the newest information with Vicky and Pina.

"Good, maybe the kids will give us the night off to properly celebrate without interrupting," the madrileña breathes, lips pressing a soft kiss into the back of Alexia's neck, the catalana's head still turned and watching Jana's dramatic retelling of the past five minutes.

"Take me to bed," the catalana whispers.

And on that note, they slip out of the team's after party for a much more intimate setting.

The suite downtown Jenni reserved is impressive. Despite not being unfamiliar with the high life, Alexia stares in awe at the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the lit Madrid skyline.

"Did I do good?" Jenni whispers, sliding up behind Alexia, words soft in the quiet air of total privacy they've found themselves in for the first time in over a week.

The madrileña specifically chose a room in a different hotel from the team accommodations. Nobody knows where exactly they are right now. Their phones are silenced, giving them complete solitude for the evening.

Alexia turns away from the lit city, much more interested in the view in front of her. Arms looping over the striker's slightly taller shoulders, she answers, "this is perfect."

Jenni smiles, and that is when Alexia's restraint finally breaks. She's been so good this week. Through training sessions and group bonding and team dinners. Her hands have largely stayed to herself. She's only had like four sex dreams which thankfully totally escaped Mariona's awareness since the woman sleeps so deeply. Irene would have been a much different story.

So when the catalana has a surge of affection run through her chest at Jenni's smile being directed at her, she lets her body do what it has wanted all week.

A hand cups the back of Jenni's head, angling it down until Alexia's lips capture the madrileña's in a hungry kiss.

She told herself she was going to take it slow. But the build-up to this moment has been so agonizing that taking her time is physically impossible.

Alexia walks forward, her front pushing up flush against the striker. But she doesn't stop, continuing forward until Jenni is forced to step back. And again. And again. Until finally the madrileña feels that back of her knees knock into the mattress, and Alexia's next advance sees the older woman falling back onto the bed, hands braced behind her.

Jenni raises an eyebrow in appraisal. "Well then…"she murmurs.

The catalana smirks. "I told you I have plans."

"Let's see these plans, then," the striker teases.

Alexia doesn't respond, one hand pressing back lightly on Jenni's shoulder in a non-verbal ask to lay back while her right hand deftly pops open the button on the striker's jeans and pulls down the zipper.

Jenni inhales audibly.

Amber eyes flick up to land on green, watching as the madrileña's wave of arousal hits, Jenni's pupils dilating as a soft groan leaves parted lips.

Alexia moves quickly, sliding the striker's jeans and thong down in one motion and flinging them onto the floor. She doesn't stop there, hands reaching for the hem of Jenni's shirt and efficiently divesting the woman of that as well.

Jenni arches an eyebrow as the catalana pauses for a second, eyes raking over all the bare skin on display before her. Well, except for the black bra currently staring at her in challenge.

The midfielder leans down, mouth landing on Jenni's. She quickly slips her tongue inside as her hand slides behind the striker's back, fingers working quickly to unlatch the claps with impressive skill.

Jenni chuckles into the kiss, clearly feeling Alexia's own smirk. The madrileña goes to buck her hips up and flip Alexia onto her back. But the catalana sees the move coming. Still settled in the older woman's lap, she locks her ankles around the striker's, stretching those long legs out to the side and rendering them useless for the time being.

"Want you on your back," the striker groans, breaking the kiss.

"No, I call first orgasm," Alexia replies firmly.

"That sure sounds like I should be making you cum first," Jenni argues. "Flip to your back," she tries to direct.

The catalana raises her eyebrows in mockery and slides down the madrileña's naked body, leaving open-mouthed kisses the entire way down until she settles on her stomach in between Jenni's knees.

"Have you forgotten who is in cha—" the madrileña starts lecturing, her words falling off mid-sentence as Alexia's tongue drops between the striker's legs.

Jenni's words fall off in favor of a loud moan as the midfielder licks a wide strip up to her clit, ending with the bud sucked into her mouth. "Fuck, Ale," the older woman cries out.

Alexia presses her face in even closer, tongue flooded with the taste of the striker's arousal.

Tattooed fingers dig into brunette locks, pulling at the roots as the build-up happens fast and furious, almost tinging on the edge of too much.

Jenni moans loudly when one of the catalana's forearms reaches up to pin her hips down on the mattress, taking away the little thrusts up that were the striker's only saving grace from the relentless pace Alexia has set.

