#posh jenny

[planetaryupscaled]

Pushing Boundaries

Male Reader x Jennie

Tags: 23k, cheating, anal, creampie, oral, tw

The story is not ours; we simply alter the original story to our preferred settings.

Driving an Idol, Jennie Kim in this case, should have been a great job; after all you got to spend time with her in close company every day, to check her out and take in her gorgeous figure with every sly and secret glance at her. It was simply a perk of the job, what was at times a very long and tedious job despite the company you kept.

On this particular job things had been generally running smoothly though you were out in the middle of nowhere so the drives were long and the place to stay was nothing special. It was a nicer motel than the average schmuck might get sure but it still wasn’t the same as a nice hotel in a city, not that you often got a chance to stay there. Being “just a driver” meant you was often given basic budget digs and simply had to drop off your charge at a posh hotel, but that was part of the gig. Right now however you are in a simple motel and so were the star of the stage, meaning all you had to do was drive one place to another and nobody got anything better than anyone else.

Things had been good but were starting to unravel; the production was getting behind schedule, reshoots were constant now it seemed and you had to wait until much later than normal to complete your duties. Everything seemed to be going wrong and today was no exception as Jennie, expecting to finish her shooting and head back to the motel and a much desired shower, had been dressed down by the ever-more-angry director and ordered to reshoot several scenes because her work had been “utter shit and lazy, diva bullshit” to quote him directly. Jennie had got into a huge, storming argument with him over her alleged “lacklustre work” that had meant she’d screamed her voice hoarse and ended with tears streaming down her face to help ruin her make-up as well.

Of course you didn’t know any of this, you only noticed her face of thunder as she stormed up to the car three hours late, having had to calm down and be retouched by the cosmetic team before reshooting all the shots the director wanted, evidently making a point in putting Jennie in her place in front of the rest of the crew. She was seriously pissed as she wrenched the door open, straining it against the check strap before it almost bounced back on her, muttering and cursing under her breath as she threw herself into the seat beside you and slammed the door shut. She was in a seriously bad mood, you’d never seen her like that and just kept your distance as the Idol threw her bag down and didn’t even look at you.

“Drive, fucking drive,” she muttered intently.

“No problem,” you said quietly and started the car, pulling it into drive and setting off, wasting no time and letting the engine roar despite it being cold. Who cared, it wasn’t your car.

“Fucking asshole,” she muttered, seething with unexpressed rage as it ran over and over in her mind. You just kept quiet as she mumbled to herself and focused on driving, not wanting to get caught in the tornado of her mood. It didn’t seem to matter though and she just went off about it, venting on him and drawing you into it given you had no way to escape.

“What a load of bullshit, he just doesn’t fucking like me!” she snapped, to him but also herself as much as anything. You just looked ahead and murmured non-committally, not really having anything to add given you had no clue about the situation...though you knew Jennie; she was a hard worker and dedicated herself to her projects, you knew that much, but she did come across as a bit of a diva at times and you figured this was one of those moments.

“He was just picking on me! Picking me out, trying to make himself look big or something,” she babbled, looking across to you repeatedly as she animatedly ranted, waving her hands as she let her rage just pour out as she tried to elicit a response from you.

“That’s bullshit,” you murmured, knowing from your experience with woman that she was really on one and there was no point getting involved if you could help it. Telling her to relax or calm down would only turn her ire on you, and you really didn’t want that.

“All those fucking reshoots, Aish, what time is it even?” she said, looking round for the car clock and seeing it was nearly eight in the evening already.

“Nearly three hours, three hours of pointless do-overs,” she rambled.

“Well, it’s done now, let’s just get back to the motel,” you offered, pressing the accelerator just a bit harder to speed things up.

“Oh yeah great, a drive back for an hour to a crappy little motel with a bad shower!” she snapped.

“Company could be worse though,” you quipped, trying to lighten the mood with a glance across to her for the first time. All she had for you was an icy stare, not remotely in the mood to cheer up.

