can u make smut for lamine yamal ?? any plot is okayy
VIRGIN BOY;
⤷ ゛masterlist ˎˊ˗
lamine yamal x f!reader.
dating.
note: thanks for ur req!
mdni. smut.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you thought lamine was experienced but in the middle of the act, you notice that he's probably a virgin.
you had been dating lamine yamal for a few months now.
he was always so sweet with you, stealing moments after training to pull you into quiet corners for soft kisses, sending you silly voice notes when he was away with the national team and showing up at your door with your favorite snacks after long days.
everyone around him assumed he was this experienced guy.
the way girls used to throw themselves at him and how the media painted him as a young heartthrob with a list of exes.
you never pushed. you loved the way he blushed when things got a little heated.
one quiet evening after a big win, you were both in his apartment, curled up on the huge couch watching a movie.
lamine kept glancing at you instead of the screen, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh under the blanket.
you turned to him smiling and kissed him softly.
the kiss deepened quickly, his breath hitching as you climbed into his lap, straddling him. his hands settled on your waist, gripping a little tighter as your tongues met.
“i want you,” you whispered against his lips, feeling the heat building between you.
lamine nodded and carried you to his bedroom like you weighed nothing.
clothes came off slowly. he was so gentle, worshipping every inch of your skin with his mouth.
you could feel how hard he was against your thigh, his body trembling slightly with anticipation.
when you finally guided him between your legs and he pushed inside you for the first time, you both moaned at the feeling.
he was thick and warm, stretching you perfectly, but something felt off.
his movements were hesitant, a little clumsy, like he was concentrating too hard not to hurt you.
you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and noticed the way his hips stuttered, the slight wince on his face mixed with pure bliss.
that was when you tilted.
you cupped his cheeks, slowing him down gently as you looked into his eyes.
“lamine… baby, have you done this before?” you asked softly.
he froze for a second, burying his face in your neck, embarrassed.
“no...” his voice came out quiet and shy.
your heart melted at his confession. you kissed him deeply, running your fingers through his hair.
“it’s okay, we’ll go slow,” you smiled.
lamine relaxed against you, nodding as he started moving again, this time with more confidence guided by your praises.
you showed him how to roll his hips, how to find the rhythm that made you gasp his name.
it turned into something hotter, sweat-slicked skin sliding together, his moans growing louder and more desperate every time you clenched around him.
he was a quick learner, soon thrusting deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb found your clit, circling it shyly at first then firmer when he heard how much you loved it.
you smiled through your moans, pulling him closer so your bodies were completely flush.
the room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
lamine lasted longer than you expected for his first time, focused entirely on making you cum first.
when you finally tightened around him, shaking with pleasure, he followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a broken groan of your name.
afterwards, he didn’t pull out right away.
he stayed on top of you, catching his breath, pressing soft kisses all over your face and neck.
“thank you for being patient with me. next time i’ll be even better, i promise.”
you laughed softly and held him tight, running your fingers down his back.
“you were perfect, lamine.”
the two of you stayed tangled together under the sheets for hours, talking quietly, laughing about the rumors and how wrong everyone had been, sharing gentle touches and more kisses until sleep took you both.
he was inexperienced but so full of love and eagerness to learn everything with you.
♔ Alexia Putellas gets a little too interested in a Bayern analyst, and suddenly “professional distance” stops being very professional at all.
♔ Author’s Note: Is this anything? Let me know please, I was very enthusiastic but now very uncertain haha!
♔ Not spell- or grammar-cheked, also not reread.
♔ Word count: approx. 8,200
➳ Masterlist
➳ Dividers by @diviniyae
25th of April 2026 - Allianz Arena, Bayern Germany
There was always something strangely unsettling about being inside a stadium before the crowd arrived, when tens of thousands of empty seats were mocking you. The Allianz Arena felt enormous like this, glowing beneath the evening sun while staff hurried through the stands making final preparations for the evening ahead, and for a brief moment it was difficult to imagine that within only a few hours the entire stadium would look a lot different.
Bayern had already arrived and spread out by the time Barcelona stepped onto the pitch for the pre-match inspection, players and staff scattered across the field with the easy confidence of people standing on familiar ground. It was their stadium after all, their territory, and they carried themselves like they belonged there.
But Alexia could see the nerves lying beneath the surface, no matter how brave and intimidating Bayern tried to appear - she wasn’t scared, and neither was the rest of the team.
Pitch inspections had become routine to her. A chance to feel the grass beneath her shoes, feel it in her hands, adjust to the atmosphere of the still empty stadium and see her opponents before kickoff. But as Barcelona spread out across the pitch, the blonde's attention caught on someone standing near a goalpost.
While most of Bayern’s training staff stood huddled together near the bench, already relaxed and laughing amongst themselves, one lone figure had wandered further onto the pitch entirely on her own. An iPad was tucked securely beneath her arm while she held a notebook and pen in her hands.
If not for the moving pen in her hand, Alexia might have mistaken her for a statue with how still she was standing. Not even looking down to see what she was writing, instead completely focused on how the girls from Barcelona behaved and moved on the pitch - even if they were just walking around and joking.
Alexia found herself staring at the mystery woman much more than she should.
The difference between her and the rest of the Bayern staff felt unsettling to the captain - so concentrated and isolated while the rest were already done with the inspection and were just chatting in a corner.
“Who is that?” Alexia asked quietly, more to herself than anyone else. Mapi followed her gaze and shrugged. “No idea. Maybe an analyst? Bayern’s got like five of them.”
She didn’t really expect her teammate to have a useful answer but was disappointed by the answer nonetheless. Just as she was about to tell her as much, she felt a stare settle on her.
Alexia looked up, and the stare didn’t falter. She was still and composed, pen hovering above her notebook, as if she had been studying Alexia just as closely as Alexia had been studying her.
The moment stretched for only a few seconds, but it was enough to feel deliberate, neither of them in a hurry to look away first. Then, almost casually, the woman lowered her gaze back to her notebook, breaking the connection with a small shift of her shoulders before continuing to write as if nothing had happened at all - but Alexia could see the small smirk on her lips.
The blonde frowned slightly.
She had expected something. A reaction, a flicker of recognition, anything that showed the woman knew exactly who she was - Alexia Putellas, two-time Ballon d’Or winner, with more than enough titles under her belt to intimidate most opponents.
But there was nothing.
“She’s weird,” Patri muttered, having just caught the end of her captain’s interaction. If you could even call it that.
Alexia didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were still fixed on the goal area, watching the way the woman moved a few steps closer, completely absorbed in whatever she was writing down.
Then, without really thinking about it anymore, Alexia turned her head slightly. “Bühl?” she called as the German approached them.
Klara Bühl looked over. “Hm?”
Alexia nodded subtly towards where the woman had just sat down, leaning against a goal post “Who is she?”
Klara followed her gaze, then let out a small laugh, like the answer was obvious. “Oh,” she said, “that’s our tactical assistant coach. She basically runs half our tactical prep.”
Alexia’s eyes drifted back toward the goalpost almost immediately.
The woman still hadn’t moved much, now sitting against the white metal frame with one knee pulled up slightly while she wrote something down across an already crowded page of notes. Every now and then her gaze flicked back toward Barcelona’s players, focused and thoughtful in a way the Catalan found increasingly difficult to ignore.
And before she could properly think things through her feet were already moving towards you.
“Oh my god,” Patri groaned somewhere behind her. “You’re actually going over there?”
The woman noticed her approach long before Alexia reached her and just stared at her while she was making her way over. Before the captain had reached her, she had stood up, the pen had stilled and the notebook had been closed and vanished into a coat pocket.
Up close, she looked younger than Alexia expected, however the stare didn’t waver and was still scary as hell.
For a moment neither of them spoke, just sizing each other up. But the blonde broke first, nodding to the coat pocket, “Find anything useful?”
The corner of the woman’s mouth lifted slightly.
“That depends,” she replied smoothly, finally closing the notebook. “Are you planning on making this easy for us?”
The faint smirk still lingered on your lips, subtle enough that Alexia almost thought she had imagined it, but there was something undeniably amused in the way you watched her now, as though her walking over had only confirmed whatever conclusion you had already come to.
“Confident,” Alexia noted lightly.
One of your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Would you prefer I wasn’t?”. The Catalan found herself caught off guard for half a second by how easily you held your ground beneath her stare.
Up close, you somehow seemed even calmer than before, completely unaffected by the fact that the Alexia Putellas was standing directly in front of you. There was no nervousness in your expression, no awkward fumbling for words.
And it unsettled her more than she cared to admit, how your eyes seemed to constantly analyse her.
“What exactly are you writing down?” Alexia asked after a moment, nodding subtly toward the notebook now tucked away inside your coat pocket.
You tilted your head slightly, considering her question for a second before answering.
“Tactical adjustments, patterns, weaknesses.” That small smirk appeared again, just barely visible at the corner of your mouth. “And maybe,” you said smoothly, “which Barcelona players are easier to distract than others.”
Before she could respond, someone further down the pitch called your name sharply and said something in German. Your attention shifted immediately toward the Bayern bench before returning to Alexia one last time.
“You should probably go warm up properly, Putellas,” you said calmly as you stepped around her. “I’d hate for all those Ballon d'Ors to lose against Bayern.”
Then you walked away before Alexia could think of an answer good enough to stop you.
Usually warming up before the match was calming, and helped Alexia focus on the game. The familiar rhythm of drills, repeated movement and stretching were addicting to her, but this night was different, no matter what the blonde tried her attention kept drifting off.
The stadium was slowly filling up with supporters clad in red and white, while music echoed through the speakers - just enough to entertain the people but, but quiet enough that conversations were easy to overhear.
Barcelona had been warming up for nearly ten minutes before the Bayern staff started to take their places on the bench and behind it. Her eyes immediately found your figure again - the reason for her distraction.
Just behind you was a woman that appeared to be close to your age, also dressed in staff gear, holding a cooler of Powerade while you walked slightly ahead, flipping through the notebook with concentration.
Alexia could hear the woman talk to you in English, the Brit was loud enough that her words made their way over to the captain, but she only caught part of it at first.
“... seriously need to relax.”
She could only scoff at the woman’s words. Relax? You certainly didn’t look stressed. You barely looked up from the page. “I am relaxed.”
The woman snorted beside you. “Right. Because stalking Barcelona’s warmup from the goalpost definitely screams relaxed.”
Alexia’s mouth twitched despite herself, just a bit amused at how passionately you had watched them.
You finally glanced sideways at the woman with weary eyes. “It’s called tactical preparation.”
“Sure,” she said dryly. “And I’m sure your actual coaches appreciate their little overachiever assistant doing all the hard work for them.”
Something about the comment immediately bothered Alexia.
Maybe because of how quickly you went quiet afterward. Or maybe because Alexia had already spent enough time watching Bayern’s technical area to know your role clearly extended far beyond “assistant” and that it simply wasn’t true.
You only stood quiet at the comment, eyes already dropping back to your notes. The woman sighed quite loud and dramatically. “God, you’re impossible before matches,” then, quieter this time, “You act like you’re the one actually coaching.”