When the midfielder's tongue flattens and hones in on just her clit, flicking and dragging and swirling around the bud, the madrileña's back arches, a hand disentangling from Alexia's hair as it grasps desperately at the sheets.

A loud cry fills the space, something that is a mangled version of the catalana's name and an expletive all mixed into one.

Alexia doubles down her effort, knowing she has the dark-haired woman at the point of no return.

Jenni's thighs clench around the midfielder's ears as her body starts shaking with the force of her orgasm. "Oh, oh, oh," she moans as she crests over the edge.

The woman is usually pretty quiet. Alexia is the loud one. So to have the striker on the edge of needing to be shushed with the volume of her moans, the catalana feels a pride blooming across her chest. This must be that while Jenni may tease Alexia about how loud she gets, always looks so smug about the fact at the same time. It is intoxicating to know you are the reason another person has broken so completely from reality that all they can do is act on instinct.

Jenni lets out a shaky gasp, legs falling from around the midfielder's ears helplessly as her body rolls into aftershocks, still occasionally twitching from the force of her orgasm.

Alexia doesn't move, still situated between those long legs, still pining the striker down by her forearm.

"Come here," Jenni rasps, motioning for the younger woman to crawl back up the bed.

The catalana, though, has other plans. She stays exactly where she is, although the tongue lashing rolls back into soft open-mouthed kisses through the last of the striker's tremors.

"Ale," the madrileña sighs as the younger woman kisses from her knee up to the apex where her thigh meets her core. In this, Alexia takes her time, giving Jenni the opportunity to lose some of the hyper-sensitivity that follows crashing over the edge.

But all to soon for the striker's liking, Alexia's tongue finds its way back to her drenched slit, sliding along the folds and lapping at the wetness found there.

"Too much," Jenni moans.

The midfielder disengages only long enough to argue back, "Not too much. You can take it," before her tongue is right back in position.

And when the madrileña doesn't argue back, only moans deeply as the midfielder's lips suction around her clit, Alexia knows she is locked in for orgasm number 2.

The catalana takes a slower approach this time, a fair bit of her insatiable need bled out in the high of Jenni's first orgasm. It's softer and slower and gentler all around.

Which is why the striker seems almost surprised when the peak hits. "Alexia, I'm gonna cum," she says in a breathless murmur, hands tightening in the younger woman's hair as she presses her in closer.

The dark-haired woman isn't as loud this time, but her soft, whimpering sighs fill the silence even more than before, letting Alexia know this one isn't any less intense of a fall.

"Oh, Ale," Jenni sighs in pleasure as the bottom fades out. "Shit, I've missed your mouth," she giggles when the catalana pulls back with a soft pop, chin drenched but grin wide.

Wiping her face on the bottom corner of the sheet, the midfielder finally crawls back up the bed, arms lading on either side of Jenni's shoulders as her knees straddle the striker's waist.

Jenni pulls her immediately into a kiss, humming at the taste of herself on Alexia's lips.

The catalana groans into her mouth when the striker swipes for entrance with her tongue.

And that is the precise moment Jenni pushes two fingers into Alexia's positively soaked opening, escalating the midfielder's groan into a broken moan.

In an echo to Alexia's early relentlessness, the madrileña sets a punishing pace—fingers thrusting deeply and curling to drag along the younger woman's front wall as she retreats, only to repeat it on the next thrust in.

Alexia has been on edge since the older woman's first orgasm, so with the pace and Jenni's honed knowledge of just what spot to graze inside her walls, she's a writhing and moaning mess in minutes.

As her focus narrows down to the pulse in her core, the catalana drops down to her forearms, struggling to hold herself up amidst the shaking that is setting in as her own orgasm looms, large and intense.

The noises falling from her lips are unrestrained and primal.

Groans that are pulled up from the bottom of her chest every time Jenni's long fingers graze that spot along her front wall that has her eyes rolling back into the midfielder's head in pure pleasure.

Whines of despair as fingers pull out from her channel and an emptiness is instantly noticeable.

Moans when they push back in with power and purpose, stretching her in a deliciously filling way.

The final break comes from a whisper, though. Jenni's specifically.

"I'm here, mi amor. I'm right here."

Alexia's body breaks, walls clenching tightly, thighs shuddering, head thrown back, and mouth open in a silent cry of release.