“Yeah, could be better though,” she said off-handedly, looking back out the window as she dismissed you. It stung, you had to admit; your relationship with her was pretty close, you both got along well and usually had fun driving to and from the set every day despite the length of the journey. She was usually fun and a bit flirty with you, playing a good bit of back and forth despite the ring on her finger and being honest it really knocked you back a bit with her being such a bitch when you’d never done anything bad to her.

“Feel free to walk,” you retorted, hot headed, just giving your blunt response in that moment. It could cost you the job if she decided to continue being a bitch and have you fired, but you didn’t care just then.

“Oh you got an attitude too now?” she snapped, looking back at you. You simply remained focused on the road and didn’t rise to it; you didn’t want getting into an argument with Jennie Kim no matter how much she wanted it and just kept your mouth shut.

“I don’t need this shit, off anybody. I’m running a major company and I know what’s up. All these projects I’ve been doing lately as well, I don’t need to come onto a shitty project like this and get talked down to by some jumped up director who wants to get him rocks off pretending he’s better than me,” she ranted, getting into it again and just winding herself up like a clockwork monkey, ready to bang her drums and make lots of noise for a short while.

“Right,” you said, again trying to distance yourself from it all with a roll of your eyes as you heard her start talking about another projects. You didn’t want to hear her media-approved schpiel about it all in some effort to convince you, you’d heard that before.

“Can your attitude. You’re no better either,” she snapped, turning on you quite literally and leaning over the center console towards you.

“What?” you replied, basically blurted out, caught out by her accusation.

“Yeah, think I don’t notice you looking at my ass? I saw you checking out my ass as I got in the car when you thought I wasn’t looking. I know my underwear was riding up, bet you like that don’t you?” she accused, narrowing her eyes as she stared at you with pure malice for a moment.

“Well...I...” you struggled, knowing you were busted as your heart rate rushed, body momentarily panicking as you realised she’d noticed you checking her out.

“Yeah you thought you got away with that, taking a look at my ass every time I got out of your car. This is what I’m talking about, I thought you were a good guy and then I see you doing that every day. What the fuck man,” she said, giving a shake of her head and looking out the window again.

“I thought we had a relationship more than that now,” she added, giving you no time to respond as she kept on at it, eluding to the fact you both been riding together for weeks now. In fact, the reason she sat up front was because she didn’t want to be in the back like your task required, she wanted to chat with you and have fun so despite the large vehicle she sat in the front seat next to you and talked with you on every ride.

“But you just look at me like a piece of meat, someone you’d like to fuck huh?” she said, goading you, giving you the come-on as she looked for more of a fight. You had no idea why she was insistent that it should be you -- perhaps you were just the next guy she’d run into that was below her that she could take it out on.

“Would you rather I didn’t want to fuck you?” you asked after a pause, raising an eyebrow at her. Surely she would prefer to be desired than ignored.

“I....hey fuck that, alright? That’s bullshit. Even if I did want that it doesn’t mean you should be checking what panties I have on every fucking day,” she snapped, momentarily caught off balance but responding with further bile.

“Well that’s how it is, I guess. I’m gonna look, you got me,” you replied with a nonchalant shrug, not caring now given she was clearly just going off and whatever you said didn’t matter a fuck.

“Fucking perv,” she scolded, giving you a look that you assumed was meant to be mean but just came off as a bit silly, too try-hard.

“You shouldn’t be looking at my ass like that, that’s not cool, I’m not some fuck doll for you to fantasize about,” she added. You rolled your eyes again, pressing the accelerator harder, intending to get this drive done as fast as possible and drop Jennie Kim, the bitch, off at the motel before finding a drink.

“And I’m your boss,” she said, looking across to you slyly, the implication clear...though she went on to expand in her somewhat vicious intent. You wanted to ignore it, just let it go but she was pushing and your hands were tightening hard on the steering wheel. Your knuckles were white from tension, movements jerky as you restrained yourself from reacting to her bullshit diva behaviour; it wasn’t your fault her director thought she wasn’t pulling her weight and had had at her but she was unloading it aggressively on you and something had to give.