Alexia’s jaw tightened, her eyes locking onto the British woman beside you. Because from everything she had seen so far, it certainly looked like you were coaching and analysing.
And judging by the way your shoulders stiffened almost immediately beside the woman, this clearly wasn’t the first time she had said something like that.
Eight minutes.
It had taken Barcelona all of eight minutes to be ahead.
The stadium erupted instantly in anger, as Ewa Pajor disappeared beneath a crowd of celebrating Barcelona players. If there’s one thing the polish woman knew how to do, it’s score goals, especially against Bayern. No matter if in Barça’s blaugrana or Wolfsburg’s neon green.
Alexia patted the goalscorers back with pride and satisfaction while her gaze swept to the sideline where the Bayern bench looked shocked.
The head coach was already speaking rapidly to one of the assistants beside him, frustration clear in every sharp movement, but you had gone strangely still again, eyes locked onto the pitch with that same intense concentration Alexia remembered from the inspection earlier.
And then suddenly you moved - the notebook was gone, replaced by the iPad tucked beneath your arm as you stepped directly into the technical area beside the coach, who stopped talking immediately.
The Catalan didn’t have more time to observe your actions closely as play resumed, she did however see Giulia Gwinn make her way over to you in the coaches box, where she listened to your instructions.
Bayern’s shape changed almost instantly after Gwinn made her way back and made a few gestures that clearly meant something to the others.
The midfield line dropped slightly deeper whenever Barcelona tried building through the center, forcing them wider instead. Bayern’s strong and experienced wingers stopped tracking aggressively and started blocking passing lanes first - effectively shutting every attempt on goal down.
Alexia frowned slightly as she jogged back into position after another corner, eyes flicking toward the bench area again. The head coach had stepped back already but you hadn’t.
You were still standing near the line, one arm folded across your chest while the other held the iPad against your side, eyes constantly moving across the pitch as Bayern reorganised themselves exactly the way you had indicated moments earlier.
You were observing and shaping the game. Just as a content smile made its way onto your face the Brit tugged you back by the jacket, out of Alexia’s sight.
The whistle for halftime couldn’t have come sooner, finally letting you breathe for a moment as Barcelona still led, but only barely. The home team's adjustment had worked well enough to slow the game down, much to the frustration of the Spanish team.
As Alexia made her way toward the tunnel, she found you again - hands full with an iPad, notebooks and a tactical board. You flinched when a heavy hand landed on your shoulder.
“Nice adjustment,” she said casually, her spanish lilt soft in your ears. For the first time all evening, you looked genuinely surprised. Then your expression settled back into something smoother, more controlled, though Alexia didn’t miss the faint satisfaction that flickered across your face at the compliment.
“Careful, Putellas,” you replied lightly. “People might start thinking you enjoy talking to me.”
Alexia’s mouth twitched upward, a cocky smirk settling on her lips. “They wouldn’t be wrong.” And before you could answer that one, she disappeared further down the tunnel alongside the rest of Barcelona’s squad.
The second half started much messier than the first had ended. Barça still had most of the possession, moving the ball across the pitch with the same irritating patience and speed that had frustrated Bayern in the first half. But the home side looked sharper, hungrier.
The equalizer came in the sixty-ninth minute. The Allianz Arena exploded in cheers, the second Franzi Kett buried the ball into the back of the net with a stunning shot assisted by Pernille Harder. Bayern's bench erupted into chaos, finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.
Alexia swore quietly under her breath while Bayern’s players disappeared into celebration near the corner flag. And despite her teammates teasing comments from earlier, her eyes searched for you again. For the first time all evening, you weren’t composed, no you looked thrilled.
One of Bayern’s assistant coaches grabbed your shoulders excitedly while players on the bench shouted toward you, and for a brief moment you laughed openly, the sound completely swallowed by the roaring stadium around you.
Your face looked much softer when you were this happy.
However, the game turned ugly quickly after that.
The foul happened directly in front of the sideline with the team benches and the coaches boxes. One second Franziska Kett was desperately trying to recover against Salma Paralluelo, the next Salma hit the ground with an angry shout as she held up some strands of hair - the referee’s whistle cut sharply through the stadium noise.
At first, nobody seemed too worried - only a couple of weeks earlier Katie McCabe didn’t get anything for her action.
Then the referee reached into her pocket.
Red.
The entire stadium erupted instantly.
Bayern players crowded the referee almost immediately while the Barcelona bench shouted for the decision to stand, and a few meters away Kett looked completely stunned as she backed away slowly with both hands pressed against her head.
José Barcala was already storming out of the coaches box furiously, shouting so aggressively toward the ref that everyone could hear it. Several staff members tried unsuccessfully to calm him down, but the Bayern coach only grew louder.
Then came the second red card.
The stadium noise somehow became even louder.
Barcala stared at the referee in disbelief before being forced away from the sideline by security and staff members alike, still shouting over his shoulder while Bayern’s bench dissolved into confusion around him.
You were already stepping forward before Barcala had even fully disappeared down the sideline tunnel, one hand reaching automatically for the tactical board while Bayern’s assistants and players turned toward you.
Alexia watched as you spoke rapidly in German, pointing sharply toward the pitch while Bayern’s players looked uncertain, now a player down and desperately trying to reorganize.
A strange thrill settled low in Alexia’s chest as your eyes lifted briefly from the tactical board and met hers across the pitch again. In the middle of complete chaos, you looked terrifyingly calm and completely happy.
The final whistle finally released the high strung tension of the crowd. The Allianz Arena erupted into a relieved applause as Bayern’s players collapsed into each other, congratulating themselves on making it through the game.
After saying good game to her opponents and teammates alike Alexia made her way back over to where you were standing on the pitch. The captain pointedly ignored Pina’s wiggling eyebrows. You looked tired for the first time since she’s met you, while your fellow staff celebrated.
“That was good,” Alexia said as she stopped in front of you, slightly breathless. “Very good.” Your eyebrows only lifted a bit in surprise at the kind words. “We still only drew.”
“Sí, but after all this?” Alexia gestured vaguely toward the pitch with a small scoff. “With ten players and crazy coach?” A grin pulled at her lips. “Vale, maybe you save them a little.”
A soft laugh escaped you as you shook your head, knowing damn well that the catalan herself wasn’t happy with a draw, always wanting to win.
Before you could make her aware of her hypocrisy, the British woman from earlier suddenly appeared beside you again, a possessive hand on your shoulder. Well, she hadn’t exactly materialized out of nowhere, but Alexia had been far too busy admiring your smile to notice the woman approaching.
“There you are,” she sighed dramatically in a heavy English accent before finally noticing Alexia properly. “Oh.” You straightened slightly. “Alexia, this is Emma.”
“Her girlfriend,” Emma added smoothly before you could say anything else. Well. That certainly wasn’t what the footballer wanted to hear, but she could see something unreadable flicker across your face for the briefest second.
Emma, meanwhile, looked far too pleased by the attention she had gotten by such a prominent figure of women's football. “I handle travel schedules and staff accreditation for the club,” she explained quickly. “Matchday logistics mostly.”
Alexia blinked once. Because the way Emma had been talking and behaving all evening, she had half expected her to be running Bayern herself.
Then Emma laughed lightly, nudging your side. “She takes football way too seriously honestly. I swear she cares more about tactics than actual people sometimes.”
“Hmm.” A faint smirk pulled at her lips. “One organises buses, the other organises football.”
Emma’s smile faltered slightly and for the first time all evening, she didn’t seem to have a response ready. “Right,” she muttered after a second, patting your shoulder once more before stepping away toward the rest of Bayern’s staff.
The Catalan looked back at you with a much softer smile now.
“So,” she said casually, switching the conversation back where she wanted it, “you like Spain?” Your head lifted again, confusion flickering across your face. “What?”
Alexia grinned faintly. “Barcelona.” She shrugged. “Maybe one day we steal you, no?”
This time your laugh sounded more genuine as you tilted your head, “Can Barcelona even afford me?” you asked lightly.
Alexia’s grin only widened.
“For you?” she said smoothly. “Vale. Maybe I ask president personally, huh?”
27th of April - Barça Training Facilities, Barcelona Spain
Back in Barcelona the analysis session had been over for nearly 20 minutes, but Alexia was still there, reviewing their lines against Bayern and what went wrong. Pere Romeu stood beside her, arms folded as he watched his captain re-watch the game again and again.
“The adjustment they made after our goal, that wasn’t Barcala,” she said suddenly.
Pere glanced over briefly. “Hm?”
Alexia pointed on the screen where she could see you talk to Gwinn, giving her the changes they were supposed to make. “That was her.”
A small smile pulled at the coach’s mouth, like he had been waiting for somebody else to notice. “She’s good,” he admitted simply.
She crossed her arms loosely. “You need another assistant?”
That earned her a proper look this time. Pere leaned back slightly against the desk. “Why? Are you recruiting for me now?”
“Maybe,” Alexia replied without shame.
The older man laughed quietly before glancing back toward the frozen image on the screen where you stood near the sideline, iPad tucked beneath your arm.
“She already applied.”
Alexia blinked.
“What?”
“For next season,” Pere clarified casually. “Not officially finalized yet, but we’ve been watching her for a while.” Something strange twisted low in Alexia’s chest at that. “She wants to leave Bayern?”
Pere shrugged lightly. “From what I heard, Bayern’s not exactly trying very hard to keep her, and they’re losing a few of their core players of the last few seasons as well.”
“Well,” she said lightly, already turning toward the door, “sounds like Barça will be happy about that.”
02nd of May 2026 - Barça Press room, Barcelona Spain
The heat in the press room felt unbearable in preparation for the second leg of the semi final, now in Barcelona. Not only the heat of so many people in a room without windows, the bright lights or the cameras heating up, but also the what of the questions.
Alexia sat upright beside Pere Romeu, hands loosely clasped in front of her, though she wasn’t really listening to the final questions anymore, her attention drifting in small, toward the other side of the table where you were sitting with Klara Bühl and bombarded with questions about the red cards and how you’ll move on from it as a team.
“Alexia,” a journalist called from somewhere in the middle rows, voice cutting cleanly through the room as the last of the movement settled, “in matches like this, how much do you think influence from the bench actually changes what happens on the pitch, especially when the coaching structure shifts during the game?”
Alexia leaned back slightly in her chair, hands still loosely interlaced, listening properly this time and taking a moment before she answered.
“It depends,” she began slowly, slightly measured, “but in games like this… you can feel when something changes from outside, no?”
She paused for a second, searching for the right word, eyebrows drawing together slightly.
“Like… hm… how do you say… when someone is seeing the game before it happens?” She glanced briefly toward Pere, then shook her head lightly, continuing anyway. “Sometimes it is not the coach shouting, it is someone who is… already there, mentally.”
“And that kind of influence can decide matches?” The question came again, a bit sharper now.
Alexia exhaled softly through her nose, almost amused.
“Sí… It can be very dangerous, or very good. If you understand football like that… you don’t need to be on the pitch to change everything.”
The end of the press conference couldn’t have come sooner in your opinion, as chairs were scraping back and journalists started talking to each other.