Jenni stays seated inside, fingers curling slowly to aid the bleed out of pleasure.

She's never hit the point of the catalana going silent in orgasm before. And judging by the way she can still feel her fluttering around her fingers, the intensity of this release is largely the reason.

Alexia finally finds her voice again, a whimper releasing with the breath she has been holding.

Jenni stills, slowly pulling her fingers out and guiding the midfielder down flush against her body.

The catalana is quiet. Her mind is blissfully calm. Her body feels heavy in the best way. And the warmth in her chest is a feeling she wishes she could bottle for the hard days.

The madrileña presses a kiss to her hair and Alexia feels an intense surge of affection race down her spine where tattooed fingers gently trace lines on her bare skin.

"D'you rem'ber when I took you home to meet my Mama?" the midfielder slurs in exhaustion.

"What?" Jenni laughs breathlessly.

"After you asked me to be your girlfriend," the younger woman clarifies, tipping her head back to lock eyes. "When I re-introduced you to her and Alba as my girlfriend now?"

The striker chuckles. "Of course I remember…"

---------------------------

Mollet del Vallès, Spain — September 2014

A knock on the front door has Alba raising her eyebrows from where she's setting the table for four. "Since when does Jenni knock?" she asks the kitchen.

Eli shrugs, continuing to plate the last of the lunch items.

Alexia shoots her a look, a pink flush on her cheeks that wasn't there a second ago. "Hush, Alba," she chastises as she moves to open the door.

"Hush what?" the younger catalana calls out petulantly. "Jenni always just always in. Ever since that date you refused to talk to me or Mama about after, you've both been weird. Jenni hasn't visited once. Did it go bad or something?"

"Alba, shut up," Alexia moans before opening the front door.

The dark-haired madrileña stands on the other side, a bottle of wine in hand and a box from the local bakery. "I brought drinks and dessert!" she says cheerfully.

Alba looks at the box suspiciously. "Are you trying to buy my favor with pastries?"

"Absolutely," the striker immediately responds. "Is it working?"

"You missed our show on Wednesday night," the youngest Putellas responds with a frown. "It's a ritual. Where were you?"

Jenni chuckles softly. "Sorry, Albs. I had a long recovery session—my calf has been bothering me. And I ended up falling asleep as soon as I got home. I texted Ale at like midnight when I woke up. She didn't tell you?"

Alba glares at her older sister who is uncorking the wine bottle. "She sure didn't," she states with a growl.

"Get your own friends," Alexia replies with a shrug.

"Friends, huh?" Jenni whispers as she passes behind the midfielder, arms already opening to greet Eli.

Once the food is on the table, the wine has been poured, and they are all sat, Alexia clears her throat.

Alba looks up suspiciously.

Eli looks up expectantly. If Alexia has something to say, it means it is something important.

Jenni looks up smugly.

"I wanted to do introductions," the midfielder states.

"For fucking who?" Alba asks. "Is someone else joining us?"

"Alba. Language," Eli responds.

"This is Jenni," the catalana continues without acknowledging her younger sister's outburst.

"We know who Jenni is, fill," Eli states with a smile. "And she's welcome here anytime."

"This is Jenni…" Alexia reiterates, "my girlfriend."

Silence and then a please gasp. "Oh, girls, this is wonderful news!" Eli cheers, a hand reaching out to squeeze both of their arms.

Alba's gaze flickers from Alexia to Jenni and back to Alexia. "This is how you chose to tell us? Madre mía, Alexia, you are so awkward sometimes!" the younger Putellas states with a laugh.

The older Putellas feels her ears warm with the flush of being called out.

Jenni smiles warmly at her. "I loved it," she says simply. "Now pass the oranges," she tells Alba. The younger catalana rolls her eyes but does as directed, something she never does for Alexia. Jenni peels the orange as conversation rolls into Alba's latest school drama.

And then she quietly halves it and drops one part on her plate and the other on Alexia's. "A half orange for my half orange," she states quietly with a cheeky grin.

Alexia laughs lightly, accepting the orange and popping a segment into her mouth. "An orange has never tasted this sweet," she replies.

Alba fake gags. "No…no, no, no," she directs at them, pointing from one to the other. "You cannot flirt like that in front of me. It's child abuse."

Eli rolls her eyes at her youngest daughter's dramatics.