“And I can get you fired, I don’t have to put up with this shit,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she stared at you.

“Fine,” you said, trying to hold back your temper that she’d bubbled up now; you had a temper, you wouldn’t deny that, but you kept cool and controlled especially with your job on the line but right now she was winding you up and you were struggling not to just let it go and tell her to shove this job straight up her tight, toned ass.

“And fucking slow down! Are you trying to kill us?” she exclaimed, seeing the speedo nudging 97mph as you aimed to get back to the motel as fast as possible. Jennie squealed and lurched forwards towards the dashboard as you stamped on the brakes, the car diving suddenly as you decelerated and throwing her forwards which she noticed immediately as she hadn’t fastened her seatbelt in her anger.

“Aish!” she cried out, catching herself and fumbling around as you spotted a good place to pull of the road and pulled the car onto it, tyres sliding in the dust as you skidded to a halt and lurched back, a cloud blowing all around as she sat back up.

“What the fuck?!” she asked hurriedly, pushing her hair back from her face.

“Just shut the fuck up, would you? Give me a break!” you snapped sharply, loudly, leaning close to her face as you said it. Jennie recoiled in shock, eyes widening as you suddenly spoke to her so bluntly.

“Fuck you, I own you!” she shot back, finding her nerve again, getting the fight she seemingly wanted after all.

“Fuck you, you don’t own me,” you shouted, then reached out to grab her, making her squeal as you manhandled her between the seats and threw her into the back of the car, where she usually rode up front with you. Jennie tumbled untidily into the rear seats, her ass giving a gorgeous glimpse as you threw her into the back before she collapsed onto the leather bench seat.

“Oh big man huh, gonna just get rid of me?” she said, pushing her hair back and pushing up on her elbow as she waited for your response.

“Just fucking can it, Jennie,” you snapped.

“Oh big man, gonna throw a woman around. What, you gonna come back here and fuck me as well are you?” she replied, the challenge clear in her tone.

“Maybe I should,” you said quietly, meaningfully. Jennie paused momentarily, not quite expecting your response and thinking it over for a split second before she replied.

“Oh really? Fine maybe you should,” she said, unable to back down, her ego too big to retreated.

“Oh yeah?” you answered, looking at her in the rear view mirror, seeing her eyes, those big, honest eyes that told you everything you needed to know: she was serious.

“Yeah fine, go on, fuck me. Why don’t you show me what you’ve got tough guy,” she said, no question or doubt in it, just a statement - an invitation.

“Fine,” you responded curtly and shoved the door open, getting out as Jennie’s heart raced, breathing fast as you stepped round and opened the back to get in with her as she immediately made space for you. She’d wound you up relentlessly and she knew she’d done it on purpose but she wasn’t sure her end goal with it all; you didn’t deserve it at all, none of her irritation was your fault, but she also knew she was desperately horny having been away from her fiancé for weeks and frankly this was the best possible outcome...as long as you kept your mouth shut.

You jumped in with her and locked the doors, wasting no more words on her as you seize the opportunity she’d presented you, grasping it with both hands as most men would. Jennie looked at you like a deer in the headlights for a moment before you grabbed hold of her, throwing her over on her tummy and shoving her towards the window, up into a doggystyle position as her forehead bumped the cold glass. You were strong and dominant, taking full physical control of her as you hauled her into position and then grabbed her trousers in readiness.

“Gonna finally fuck me now huh? Everything you wanted? I bet you’ve dreamed of this as you stared at my ass,” she goaded, finding her attitude again for a moment as she made no protest of what you were about to do and actually arched her back, sticking her ass out and letting her pussy bulge between her legs to invite you to get on with it.

She was hungry for it, waiting for the moment your cock slid into her; she knew she was going to shake as you did it which would give her away, that she loved it from the second you started fucking her but right now she didn’t care -- she needed to get fucked, and was sure she’d wound you up enough where you would. She needed it badly.