Alexia stood with Pere, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder when she saw you pass just a little too close to the edge of the exit path, holding one of your notebooks against your chest.
The hallway outside was quieter, dimmer after the harsh lights of the press room, the noise of voices bouncing further down toward the exit. Pere was a step ahead of her, when a movement at the edge of the corridor near a side passage caught her eyes. The blonde gestured to her coach that she would see him tomorrow, telling him she wanted to use the washroom before leaving.
In front of the bathroom you sat on a bench, files iPads and notebooks stacked on top of each other as one of them dropped. With a soft slap of paper and leather it landed on the florór, sliding slightly before coming to rest near the wall.
Alexia got to it first, picked it up and looked at the open page. Your handwriting was dense, chaotic and a mess of german and english.
A small sound left her, halfway between amusement and disbelief at seeing her name in there. “Hm,” she said quietly, tilting the notebook slightly so you could see what she was looking at.
You shifted instantly. “That’s private.”
“No,” Alexia replied easily, finally looking up at you with far too much confidence for someone currently invading your privacy, “I think maybe you should watch us again, vale?”
“I watched you for ninety minutes.”
“Mm.” She tilted her head slightly, unconvinced. “Not enough, clearly.”
The smugness in her voice only made you step forward quicker, reaching for the notebook before she could continue embarrassing you further, but the second your fingers nearly brushed the paper, Alexia reacted faster.
Her hand closed around your forearm smoothly, almost lazily, while her other arm lifted the notebook higher and further away from you in the same motion.
The movement was so effortless it completely caught you off guard with how easy it clearly was for her.
Her hand was large and warm against your skin in the cold hallway, fingers firm around your arm while she held you back without even properly looking like she was trying, and for one brief second your body simply stopped responding the way you wanted it to.
Alexia noticed the lack of bite coming her way, and looked at you again - amused by the flicker of surprise across your face and the way your eyes darted down toward where she was holding you before lifting back up to her again.
And the smile that spread across her face after that was unbearably smug. “Ah,” she said softly, amusement dripping through every syllable now, “mira eso.”
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“If I knew you go this quiet when I hold you like this,” she continued, voice lower now, teasing in a way that made heat crawl annoyingly fast into your face, “maybe I do it earlier, hm?”
Your mouth fell open slightly in disbelief.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, trying once more to tug your arm back, only for Alexia’s grip to tighten just enough to stop you again with ridiculous ease.
“Sí,” she agreed immediately, completely unashamed. “But you are still trying.”
The worst part was that she looked entirely too pleased with herself now, dark eyes flicking between your face and your arm in her grasp like she was enjoying every second of watching you realize exactly how much stronger she was than you had expected.
Then, almost casually, she tilted the notebook again.
“Hm,” she hummed teasingly, “and this here is definitely wrong.”
You groaned quietly. “Alexia…”
“No, no, listen.” She laughed softly now, clearly having the time of her life. “You think you understand us, but maybe you are too distracted every time I look at you.”
“That is not happening.”
“Mm.” Her eyebrows lifted knowingly. “You sure, cariño?” Heat rushed even faster into your face at that, making your cheeks burn and eyes divert. “Ah,” she grinned, satisfaction written all over her face now, “there she is.”
You stared at her in disbelief. “You’re so annoying.”
“Venga,” she scoffed lightly, finally letting your arm go, though not before her thumb brushed once against your skin almost absentmindedly. “You started this when you stare at me from goalpost like psychopath.”
“I was analysing you.”
Alexia’s grin only widened. “Sure you were.”
Only then did she finally lower the notebook enough for you to snatch it back, though she kept standing far too close afterward, eyes still fixed on your face with amusement.
“You know,” she added lightly after a second, “for someone so scary before the match, you get very quiet when I touch you.”
You scoffed softly, trying to ignore the heat still sitting in your face. “You’re unbelievably full of yourself.”
“Mm, maybe.” Her grin only widened slightly. “But I am also right. ”Your eyes narrowed at her while you gathered your notebooks back against your chest. “Do you flirt with everyone like this?”
A slow grin spread across Alexia’s face. “Cariño, you are not everyone.” The answer came far too easily.
Before you could recover properly, her gaze flicked briefly toward the notebook in your arms before returning to your face again.
“And your girlfriend?” she asked casually, though the curiosity beneath it was obvious. “She knows you get like this?”
You blinked once, then let out a soft breath through your nose. “Emma’s not my girlfriend anymore,” you corrected calmly. “Hasn’t been for a while.”
For the first time since picking up your notebook, Alexia looked genuinely caught off guard.
The reaction only lasted a second before something far more pleased settled across her face instead, slow and smug and entirely too satisfied for your liking.
“Ah,” she murmured softly, unable to stop the grin pulling at her mouth now. “This keeps getting better for me.”
You rolled your eyes immediately. “You’re unbelievable. What’s with the sudden obsession?” Before she could answer that, the bathroom door beside the bench suddenly opened.
Klara stepped out first, still fixing the sleeves of her hoodie before she stopped dead at the sight in front of her.
You standing flustered with your notebooks clutched against your chest.
Alexia standing far too close with the most self-satisfied expression Klara had ever seen on another human being.
The German blinked once. Then slowly looked between the two of you again. “…Oh my god,” she muttered in disbelief.
Your face immediately hardened. “Don’t.”
Klara ignored you completely, her gaze moving slowly between the two of you before one eyebrow disappeared into her hairline. “…Why are you two standing so close?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nobody is standing close,” you answered immediately. At the exact same time Alexia said, completely calm, “We are having conversation.”
Klara stared at both of you for a second.
Then her eyes dropped briefly to your face, clearly noticing the embarrassed look and wide eyes, before looking back at the Barcelona captain, who still looked unbearably pleased with herself.
You let out a long sigh. “Please don’t start.” But the winger was already grinning now. “You flirted with her,” she accused Alexia outright. The Catalan only shrugged lightly, entirely unashamed. “Maybe.”
Klara looked between the two of you again, visibly trying and failing not to laugh.
“Wow,” she said slowly, eyes lingering on your still warm face, “I leave for five minutes and somehow you’re the one losing your head?”
“I’m not losing anything,” you shot back immediately.
Alexia hummed softly beside you, clearly unconvinced. “No?” she asked innocently. “Then why you look at me like that?”
Your mouth opened briefly before closing again when absolutely no good answer came to mind fast enough. Which only made Alexia’s grin widen.
Klara outright laughed this time, folding her arms across her chest. “This is incredible actually.”
“You’re both annoying.”
“Sí,” Alexia agreed easily, not taking her eyes off you for even a second. “But only one of us has you blushing in hallway, no?”
You shot Alexia one last look, still visibly flustered and annoyed all at once, before adjusting the notebooks against your chest again. “Enjoy your ego while it lasts, Putellas,” you muttered dryly. “Tomorrow I’m making your life miserable for at least ninety minutes.”
The grin on Alexia’s face only widened at that. “Ah, vale,” she laughed softly, “there she is again.”
You rolled your eyes hard enough that Klara snorted beside you.
“Come on,” you said, nudging the taller blonde sharply with your elbow as you finally started walking down the corridor. “Use those stupidly long legs and move your ass. Some of us actually have work tomorrow.”
“Excuse me?” Klara called after you, laughing in disbelief as she hurried after you with far less dignity than she probably wanted.
“And good luck tomorrow,” you called over your shoulder. “You’ll need it.”
Alexia let out a quiet laugh through her nose, shaking her head as she watched you disappear around the corner with Klara still complaining beside you in German.
“Qué mujer,” she muttered under her breath, still smiling long after you were gone.
03rd of May 2026 - Camp Nou, Barcelona
Camp Nou was already loud by the time Barcelona stepped onto the pitch for warmups, fans clad in blaugrana trickling in and filling the stands, music echoed around the stadium. Normally the atmosphere helped Alexia settle into herself before a match, but tonight her attention kept drifting elsewhere.
Straight toward Bayern’s bench.
You were already there, standing near the technical area with an iPad tucked beneath your arm while clips from the first leg flashed across the screen in front of you. Two analysts stood beside you, along with Gwinn and Bühl, all listening while you pointed something out with quick, sharp gestures toward Barcelona’s midfield shape during rondos.
“Madre mía,” Mapi muttered after catching her staring again. “You have a serious problem.”
Alexia scoffed immediately. “I am warming up.”
“With Bayern’s assistant coach?”
“She is a tactical assistant,” Alexia corrected automatically.
Mapi’s grin widened instantly. “Ah, so now you know the exact title too?”
Patri snorted somewhere behind them while Alexia ignored the both of them with as much dignity as possible, though the smug looks on her teammates’ faces made that increasingly difficult.
A shout cut through the noise, forcing Barcelona back into drills, though even then her gaze kept wandering between passing sequences and stretches. It wasn’t until a short water break that your eyes finally lifted from the iPad.
Straight toward her, but you only smiled faintly before looking away again, continuing your conversation with Gwinn as if nothing had happened.
“Alexia!”
Pere’s voice snapped across the pitch sharply enough that several players turned.
The blonde looked over. “Sí?”
“You plan to finish warming up today or keep scouting Bayern staff for me?”
Patri nearly folded over laughing, catching herself on Pina’s shoulder, while Alexia rolled her eyes hard enough to make Mapi shove her shoulder teasingly.
“Very funny,” she muttered under her breath before jogging back into position.
Still, when she glanced toward Bayern’s bench one last time, she caught the corner of your mouth twitching upward again.
Barcelona came out aggressively from the very first whistle, moving the ball with sharp, suffocating movements that immediately forced Bayern deep into their own half. Within the opening minutes they had already created two dangerous chances, one forcing a strong save from Mahmutovic while another flashed narrowly wide after a quick combination through midfield.
Once the match started properly, Alexia’s focus narrowed almost completely toward the game itself.
This was a Champions League semi-final at Camp Nou. There was no room for distractions once adrenaline took over. Every movement became automatic, and Bayern spent most of the opening minutes trying desperately to survive Barcelona’s intensity.
The pressure finally paid off in the thirteenth minute.
A quick switch of play pulled Bayern’s defensive line apart just enough for Salma Paralluelo to attack the space behind Gwinn, and once she got through on goal there was never really any doubt about the outcome. Camp Nou erupted as Salma buried the finish confidently into the bottom corner before disappearing beneath celebrating teammates.
Alexia barely even looked toward Bayern’s bench afterward, already jogging back to her position while Barça tried to keep momentum high.
But Bayern answered almost immediately.
Only four minutes later Linda Dallmann found space after a messy second ball dropped awkwardly outside Barcelona’s box, and before anyone properly reacted the midfielder drove the ball low past Cata into the corner.
Alexia swore quietly under her breath while retreating back, frustration flashing hot through her chest. Bayern settled deeper after that, slowing the tempo wherever possible while Barcelona tried forcing openings through the middle again.
Then came the twenty-second minute.
The attack itself was ugly, the ball bouncing wildly around Bayern’s box after a corner while defenders desperately threw themselves in front of every attempt. One clearance failed, then another, until suddenly the ball rolled loose toward the penalty spot.