Jenni laughs and reaches over to pinch Alba's cheeks. "La bebé is so sensitive," she coos.

Alba swats at her arm, her dramatic frown lifting into a laugh.

And Alexia sits back, chewing her orange slowly to savor the moment. Jenni is hers. And her mama and Alba have claimed her too. It is everything the catalana could want and more.

---------------------------

Madrid, Spain — December 2025

"I don't have an orange on me," Alexia states slowly, brain battling the post-orgasmic fatigue that has her body craving a nap. "But if I did, I would give you half," she finishes.

"A half orange for your half orange?" Jenni replies with a soft smirk, realizing instantly the implication from the catalana. "Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Ale?"

"Girlfriend seems so juvenile for what we mean to each other," the midfielder replies. "But, yes. Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Only if you recreate the exact scene where you told your Mama and Alba we were dating the first time," Jenni teases.

"You'd have to come back to Barcelona with me for that," the catalana replies.

"You say that like it would be a chore," the madrileña states with a smile. "I want to see them. I want more time with you."

"I just thought with your mom recovering…"

"I was thinking I'll spend the week or so here with my family. I know you head back tomorrow for your match against…" Jenni trails off, unsure which team it is exactly.

"Tenerife," Alexia fills in with a sigh. "And then Benfica, Badalona, Paris FC, and Aváles before I get a break."

"You need to have that talk with your Mama, no?" Jenni questions softly.

"I'm doing it when I get back," Alexia replies. "I want to get it over with. It's been following me along all season already. Just more weight to carry."

"Good," Jenni replies. "Do you want me there?"

"I always want you with me," Alexia replies honestly. "But I think this is a conversation I need to have with just Mama and Alba."

The striker nods in understanding. "You'll call me after, though, so however it lands, you're not alone in processing it all?"

The catalana nods. "Of course. My matches this week are away, but the two next week are home games..."

"Then I'll see my girlfriend in Barcelona then," Jenni teases with a smirk.

Alexia rolls her eyes but laughs as her eyes flutter closed. "Can't wait, mi media naranja," she mumbles as the sleep she's been battling against for the past few minutes finally successfully pulls her under. It has been a long week and an even longer night.

"I love you, Alexia," Jenni whispers, watching as the catalana burrows closer into her chest at the noise.

"Hola," the midfielder murmurs softly.

Jenni huffs out a laugh. "So demure for someone who told me she's planning on jumping me after we win this final," the striker quietly murmurs.

Alexia's ears heat up. "Jenni!" she hisses, looking around to see if anyone overheard.

The madrileña just tips her head back and laughs, a hand reaching out to squeeze Alexia's tightly as she is called over to the fitness coach across the gym for her initial assessment.

Camp is in full swing from that moment forward.

Gym sessions. Recovery. Stretching. Field training. Tactical meetings.

The days are packed full. The atmosphere is intense and focused.

Jenni brings an air of competitive challenge, often convincing others to stay out on the field even after hours long sessions to work on their first touch or free kicks or penalties. She makes it fun like she always does, but the edge of challenge that follows every professional athlete leads to passionate arguments on who won and a level of goading that has been missing in her absence.

Mariona, Leila, Jana, Irene, Jenni, and Alexia are the usual group. Vicky and Clara sometimes join, sometimes just to watch. With Misa not in camp, Alexia convinces Cata to stay in net for them, upping the competition. Pina hangs around as a result, usually sitting off to the side but upping the shithousery with her commentary and poking comments.

It is a fun week, even with the stress of the upcoming final.

But Alexia is suffering.

Because Jenni looks happy and light and everything that makes the catalana's heart jump in her chest. All she wants to do is wrap herself around the striker. All she wants is to bury her nose in the crook of the madrileña's neck and sink into her chest.

But instead she settles for glances across rooms and inconspicuous touches designed to not raise suspicion. Alexia is fairly certain Irene knows. But then again, Irene knows basically everything that happens on the team somehow. Cata and Pina still grumble at how she always stops their shenanigans before they even get started.

It is agonizing to be so close to Jenni and yet maintain a wide berth to protect their privacy from the gossip machine that is the futfem circle in Spain. Alexia would bet Alba would be alerted all the way in Barcelona within 30 minutes if the midfielder was so much caught holding Jenni's hand by one of the girls on the team.

Their loyalty, especially among the Barça contingent, is strong.