Straight to Alexia and her instincts won.
One touch. Strike. Goal.
The stadium went nuts around her, teammates on and off the pitch screaming as the culers started another chant.
Alexia turned immediately toward the sideline as the net rippled behind Mahmutovic, and this time, her eyes found you instantly.
Without slowing down properly, she angled her run closer toward Bayern’s coaches box before dropping into her familiar celebration, a bow, with a smug grin pulling at her mouth.
Directly toward you.
Then, just before teammates crashed into her from behind, Alexia lifted her head again and winked.
You just stared at her for half a second too long before rolling your eyes sharply and gesturing for your players to reset. But the Catalan still caught the reluctant twitch at the corner of your mouth before she disappeared beneath celebrating teammates.
The match settled into something scrappier after that.
Bayern dropped deeper and deeper, trying to slow Barcelona’s rhythm whenever possible while frustration slowly crept into challenges across midfield. In the twenty-ninth minute Stanway earned herself a yellow card despite her protests.
From there Bayern focused almost entirely on surviving until halftime.
Barcelona dominated possession while Bayern defended and tried to calm the game down whenever possible to get it back to their side. One minute of added time appeared on the fourth official’s board.
Then finally, at 45+1, the whistle for halftime echoed through Camp Nou.
The tunnel under Camp Nou was loud with halftime movement, boots echoing off concrete as both teams filtered away from the pitch, and Alexia barely had time to reset her focus before someone bumped lightly into her shoulder and, when she turned, there you were walking beside her, Bayern jacket half open and iPad tucked under your arm.
“Nice goal,” you said casually, though your eyes lingered on her just a fraction too long. “Bit dramatic with the celebration.”
Alexia’s smile came immediately, easy and unbothered as she kept walking in step with you. “Ah, you watching very close hm?,” she said, voice warm with amusement, letting the words roll a little as her gaze flicked over you.
“Hard not to when you bow in front of our bench.”
That earned a quiet laugh from her, low and pleased.
“Vale,” she replied, leaning just slightly closer as the tunnel narrowed around them, “so you like it enough to remember.”
You shot her a sideways look. “Don’t overthink it.”
Alexia tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully as if she was weighing something she already knew the answer to, and then she said it, light and almost teasing as they kept walking, “you trying to get into my head?”
The captain saw the shift in your expression, the brief hesitation before you recovered, and the corner of her mouth lifted as she softened into something almost fond. “Mm,” she added, quieter now, amused rather than sharp, “cute.”
Your stare sharpened immediately. “It’s not…”
“Tranquilo,” she cut in easily, still smiling like she’d already decided what she thought, “I like it.”
A voice called your name from further down the tunnel, pulling you away as you turned your head and began to step back toward Bayern’s dressing room. “Second half,” you said over your shoulder, regaining yourself quickly, “don’t get too comfortable.”
Alexia’s grin lingered as she watched you go.
“No promises,” she called after you, still amused, before finally turning toward Barça’s dressing room and shaking her head once under her breath.
The second half started with a similar energy.
But Barcelona came out sharper, faster, more ruthless in possession, and it didn’t take long before Bayern started getting pushed deeper again, forced back into survival mode as the pressure built.
In the 54th minute, the breakthrough came again.
A quick combination through the left half pulled Bayern’s defensive line just half a step too late, and Ewa Pajor didn’t need a second invitation, she finished and Camp Nou erupted as Barcelona stretched the lead.
Two minutes later, Claudia Pina came on for Caroline Graham Hansen, and immediately Barcelona looked even more dangerous in the final third, the game speeding up with fresh legs as Bayern tried to adjust.
Then in the 58th minute, it happened again.
From the right half, Pina floated a long free-kick cross toward the far post, Esmee Brugts rose to meet it and nodded it back into the danger area, and there, half turning, body already falling, Alexia connected instinctively, guiding the ball into the far corner.
She celebrated only briefly, turning toward the crowd with that familiar lift of her arm and a grin.
She didn’t dwell on it then, not with the game still alive, not with Bayern still dangerous, and her attention snapped back into place almost immediately as Barcelona pushed forward again, not giving up.
When the 85th minute board went up and her number appeared, she already knew what was coming, on her way toward the sideline she clapped for the fans in thanks, handing over the captain’s armband to Patri.
There were tears in her eyes, as she took in the sight of a packed Camp Nou wearing her colours and her name, of a semi-final played at home for the club she had grown up dreaming of, and she blinked hard once again.
On the bench she sat slightly back from the noise, breathing more evenly again now but still watching the pitch, still locked into the game even without being on it, and her gaze inevitably found you once more at the edge of Bayern’s coaching box, where your focus remained absolute despite the pressure building around you.
She saw Emma beside you then, talking frantically, gesturing confidently and saying something that you clearly didn’t agree with, based on your expression, as you tried to stay locked on the game while clearly fighting the distraction beside you.
The Catalan could see the tension in the way you stood, the way your attention kept snapping back to the pitch, and when Emma continued speaking you finally shook your head once, firm and decisive, cutting through it and turning your focus fully back to the match, effectively ending the discussion.
Then came the 89th minute.
Caruso won the ball in the midfield and Bayern shifted forward instantly, as Harder drove through the centre and slipped Imade into space before the ball came back across in a messy way that ended with the finish. Bayern didn’t celebrate much as they could immediately hear the Spanish team and fans protest.
Even from the bench Alexia felt her eyes finding you, because she had learned by now that you didn’t react like everyone else. At first you were completely still while your players were protesting on the field.
The blonde saw the slight drop in your shoulders, the shift in your weight, the way your head turned toward the officials before anyone else had even processed what was happening.
You were waiting. And then came the announcement, the goal would be VAR-checked.
Foul in the buildup - Goal disallowed.
The noise flipped violently from Bayern celebration to frustration and disbelief, but on the sideline Alexia saw you let out a controlled exhale that didn’t try to hide the disappointment, only accept it.
Just disappointment, clean and honest in a way that made you look younger for a second.
The final five minutes passed in a blur of exhausted pressing, clearance after clearance, and Barcelona simply trying to manage the game rather than force anything new, while Bayern threw everything forward in one last attempt that never quite broke through the Catalan structure.
When the whistle finally went, it didn’t explode into chaos so much as release—arms dropping, bodies bending forward, players collapsing into exhaustion and relief all at once, before both teams slowly began to find each other for the ritual that always followed matches like this.
Handshakes first, then brief embraces, words exchanged in passing that were half respect, half disbelief at what had just been survived.
Pere found you almost immediately, “Very good,” he said simply, nodding once as he looked at you properly, with respect. “You did incredible for the first time coaching.”
A few Barcelona players passed by while shaking hands, some offering quick smiles, others stopping long enough to pat your shoulder or exchange a few words in Spanish or English, still slightly breathless but clearly appreciative of what they had just been through.
After you joined the rest of the Bayern players and Staff on the pitch in a quieter circle, shoulders close, with visible emotions. A few wiping their faces quickly before they all walked together toward the away end, clapping their hands and raising them in thanks to the small cluster of travelling supporters who had stayed until the end. Finally they retreated to their dressing room.
Barcelona, in contrast, had already started their full lap of the stadium, players moving together toward the stands where drums were already being played for team chants and huge flags were being waved, the atmosphere shifting fully into celebration.
Alexia only broke away from the celebrations once the initial wave had settled, slipping out of the cluster of teammates, her breathing still slightly elevated as she crossed back toward the centre circle where Pere Romeu and you were still standing.
She slowed as she reached you both, a faint grin already forming like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
“Oh,” she said lightly, glancing between the two of you with clear amusement, “I see my scouting worked, no? Very good job for me.”
Pere let out a short laugh, shaking his head as if he had expected nothing less from her. “Careful, Alexia, you start taking credit and I will start charging you.”
“That is fine,” she replied without missing a beat, still smiling as she shifted her attention fully onto you now. After a quick shared look with Pere, he gave a small nod before stepping away, leaving the two of you with the noise of the stadium stretching out behind you.
Alexia didn’t waste the space he left.
She tilted her head slightly, studying you for a second before speaking with that effortless confidence you were just slightly jealous of.
“Next year you win… in blaugrana then, vale?”
You exhaled softly through your nose, not quite a laugh, but not resistance either. “Maybe,” you replied, more careful now, eyes flicking briefly toward the pitch before returning to her.
That made her hum lightly, but instead of pushing further, her gaze sharpened just a little. “What was that Emma talking to you about?” she asked.
You paused, then gave a small shrug. “She wanted me to make substitutions again,” you said honestly, glancing down for a second as if replaying it in your head, “but I didn’t see the point. Not if I couldn’t actually fill the gaps properly with what we had on the bench.”
Alexia nodded slowly, like she was filing that away, but her eyes stayed on you. “And what is the deal with her anyway?” she asked after a beat, more direct now, though still calm. “Why she says she is your girlfriend?”
That made you let out a short breath, tiredness slipping through. “She isn’t,” you said simply. “Not anymore. She just… doesn’t really accept that.”
“And you?” she asked then, quieter. “What is stopping you from coming to Barça?”
“I’m scared of the change,” you admitted, voice lower now, “but I still want to grow. That’s why I sent the application to Pere in the first place… a while ago. I just wasn’t sure if I would actually follow through with it.”
Alexia didn’t push further right away, she just watched you for a second longer, then her expression softened, the intensity easing back into that confidence she wore so naturally.
“Vale,” she said quietly, more so to herself, then let out a small breath through her nose, “I know you will like Spain,” she added after a beat, tilting her head slightly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “the sun, the food… the people.”
A faint grin tugged at her mouth as she glanced at you again, a little more pointed now, “Especially the people,” she added, not really trying to hide what she meant with that.
You gave her a look at that, somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement, and Alexia noticed it immediately, of course she did.
She just smiled a little wider in response, unfazed.
“And you are already here a lot in your head, no?” she continued, calmer now, voice dropping slightly as she stepped half a pace closer again. “So it is not so big a change. Just… make it official.”
There was a brief pause, the stadium noise distant enough now that it felt like it belonged to another world entirely.
“Next season, you come. And I show you the rest properly, vale?”
“And if I do come,” you asked, tilting your head slightly, “and you get what you want… will you just keep looking at me like this, or do you move on to the next thing you decide you want?”
Alexia didn’t answer immediately. She just looked at you, really looked, like she was weighing the question properly instead of brushing it off. Then her grin came back, honest in its amusement.
“Ah,” she said quietly, almost like she understood what you were really asking. “So that is what you think.”
Her gaze didn’t waver.
“I don’t think you are something I ‘finish’,” she said simply, her voice steady and matter-of-fact, like the idea itself didn’t really make sense to her. “If you come… I think you will just be there.”
“And I don’t get bored of interesting things,” she added, a faint exhale through her nose. Then her expression softened just a fraction as she lifted her hand, brushing it lightly over your cheek, the touch brief and soft making the heat shoot up to your face.
“And you, cariño,” she murmured, her tone dropping slightly, “you are very interesting. Always will be.”
The rule existed because Jay and Alexia could not be trusted near each other.
That was not cruelty. That was evidence.
Everyone knew.
The team knew. The club knew. The staff knew. Half the fanbase knew, and the other half were pretending not to because they enjoyed acting like detectives under slow motion edits. There was no secret, no hiding, no careful little distance when cameras were around. Jay and Alexia were together in the obvious, bodily, impossible to ignore way that made entire rooms rearrange themselves around them.
Jay's hand lived at Alexia's waist.
Alexia's fingers found Jay's wrist without looking.
They kissed hello. They kissed goodbye. They kissed when Jay scored, when Alexia assisted, when someone made them laugh, when training finished, when they saw each other after being separated for an hour and thirteen minutes by different recovery schedules. Jay would lean against doorframes and watch Alexia talk to staff with a look on her face so openly gone that Lucy had once thrown a towel at her and said, "You're making eye contact look illegal."
Alexia, who acted like she was above public nonsense, was worse in quieter ways.
She fixed Jay's collar and let her fingers stay at Jay's throat too long. She sat on the arm of Jay's chair during team meetings when there were empty seats available. She pressed her mouth to Jay's temple in corridors, quick and automatic, then carried on speaking to whoever had been talking as if she had not just made Jay forget what language the conversation was in.
There was affection everywhere.
On sofas. In dressing rooms. In cars. In restaurants. Against kitchen counters. In doorways. Between drills. After showers. Before flights. After flights. During team breakfasts, unfortunately for everyone else.
The rule did not exist because Alexia wanted distance.
The rule existed because Alexia knew herself, and she knew Jay, and she knew that wanting each other with no shame did not mean giving the whole world evidence of exactly how reckless they could be.
No visible marks.
That was the rule.
Not no marks.
That distinction mattered, and Jay had been very interested in it.
"No visible marks," Alexia had said one month earlier, standing in front of the bathroom mirror in her apartment with one hand planted on the sink and murder in her eyes.
Jay had been sitting on the edge of the bath in nothing but boxers, a sports bra and a guilty expression, which was not a look she wore often or well. Her hair had been sleep wild, her mouth still soft from the night before, and her hands had been clasped between her knees like she was in a head teacher's office.
On Alexia's collarbone, just low enough to have been hidden if the shirt for that day had behaved, was a dark mark.
Not huge.
Not catastrophic.
But visible when the fabric slipped.
And the fabric had slipped.
In front of a make up artist.
Before club media.
Alexia had discovered it in the mirror thirty minutes before she had to film a partner campaign. She had stared at it for one long second, then turned her head slowly towards Jay, who had been brushing her teeth at the time and had immediately stopped moving.
Foam still in her mouth, her eyes wide.
Alexia had pointed at the mark.
Jay had taken the toothbrush out.
"I can explain," she said, through mint and fear.
Alexia's eyebrows had lifted.
Jay had swallowed. "No, I can't."
Alexia had said nothing.
That had been worse than shouting.
Jay had rinsed quickly, wiped her mouth on a towel, and walked over with both hands raised. "Baby."
"No."
"Alexia."
"No."
"I didn't realise it was visible."
"That is not better."
"I know."
"I have media."
"I know."
"They will see."
"I know."
"Stop saying you know when clearly you did not know enough."
Jay had shut her mouth.
Alexia had gone back to the mirror and tried to adjust the shirt. It covered the mark if she stood still. It did not cover the mark when she moved. It was exactly the kind of thing a camera would find, because cameras, in Alexia's experience, were predators.
Jay had stood behind her, not touching because she had enough sense to understand that touching her while she was furious would be either brave or stupid, and Jay was many things but not suicidal before coffee.
"I'm sorry," Jay had said quietly.
Alexia had met her eyes through the mirror.
Jay, for once, had not tried to be funny.
"I got carried away," she said. "That's not an excuse. I know it's not. I just... you were there, and you were making that noise, and I lost track of where I was."
Alexia's face had gone flat.
Jay closed her eyes. "Also not helping."
"No."
"Right."
It had been annoying that Jay looked so genuinely sorry. More annoying that Alexia had wanted to forgive her immediately, which only made her angrier because forgiveness was not the same thing as a boundary.
So she had made the boundary out loud.
Clearly.
"No visible marks," Alexia said.
Jay nodded. "Okay."
"No neck. No collarbone. No jaw. No shoulders if I have media or training. No places a shirt can move and show. No places a make up artist has to cover because you forgot yourself."
"I understand."
Alexia turned around then.
"Do you?"
Jay looked at her properly. "Yes."
"I do not care if everyone knows we are together. That is not the point."
"I know."
"This is my body. My work. My image. I decide what is private and what is not."
Jay's face shifted. The shame in it went deeper, cleaner.
"You're right," she said.
Alexia stepped closer, anger still there but less sharp now because Jay was not fighting, not wriggling out, not making it into charm. "I like when you want me. I like when you touch me. I like all of that." Her voice lowered slightly. "But if I say no visible marks, that is not a challenge."
Jay swallowed.
"No," she said. "It's not."
"And if I say not there?"
Jay's eyes lifted.
"You stop," Alexia said.
"Always."
Alexia held her gaze.
Jay's voice softened. "Always, Ale."
That had been why Alexia forgave her.
Not because the mark had been nothing. Not because Jay looked sweet and guilty and very hard to stay angry with. But because Jay had listened. Because she had taken the rule seriously. Because when Alexia said, This matters, Jay had not tried to make it smaller.
After that, Jay had been good.
Mostly.
No visible marks.
She repeated it sometimes, mouth already against Alexia's skin, breath hot, voice rough with restraint. "Legal area?" she would murmur, and Alexia would laugh against her will and tug her lower, or higher, or away completely depending on what she had scheduled the next day.
Sometimes Jay would make a game of it.
"Is this visible?" she would ask, kissing the inside of Alexia's wrist.
"No."
"Good."
"Is this visible?" against her ribs.
“No."
"Excellent."
"Is this visible?" against her shoulder.
"Jay."
"Copy that. Borderline jurisdiction."
Alexia would roll her eyes, and Jay would grin, and they would carry on with the kind of affectionate, physical, over the top desire that had made the rule necessary in the first place.
Because they were together.
Fully.
Openly.
Annoyingly, according to Lucy.
So when they went out with the team the night before the Oakley shoot, no one was surprised that Jay walked into the restaurant and went straight to Alexia.
Alexia had arrived first, seated near the middle of the long table in a white silk shirt tucked into tailored black trousers, gold hoops in her ears, hair down and soft around her shoulders. She looked calm and elegant and expensive in the way that made Jay feel like she had turned up underdressed even when she had made an effort.
Jay had made an effort.
A black shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled to her elbows, dark trousers, rings, tattoos, blonde hair loose with a slight wave that Alexia had already decided was going to become a problem.
Jay stopped at the end of the table when she saw her.
Pina, who was closest, looked up. "Move. You are blocking service."
Alexia glanced over.
The second their eyes met, Jay's expression changed. The grin went first, quick and bright, then softer, then openly delighted. She crossed the space without pretending not to be heading directly for Alexia and bent down, one hand bracing on the back of Alexia's chair, the other sliding to the side of her neck.
"Hi," Jay said.
Alexia tilted her face up. "Hola guapa.”
Jay kissed her.
Not a polite hello. A proper kiss, warm and smiling and familiar, the kind that lasted one beat too long because Jay had never believed in giving Lucy peace.
Lucy, three seats away, dropped her head into her hands. "We've started."
Mapi clapped once. "Love at the table. Very good."
Ingrid sighed. "Do not encourage them."
Alexia's fingers curled briefly in the front of Jay's shirt before she let her go.
Jay stayed close, forehead almost touching hers. "You look unbelievable."
Alexia's mouth curved. "You also look... acceptable."
Jay gasped softly. "Acceptable?"
"Sí."
"In this shirt?"
"I have seen you in better."
Jay leaned closer, voice dropping. "You took the better one off me."
Pina made a choking noise.
Lucy stood. "I'm moving seats."
"You are not," Keira said, grabbing her sleeve without looking. "You chose that side."
Jay kissed Alexia's cheek this time, then the corner of her mouth because apparently cheek was not enough, then finally sat beside her.
Beside her, not opposite her.
No one questioned this because it had stopped being worth the energy months ago.
Jay's chair was immediately closer than it needed to be. Alexia's hand settled on her thigh under the table within thirty seconds, not secret, not nervous, just natural. Jay leaned into her side while reaching for water. Alexia took Jay's glass, filled it before her own, and pushed it back into her hand.
"Drink."
Jay looked at the glass. "I just arrived."
"Drink."
Jay drank.
Lucy pointed with her fork. "See? She's trained."
Jay set the glass down. "I'm respected."
"You're managed."
Alexia, without looking at Jay, said, "Loved and managed."
Jay's entire face lit up.
Mapi pointed. "Look at her. Disgusting."
Jay turned to her, delighted. "I'm thriving."
"You are a golden retriever with tattoos."
"Correct and devastating."
The dinner was loud from the beginning.
The good kind of loud. The kind that came after too many matches and too little sleep, when everyone was tired enough to find everything funny and hungry enough to become violent if bread was not passed quickly. Plates filled the table. Wine appeared. Someone ordered potatoes. Someone else complained there were not enough potatoes, though there were clearly enough potatoes. Mapi told a story about nearly fighting a parking machine, which Ingrid corrected into a story about Mapi failing to understand a parking machine. Cata stole food from Pina's plate and acted personally insulted when caught.
Through all of it, Jay and Alexia were constantly, obnoxiously in contact.
Alexia's fingers at Jay's wrist.
Jay's hand on the back of Alexia's chair.
Alexia leaning into Jay's shoulder to laugh.
Jay kissing the side of Alexia's head when Alexia said something dry that made the table groan.
Alexia wiping a smear of sauce from the corner of Jay's mouth with her thumb and then, because she was not innocent no matter how calm she looked, holding Jay's gaze for half a second too long before licking it off her own thumb.
Jay stopped speaking mid sentence.
Lucy looked across the table. "Alexia."
Alexia blinked. "What?"
"You know what."
Alexia took a sip of wine, composed as ever.
Jay stared at her like she had just seen religion.
Mapi whispered loudly, "The captain has killed the striker."
Pina waved a hand in front of Jay's face. "Jay?"
Jay blinked.
"What?"
"You stopped talking."
Jay looked at Alexia again. "I had a medical event."
Alexia smiled into her glass.
Jay leaned close, mouth near Alexia's ear. "That was cruel."
Alexia's hand found Jay's thigh again. "You survived."
"Barely."
"You like it."
Jay breathed out through her nose. "Too much."
The first drink was fine.
The second was fine too.
The third made everyone funnier than they actually were.
The fourth was tequila, and tequila was where civilisation began to slip.
Alexia had Oakley in the morning.
She knew this.
Jay knew this.
The team knew this because Alexia had mentioned it when Mapi tried to order shots, and Mapi had said, "One shot will make the sunglasses respect you more."
"That is not how sponsors work," Ingrid said.
"It could be."
Jay turned to Alexia, already smiling. "You don't have to."
Alexia narrowed her eyes. "Do not do that."
"Do what?"
"Pretend you are being responsible when you want me to drink it."
Jay put a hand on her chest. "Baby, I am always responsible."
Lucy laughed so hard she almost spilled her drink.
Jay looked wounded. "That was aggressive."
Alexia picked up the tequila glass.
Jay's eyes dropped to her hand.
Alexia saw.
Of course she saw.
So she lifted the glass slowly, deliberately, watching Jay watch her. Jay's mouth parted slightly, and Alexia, who absolutely knew better, drank the tequila without breaking eye contact.
The table exploded.
Mapi cheered.
Pina shouted, "Captain!"
Lucy pointed at Jay. "You caused this with your face."
Jay leaned back in her chair, hand still on Alexia's thigh. "I didn't say a word."
Alexia set down the glass.
Jay's thumb moved once.
Alexia looked at her.
Jay's voice was quieter now. "You know I'm not going to survive you tonight."
Alexia smiled, warm and wicked and already a little drunk. "Try."
The night became soft around the edges after that.
A dangerous kind of soft.
The restaurant lights seemed warmer. The table louder. Alexia's body closer than before, though neither of them had moved very much. Jay kissed her shoulder once because the shirt had slipped just enough to expose bare skin near the collar, and Alexia immediately slid two fingers under Jay's chin and lifted her face.
Jay's eyes flickered.
Alexia's voice was low. "Careful."
Jay smiled. "I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes." Jay kissed Alexia's fingers instead. "No visible marks."
Alexia's expression softened by a fraction.
Jay made a small cross over her heart. "I'm being good."
Lucy, unfortunately, heard this. "I want it recorded that nobody asked."
Jay turned. "Then stop listening."
"You're two feet away."
"Emotionally, we're in private."
Keira looked at Alexia. "Can you control her?"
Alexia looked at Jay, who immediately sat a little straighter with visible effort.
"For short periods," Alexia said.
Jay grinned.
By the time dessert arrived, Alexia was laughing too easily, Jay was too pleased with herself, and the team had collectively accepted that they were witnessing a level of couple behaviour no one had the energy to prosecute. Alexia fed Jay a spoonful of her dessert because Jay claimed she was "emotionally curious." Jay reacted like she had been blessed.
"That is really good," Jay said.
"You can order one."
"I only wanted yours."
"That is not how dessert works."
“It is how romance works."
Alexia rolled her eyes, but she gave her another spoonful.
Mapi threw a napkin at them.
Jay caught it one handed without looking and blew Alexia a kiss in the same movement.
"See?" Mapi said. "This is why people think they are cool. They are annoying, but then they do things like that."
Jay smiled broadly. "Thank you."
"That was not praise."
"I accept it anyway."
Outside the restaurant, the night air hit them warm and damp from the marina. The team spilled onto the pavement in unsteady clusters, laughing too loudly, ordering cars, arguing about who had stolen whose jacket. Mapi hugged Ingrid from behind and announced that she loved architecture now because the restaurant had held them safely. Ingrid patted her arm with the patience of a woman who knew this phase would pass after water.
Alexia stood near the curb, trying to open the car app and failing because her phone seemed brighter than usual and the letters had become personally unhelpful.
Jay came up behind her and wrapped both arms around her waist.
"Need help?" Jay asked.
Alexia leaned back into her. "You are drunk."
"I'm gifted under pressure."
"You dropped your card under the table and thanked Lucy when she picked it up."
"She served the community."
Jay's hands rested over Alexia's stomach. Alexia covered them with one of hers, fingers sliding between Jay's.
Lucy, climbing into a taxi, shouted, "Hands visible, Jones."
Jay lifted both hands from Alexia's waist and spread them wide.
Alexia immediately grabbed one and put it back.
The entire pavement erupted.
Jay looked unbearably pleased.
Lucy pointed at Alexia. "You are the problem too."
Alexia did not deny it.
Jay kissed just below her ear. "Mine or yours?"
Alexia turned her head enough that their mouths almost touched. "Mine tonight."
Jay's grin vanished into something hotter.
"Yeah?"
Alexia tugged her closer by the front of her shirt.
"Come home with me," she said.
Jay stared at her for half a second, as if the words had knocked all the alcohol straight into her bloodstream.
Then she nodded. "Yes, captain."
Alexia smiled. "Do not start."
"I have already started."
That was the point of no return.
The taxi ride was not respectable.
They tried.
For perhaps forty seconds, they sat like normal adults in the back seat, hands to themselves, Alexia on one side, Jay on the other, the driver blessedly uninterested in them. Then the car turned out of the street and Alexia slid slightly towards Jay. Jay caught her by the waist, instinctive and pleased.
Alexia did not move away.
Jay's hand stayed.
Alexia turned her face towards the window, as if the streetlights were very important. Jay's thumb moved slowly against the side of her waist. Not enough to be obscene. Enough to make Alexia stop breathing normally.
"You are doing that on purpose," Alexia murmured.
Jay's mouth was near her hair. "Doing what?"
"That."
"This?"
Jay's thumb moved again.
Alexia's hand came down over hers. For a moment Jay thought she would move it away. Instead, Alexia guided it lower, firmer, and kept it there.
Jay's head fell back against the seat.
"Oh my God."
Alexia smiled faintly. "Quiet."
"I'm in a hostage situation."
"You can move your hand."
"I absolutely cannot."
The driver turned the radio up.
Jay laughed silently into Alexia's shoulder. Alexia tried to stay composed and failed, the laugh shaking out of her because Jay was ridiculous and warm and exactly where Alexia wanted her.
At a red light, Jay turned Alexia's hand over and kissed her palm.
Alexia went quiet.
Jay's mouth stayed there for one second longer, against the centre of her hand, reverent in a way that contrasted sharply with the heat in her eyes when she looked up.
"Still drunk?" Alexia asked softly.
"Yes."
"Still know what you are doing?"
Jay nodded. "Yes."
Alexia's thumb touched Jay's bottom lip.
Jay's eyes darkened.
The light changed.
The taxi moved again.
Jay whispered, "Strongest driver in the city."
Alexia laughed and kissed her quickly, unable to help herself.
The driver sighed with the resignation of a man who had chosen customer service and now had consequences.
They were worse in the lift.
The mirrors did not help.
Alexia leaned against the back wall, one hand loosely holding Jay's shirt, Jay standing in front of her with both hands braced on either side of Alexia's waist against the rail. They were not kissing at first. They were just looking, which, for them, was often more dangerous.
Jay's face was flushed from alcohol and heat, eyes bright, hair slightly ruined from Alexia touching it at dinner. Alexia's white shirt had slipped again at one shoulder, revealing the bare line near her collarbone, and Jay's gaze dropped there before snapping back up.
Alexia saw the control.
She liked it.
She also liked testing it, which was perhaps her own fault.
"Good," she said softly.
Jay's jaw tightened. "Don't."
Alexia smiled. "What?"
"Don't say good in a lift."
"You are being good."
"I'm suffering."
Alexia hooked a finger into the open collar of Jay's shirt and pulled.
Jay came immediately.
Their mouths met hard enough that the back of Alexia's head touched the wall. Jay's hand slid fully around her waist, pulling her close. Alexia's fingers went into Jay's hair, and the kiss turned messy, hungry, half laughter and half need because the lift was moving too slowly and they had spent the whole night touching in public without being able to do anything about it.
When the doors opened, they stumbled out still laughing.
"Keys," Alexia said.
Jay patted her own pockets.
Alexia stared. "This is my apartment."
Jay blinked.
Then pointed at Alexia. "Keys."
Alexia laughed so hard she nearly dropped them.
At the door, Jay stood behind her, hands on her hips, mouth at her shoulder, not kissing where she was not allowed but making the attempt at restraint very visible.
Alexia tried to unlock the door.
Failed once.
Jay made a small sound.
"Do not laugh," Alexia warned.
"I'm not. I respect your struggle."
"You are breathing like laughing."
"I breathe with joy."
Alexia finally got the door open and shoved it inward.
Jay kissed her the second they were inside.
No delay.
No soft transition.
The door barely closed before Alexia was against it, Jay's mouth on hers, both of them laughing into the impact because Jay had misjudged the distance and Alexia had grabbed her shirt to steady herself. The hallway was dark except for the light spilling in from the kitchen. The city hummed faintly beyond the balcony. Inside, everything became heat and hands and the familiar shock of finally being allowed to stop behaving.
Alexia pushed at Jay's shirt.
Jay lifted her arms.
The shirt got stuck halfway because Jay forgot one cuff button.
Alexia pulled back, stared at the trapped sleeve, and burst out laughing.
Jay, with one arm half over her head, looked offended. "Don't laugh. I'm vulnerable."
"You are trapped by a shirt."
"It's a tactical shirt."
"It is winning."
"Help me."
Alexia undid the cuff with exaggerated patience, then dragged the shirt off and threw it somewhere behind them. Jay's hair fell back into her face. Alexia fixed it with both hands, then pulled her down again.
This kiss was slower.
Deeper.
The laughter faded into something more focused. Jay's bare skin was warm under Alexia's hands. Alexia traced the line of Jay's throat tattoo with one finger, watching the way Jay's breath caught. Jay looked at her like she was trying not to unravel too quickly.
"Bedroom?" Jay asked, voice rough.
Alexia shook her head once.
Jay blinked.
Alexia walked her backwards until Jay hit the hallway wall.
Jay's grin flashed. "Oh."
"Too much talking," Alexia said.
Jay swallowed. "Understood."
Alexia kissed her again.
For a while, the apartment existed only in fragments.
The cool wall against Jay's back. Alexia's hands at her waist, her ribs, her shoulders. Jay turning them with sudden strength so Alexia was the one against the wall now, then immediately pausing, searching her face.
Alexia's expression softened in the middle of all that heat.
"Yes," she said.
Jay exhaled and kissed her hard.
That was how it always was at its best between them. Jay could be chaos in every other room, but with Alexia like this, even drunk, there was always that split second of checking. That tiny pause. That are you with me? Alexia trusted that pause. She loved it. It made her feel wanted without feeling taken from.
Which was why the morning would hurt so much.
But last night, the pause was there.
Again and again.
Jay's mouth at her jaw, then stopping before the neck. Alexia's fingers in Jay's hair, guiding, teasing, testing. Jay laughing breathlessly against her collarbone.
"Illegal area," Jay muttered.
Alexia's chest moved with laughter. "You remember."
"I'm a professional."
"You are drunk."
"Drunk professional."
Alexia tugged her lower. "Not there."
Jay moved at once, kissing down to somewhere hidden by fabric, somewhere safe, somewhere that made Alexia's head fall back anyway.
They reached the bedroom badly.
One shoe in the hall. One earring on the floor. Jay nearly tripped over the rug, recovered, pointed at it, and said, "Hostile," before Alexia shoved her onto the bed.
Jay landed on her back, laughing.
Alexia climbed over her.
Jay stopped laughing.
Completely.
Alexia looked down at her, hair falling forward, shirt open now, eyes dark and drunk and very sure. Jay's hands came to her thighs, sliding up slowly, not because she was unsure, but because she enjoyed watching Alexia feel every inch of attention.
"You are unbelievable," Jay said.
Alexia bent down until their mouths nearly touched. "I know."
Jay laughed once, helpless. "God."
Then Alexia kissed her, and the last of the night's softness burned off.
It was stupidly hot in the way only something slightly reckless and completely wanted could be. Messy without being careless. Drunk without being absent. Full of muttered teasing, broken laughter, hands finding familiar places with less patience than usual. Alexia pulled Jay's rings off one by one because she liked doing it, liked the way Jay went quiet when Alexia touched her hands. Jay watched her, lips parted, eyes fixed on Alexia's fingers.
"You like that," Alexia said.
Jay's voice was low. "I like anything you do with my hands."
Alexia's expression changed.
Jay noticed.
"Careful," Jay whispered, smiling.
Alexia dropped the last ring into the little dish by the bed and leaned over her. "You first."
The night became more breath than words after that.
Jay's mouth on Alexia's shoulder, her chest, the hidden places the rule allowed. Alexia's hands in Jay's hair, on her back, at her jaw. Jay laughing once when Alexia knocked over the water glass without looking and Alexia saying, "Leave it," in a voice that made Jay instantly forget the water existed. Their bodies moving together in heat and rhythm and occasional ridiculous interruption, because Jay somehow still had one sock on and Alexia noticed at exactly the wrong moment.
"Jay."
"What?"
"The sock."
Jay looked down, then back up, deeply serious. "It stays. For structural integrity."
Alexia laughed so hard she covered her face.
Jay tugged her hands away and kissed her palms, then her wrists, then the inside of her arm until Alexia stopped laughing.
The rule kept appearing.
Briefly.
Not as a full thought. As instinct. As muscle memory. Jay would get close to Alexia's neck and stop. Alexia would feel it and, even drunk, recognise the restraint. Once, she touched Jay's cheek and murmured, "Good girl," because tequila had apparently made her cruel, and Jay made a sound into Alexia's shoulder that probably should have embarrassed her.
"Do not weaponise praise," Jay said hoarsely.
Alexia smiled. "Behave then."
"I am literally behaving."
"You are arguing."
"Respectfully."
"You are always respectful when your mouth is busy."
Jay lifted her head. "That sentence is illegal."
Alexia kissed her before she could say anything else.
Later, though, the careful edges blurred.
It was late. They were drunk. The room was too warm. Alexia's skin was hot under Jay's mouth, and the sounds she made had gone softer, more unguarded, the kind that emptied Jay's head of everything except more. Alexia was holding her close, one hand buried in Jay's hair, the other across her shoulders. Jay's mouth moved up from a safe place, tracing heat along Alexia's collarbone, over the slope where shoulder became neck.
Alexia's head tipped back.
The line was right there.
Visible.
Forbidden.
Jay knew it.
Somewhere, she knew it.
Alexia's fingers tightened in her hair.
"Jay," Alexia breathed.
Not a warning yet.
A name.
Jay's control thinned.
One second.
That was all.
Her mouth found Alexia's neck, high enough to be dangerous, and she lost herself there for one reckless, hungry beat too long. Alexia inhaled sharply, body responding before sense could catch up, and the sound went through Jay like a fuse.
Then Alexia tugged her hair.
Not hard.
Enough.
"Not there," Alexia said, breathless.
Jay pulled back instantly.
"Sorry," she whispered, forehead dropping against Alexia's shoulder. "I know. I know, baby. Sorry."
Alexia was breathing hard too. Her eyes were closed. The room was spinning gently around the edges.
"Visible," she murmured.
"I know." Jay kissed lower, safer, hidden. "I've got you."
Alexia believed her.
Because Jay had stopped.
Because Jay always stopped.
Because they were drunk and warm and still caught in the middle of it, and neither of them turned on the light, neither of them checked the mirror, neither of them paused long enough for the rule to return as something practical.
Jay said, "I've got you."
And Alexia let the night continue.
Morning came like punishment.
The alarm went off at eight, too sharp, too bright, too cruel for a room that still smelled like tequila and sex and the kind of laughter that belonged to the night before. Alexia flinched awake with a groan, one hand fumbling for her phone. Jay, draped half over her back with one arm around her waist, made a sound of profound betrayal.
"No," Jay mumbled into Alexia's shoulder blade. "Kill it."
Alexia found the phone, silenced it, and lay still for a moment with her eyes closed.
Her head hurt.
Her mouth was dry.
Her whole body felt heavy and warm and tender, last night returning in broken pieces before responsibility arrived. Jay's hand was spread over her stomach. Jay's face was pressed to her back. Jay's leg was tangled with hers, and, because the universe had a sense of humour, Jay still had one sock on.
Alexia looked down at it.
Despite everything, she smiled.
"You kept the sock," she murmured.
Jay did not open her eyes. "Structural integrity."
Alexia laughed softly, and Jay tightened her arm around her waist, pleased with herself even unconscious.
For a moment, the morning was good.
Painful, hungover, ruined by tequila, yes.
But good.
Alexia turned carefully in Jay's arms. Jay made a displeased sound, then immediately softened when Alexia faced her. Her eyes opened halfway, blue and unfocused, hair a disaster, mouth swollen from kissing.
"Hi," Jay whispered.
Alexia touched her cheek. "Hi."
Jay smiled, sleepy and stupidly beautiful. "You survived me."
"Barely."
"Proud of you."
Alexia rolled her eyes, but she leaned in and kissed her.
It was gentle. Morning soft. The kind of kiss that had nothing to prove. Jay's hand slid to Alexia's waist, thumb moving lazily under the hem of the sheet. Alexia let herself stay there longer than she should have because Jay was warm and smiling against her mouth, because the world outside the bed felt too sharp, because last night had been reckless but happy and she wanted, for a few more seconds, to keep only the happy part.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Oakley call sheet reminder.
Alexia pulled back.
Reality arrived.
She sat up slowly, pressing fingers to her forehead. "I have to shower."
Jay opened one eye. "What if sunglasses are cancelled?"
Alexia gave her a look over her shoulder.
Jay held up one hand. "Not by me. By weather. Or capitalism."
"It is an indoor shoot."
"Then capitalism."
Alexia shook her head, but her mouth curved. "Drink water."
Jay groaned. "You drink water."
"I will."
"You always say that."
“You always need reminding."
Jay reached for Alexia's hand before she could stand fully and kissed her knuckles. "Good luck today."
Alexia looked down at her.
There it was again. The softness. The fact that Jay could be impossible and still say small, thoughtful things in the exact tone that made Alexia's chest loosen.
"Gracias bebe.”
Jay's smile warmed.
Alexia went to the bathroom.
The moment she shut the door, the morning began to change.
She did not notice at first. She turned on the shower, brushed her teeth, splashed water over her face and told herself she could still rescue the day. Shower. Coffee. Maybe a little concealer under the eyes. Hair and make up would do the rest. Oakley would have their own team, their own lighting, their own schedule. She could be tired. She had been tired before. She could work through hungover.
She leaned over the sink, rinsed her mouth, and lifted her head.
The mirror showed her face first.
Bare. Tired. Fine.
Then her eyes dropped.
Her neck.
Alexia went completely still.
High on the left side, just under the edge of her jaw, was a mark.
A dark, unmistakable bruise against her skin.
Not faint.
Not borderline.
Not hidden by the natural curve of her throat or the shadow of her hair.
Visible.
Very visible.
For one long second, Alexia did not breathe.
Then she turned her head slightly, hoping the mirror was exaggerating.
It got worse.
The mark sat there clearly, stubborn and intimate and private in a place that belonged to cameras today.
Oakley.
Close ups.
Alexia touched the mark with two fingers.
It hurt.
The anger hit so fast it almost made her dizzy.
Not irritation.
Not embarrassment first.
Rage.
Hot, immediate, full bodied rage.
Because she had reminded Jay. Because they had already had this conversation. Because Jay had already marked her collarbone once, and Alexia had stood in this same apartment telling her exactly why visible marks were not okay. Because Jay had promised. Because last night Alexia had said not there and Jay had said I've got you.
And now Alexia was standing in the bathroom, hungover, about to walk into an Oakley shoot with Jay's mouth written on her neck.
She stared at herself until the fury sharpened into language.
"Jay."
In the bedroom, there was a muffled sound.
Then Jay's voice, rough and sleepy. "Yeah, baby?"
That made it worse.
Baby.
Soft. Unaware. Still in the morning they had been having before the mirror.
Alexia's jaw clenched.
"Come here."
Something in her tone must have cut through the hangover, because Jay appeared in the bathroom doorway within seconds, sheet wrapped around her waist, hair wild, one sock still on, face already shifting from sleepy to concerned.
"What's wrong?"
Alexia turned.
Jay saw the mark.
Her eyes fixed on Alexia's neck, and the colour drained from her skin.
"Oh, fuck."
Wrong thing to say.
Deeply wrong.
Alexia's mouth opened slightly, and for a second Jay looked like she wanted to take the words out of the air and beat them to death.
Alexia pointed at her neck. "What is this?"
Jay swallowed. "Ale…”
"What is this?"
Jay's throat moved. "A mark."
Alexia's eyes flashed. "Do not insult me."
"A love bite," Jay said, voice smaller.
"A love bite."
Jay nodded once.
"On my neck."
"I know."
"On my neck, Jay."
Jay shut her eyes briefly. "I know."
"No." Alexia stepped towards her. "You do not get to know. If you knew, it would not be there."
Jay opened her eyes.
Alexia was already moving past her into the bedroom, too angry to stay in the bathroom. She needed space, but not distance. She needed to move or she was going to explode where she stood.
Jay turned after her but did not follow too closely.
Alexia grabbed her robe from the chair and yanked it on. Her hands were shaking. That made her angrier too. She hated shaking. Hated the lack of control. Hated that her body was reacting before she could organise it into something clean.
"You knew the rule."
Jay stood near the doorway, sheet still clutched at her waist, looking like a hungover criminal. "Yes."
"You knew the rule because I made the rule after the collarbone."
"Yes."
"Because you had already done this once."
Jay flinched. "Yes."
"And I told you exactly why it mattered."
"I know."
Alexia spun. "Stop saying that."
Jay's mouth closed.
"Stop saying you know. Stop looking sorry. Stop standing there like I am supposed to see your face and calm down." Alexia's voice rose, sharp enough to fill the room. "I am not calming down."
Jay nodded, then stopped herself halfway through the nod like even agreement might make it worse.
Alexia pointed at the mirror. "I have Oakley today."
Jay's eyes flicked towards the bathroom.
"Oakley," Alexia repeated. "Close up. Sunglasses. Profile. Neck. Hair pulled back. Do you understand how many people are going to see this?"
Jay swallowed. "Yes."
"You do not."
"I do."
"No, you do not." Alexia laughed once, harsh and humourless. "Because if you understood, you would not have done it."
Jay's face tightened.
Alexia did not soften.
"I said not there last night."
Jay's eyes dropped.
"I said it."
"Yes."
"And you said, 'I've got you.'"
Jay went still.
The room seemed to tighten around the sentence.
Alexia's anger found the deepest part of itself.
"You did not have me."
Jay's face shifted as if the words had landed physically.
Alexia stepped closer. "You did not. I gave you one rule. One. Not a secret rule. Not a complicated rule. Not a maybe if we are sober rule. No visible marks. And last night I reminded you, in the moment, because apparently I had to, and you still..." Her voice caught on fury. "You still did it."
Jay shook her head once, small. "I didn't mean to."
"That is not enough."
"I know."
Alexia's eyes narrowed.
Jay corrected herself quickly, voice rough. "Sorry. I hear you. I mean... I understand that not meaning to doesn't fix it."
Alexia moved to the wardrobe and yanked it open. The hangers rattled. She pulled out the outfit she had planned. A clean top with a neckline that had been perfectly appropriate yesterday.
Today it exposed the mark completely.
She threw it onto the bed.
Jay watched it land.
Alexia turned on her. "Do you know what I am going to have to do?"
Jay stayed silent.
"Answer me."
Jay looked up. "You're going to have to cover it."
"I am going to have to ask someone to cover it," Alexia snapped. "Someone I work with. Someone standing this close to my face. I am going to have to sit in a chair while they dab concealer onto a mark from my girlfriend, and everyone will be polite, and everyone will pretend, and everyone will know.”
Jay's face twisted.
"Do not," Alexia said immediately, “Do not make that face."
“I'm not trying to."
"I do not care. I am not taking care of your guilt right now."
Jay swallowed hard. "Okay."
Alexia dragged another top from the wardrobe.
Too low.
Another.
Too thin.
Another.
High enough but wrong for the weather, wrong for the shoot, wrong for the whole day she had planned before Jay's mistake became something she had to dress around.
She threw that one too.
Jay did not move.
The silence annoyed her. Jay's presence annoyed her. The fact that she wanted Jay to speak annoyed her. The fact that she would become even more furious if Jay spoke annoyed her.
Everything was wrong.
Alexia grabbed her make up bag and went back into the bathroom mirror. She heard Jay move in the bedroom, then stop, like she had almost followed and remembered not to. Good. Fine. Infuriating.
The first layer of concealer did nothing.
The second made the bruise look grey.
The third looked like exactly what it was. A badly covered love bite.
Alexia stared at it.
Her eyes burned.
Not because she was going to cry.
She refused.
She was angry enough that tears would have felt like another betrayal.
Jay appeared at the bathroom door again, this time wearing a T shirt. Backwards. Inside out. One sock still on. Hair like she had fought a pillow and lost.
Under any other circumstances, Alexia would have laughed.
Under any other circumstances, she would have walked over, turned the shirt around herself, kissed Jay's chest through the fabric and told her she was useless.
This morning, the sight only made her angrier.
Jay got to look like a disaster.
Alexia had to look perfect.
"What?" Alexia snapped.
Jay stopped at the threshold. "I was just checking if..."
“If what?"
Jay's mouth closed.
Alexia's eyebrows lifted. "No. Say it."
"If you needed anything," Jay said carefully.
Alexia stared at her. "I needed you to listen last night."
Jay went very still.
Alexia turned back to the mirror and threw the concealer into the sink.
It clattered loudly.
Jay did not flinch this time.
Good.
Maybe she was learning.
Maybe Alexia was being cruel.
She did not care yet.
"I am so angry with you," Alexia said.
Jay's voice was quiet. "I know."
Alexia's head turned slowly.
Jay corrected instantly. "I hear you."
Alexia stared.
Jay's hands were at her sides. Not reaching. Not gesturing. Not trying to make herself smaller on purpose, but visibly holding still because she knew that movement might be read as pressure.
Alexia hated that she noticed.
"I am angry," Alexia said, "because I woke up happy."
Jay's face changed.
Alexia's voice was lower now, but no less furious. "I woke up happy. I was in bed with you and I was hungover and I felt... good. And then I looked in the mirror and felt like an idiot."
Jay looked stricken.
“Yes," Alexia said. "That. I felt stupid. Because I trusted you with the rule. I trusted you when you said you had me. I trusted you to keep one thing private."
Jay's throat moved. "I broke that."
"Yes."
"I know you said not to say I know."
"Then do not."
Jay nodded once. "I broke that."
Alexia looked at her for a long moment.
The anger stayed.
But the room changed slightly because this, at least, was true.
Jay was not making jokes. Not trying to charm. Not reaching for Alexia's hand. Not saying tequila like it was a defence. She was standing there with her backwards shirt and her stupid single sock and taking the hit.
Alexia turned away and pulled her hair back from her neck, checking the mark again. The high collar would cover most of it if she moved carefully. But shoots were not careful. Shoots were people touching hair, adjusting angles, asking her to turn her head, tilt her chin, lift the sunglasses, lower them, face the light.
She could already feel the make up artist's polite silence.
Her anger spiked again.
"I have to go."
Jay's head lifted. "Let me call you a car."
Alexia's eyes narrowed.
Jay added quickly, "Not to manage you. Not to fix. You're angry and hungover and I don't want you driving. That's all."
Alexia stared at her.
She hated that the suggestion was reasonable.
She hated that Jay had made it.
She hated that if she refused, it would be because she wanted to punish Jay, not because it was the better choice.
“I will call it," Alexia said.
Jay nodded. "Okay."
"Do not say okay like you are approving me."
Jay shut her mouth.
Alexia booked the car herself.
Three minutes away.
She shoved her phone into her bag and started gathering what she needed with sharp, angry movements. Sunglasses. Wallet. Call sheet. Keys. Make up bag. Water bottle. She picked up the water bottle, realised Jay had filled it last night, and for one stupid second the detail almost softened something.
Then she saw the mark in the mirror again.
No.
Not soft.
Not yet.
Jay stood in the bedroom doorway now, watching her with her whole body pulled tight.
Alexia turned. "No messages."
Jay blinked, but nodded. "Okay."
"I mean it."
"I hear you."
"No apology essays."
Jay swallowed. "Okay."
"No voice notes."
"I won't."
"No flowers."
Jay's mouth opened.
Alexia pointed. "Jay."
Jay closed it.
"No flowers," Alexia repeated.
"No flowers."
“No turning up at the shoot."
Jay's expression went blank for half a second.
Too fast.
Too revealing.
Alexia saw the fear under it, and it made her even angrier because she did not want to be responsible for easing it.
"Do not look like that."
Jay's voice was quieter. "Like what?"
"Like I said I am leaving forever."
Jay inhaled shallowly.
Alexia's jaw clenched. "I need space. That is not abandonment. That is space."
Jay nodded carefully. "I hear you."
"I am serious."
"I hear you."
Alexia picked up her bag.
Jay took one small step forward, then stopped herself.
"Alexia."
She turned, furious all over again. "What?"
Jay's face tightened, but she did not retreat. "You are right to be this angry."
Alexia stared.
Jay continued, voice low and steady enough to cost her something. "I broke the rule. You reminded me. I said I had you and then I didn't. You don't have to make me feel better. I won't message. I won't come. I won't send anything. I won't try to turn it into a joke."
Alexia's mouth pressed into a hard line.
The answer was right.
That did not make it feel good.
"Fine," she said.
Cold.
Hard.
Jay took it.
The car notification buzzed.
Alexia walked to the bedroom door, then stopped once more because the sight of Jay's T shirt was suddenly unbearable.
"Your shirt is backwards," Alexia said sharply.
Jay looked down.
It was inside out too.
Her shoulders sank a fraction, but she did not smile. "Yeah."
Any other morning, Alexia would have fixed it.
This morning she did not touch her.
She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. The collar shifted. The edge of the mark appeared above it again, dark beneath the make up.
Jay saw.
The guilt crossed her face again.
Good, Alexia thought.
Then hated that she thought it.
"No visible marks," Alexia said.
Jay's voice was rough. "I hear you."
Alexia left.
The door closed behind her with a controlled click.
could you write a ferran torres fic where he and his wag kinda give off posh spice and david beckham in the 2000s?
spotlight ;;
f!model!reader x ferran torres (spain)
where you and him are like victoria and david beckham… just 20 years later.
a/n: loved this request but i didn’t know how to go about writing it so sorry it took a while </3 i tweaked it a little as well hope you don’t mind!
a/n 2: i don’t know spanish & i wasn’t even gonna TRY 💀 so everything is in english & if you know spanish just pretend the convos are in spanish
day 11 of my world cup 2026 series ~
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
you managed to make it to ferran’s game in spite of your busy schedule. hell, you cancelled a shoot for this. he should be grateful.
during one of the slower parts of the game, the cameras panned to you in the crowd: unbothered and looking chic as ever. although when do you not?
you were watching from the closest seats to the pitch along with one of the other wags.
“y/n l/n in attendance,” one of the sky sports commentators muttered as the other let out a soft laugh.
“quite surprising to see her here… she’s pretty lowkey outside of her modelling career, no?”
the camera did a slow zoom in on you texting someone. you were suited up in chunky glasses, a spain-themed tank top, low-rise denim minishorts, and boots. of course you had your accessories as well but they weren’t super visible from where the commentators were.
“have you heard the rumours, actually? she’s been seen with ferran torres back in barcelona a couple of times.”
“really?” the other commentator asked in slight disbelief. after a moment of silence though, it made sense to him.
you finally felt the camera on you which caused you to look at its direction and flash it a small yet elegant smile. one of unbotheredness yet excitement to be here.
“reminds me of posh spice and beckham in 2006. she has that original wag aura.”
the other commentator let out a sound of agreement.
then the match ended 4-0. ferran almost got his goal but it was ruled offside. unfortunate, but you saw it coming. you then quietly made your way to their hotel.
*
back in his room, he lied on his bed while you sat beside him, the both of you knowing you weren’t supposed to be there. his head was in your lap while he texted pedri about something.
you suddenly received a text from one of your closest friends — “look at twitter rn”.
confused, you opened up the app and it was right in your face. the first post on your feed was tagged “ferranandy/n” along with a picture of the two of you after the game.
you let out a soft snicker as you turned your phone towards him. “we look so cute together.”
he laughed. “there were commentators talking about us, you know. apparently we’re like posh spice and david beckham. i’m half the player he is though.”
you gave him a small frown before you put down your phone and put a hand on his cheek.
“don’t say that. you’re good too,” you reassured.
“i know i’m good,” he started, to which you scoffed, “i’m just saying he’s better. at least in his day.”
can’t argue with that.
you hummed as you continued scrolling twitter. “we’re like, viral, you know.”
“i don’t care about the rumours. let it be known that i love you. and that i’m yours and you’re mine.”
you laughed before finally turning your phone off and deciding to lay beside him. “how possessive.”
the room went quiet for a moment before you spoke up again. “they were comparing me to posh spice? i must have a great fashion sense then,” you thought out loud.
ferran laughed. a hearty one, at that. “you’re literally a model.”
“hey, sorry, i’m just trying to accept the compliment.”
he rolled his eyes before slinking his arms around your waist. “are the ones i give you not enough, posh?”