“Shut the fuck up,” you said simply, a straightforward command to the Idol as you grabbed her leggings and yanked them, and her thong, down her thighs to just above her knees, revealing her stubbly, half-shaved pussy and tight ass. Jennie shifted on the seat to get herself stable as you undid your trousers and released yourself as she imagined you standing up iron-hard for her, ready to split her in two. She didn’t have to wait long, mere seconds, for her question to be answered as you grabbed your rock hard cock and aimed it down to her hot, wet lips as your other hand grabbed her waist to constrain her, not that she needed it as you guided your cock to her opening.

Jennie cried out loudly in pleasure and pain as you suddenly plunged into her, wasting no time and doing exactly what she’d invited -- fucking her. You drove yourself into her hard as your silky body yielded to, and the clenches of her muscles did nothing to deter you as you slammed full depth inside her and shoved your hips into her ass as she cried out and grunted deeply, soulfully as you buried your cock totally inside her. Her pussy clenched hard and she shuddered in sensation, pain giving a sudden twinge but giving way to immediate pleasure at a cock being inside her for the first time in weeks, bumping against her cervix as it filled her completely.

She shuddered intently and knew the game was up, as she’d suspected her body had completely given away her excitement and arousal at this fuck and she was sure her wet pussy did little to dispel that. Your hand dug into her waist and pulled back at her hip as your other hand swiftly grabbed a handful of her dark hair, fingers twisting into her hair and pulling back at her head as she gasped. You wasted no time at all in fucking her, burying your cock into her initially then yanking back to get straight into a quick, hard rhythm; your pace was intense and full of frustration, rage even as you held her lithe bodily tightly and started absolutely fucking her hard and fast. You wasted no energy or motion, jamming her head into the window as she gasped and breathed hard, fogging up the glass as she looked out towards the road while you pounded into her from behind.

“This what you wanted is it?” you asked as you held on tight and fucked her, really fucked her, pounding hard and fast with short strokes that always hit full depth as you slammed yourself against her ass. You barely registered that you were fucking Jennie Kim of all people, your boss, the famous idol, just relishing the feel of her sweet, hot pussy clenching and squeezing around your cock as she absolutely loved your pounding into her from behind.

“Uh huh...” was all she could murmur, unable to lie as the pleasure washed over her, relief of finally getting fucked and so, so hard as you took out all your anger on your bitchy boss. You smiled as you continued, trying to find more pace and power, more energy, more aggression, more anger to let out on your evidently slutty boss who was quite happy to let you fuck her.

“Good, you fucking whore,” you said, adding to it as Jennie just groaned in pleasure as your rock hard cock slammed in and out of her, your hips jamming into her toned ass, making a gratuitous slapping sound as you cranked her back, pulling her hair harder as your intensity ramped up. It hurt, the burn in her scalp searing but she didn’t give a fuck, she was just loving it so much she’d frankly let you do anything you wanted with her as you pounded on her pussy and tingled her G-spot to drive her towards orgasm. You somehow knew what she needed and pushed up to lean over her more and push down against the sensitive spot at the front of her pussy

“Oh fuck,” she muttered under her breath as her cheek shoved against the glass, feeling your cock brutally push down against her vaginal wall, stimulating her perfectly, her arousal just too much as she felt her typically pre-orgasmic tremble shudder through her body. She was momentarily distracted as a truck suddenly went past, slower than it should, before heard the horn blare; you’d been spotted, seeing them pulled over and then her face jammed against the window with her eyes practically rolling as she gasped hungrily for more. Jennie just hoped she hadn’t been recognized as it disappeared down the road, focusing on to the sensations of your pounding against her ass once more and realizing she was ready to pop.

It’d taken no time at all; she was so horny and desperately in need of a good, thick cock inside her like she had right now that her body just responded to it, primally pushing all thoughts of her cheating from her mind as she shoved back into you as best she could. She needed every millimeter of your cock inside her and drove her pelvis back to maximize your penetration as she arched her back, your hand digging into her, face still shoved against the cold, sweaty glass as you pounded on her. The fact you’d clearly wanted to do this for so long only made it hotter, the way you’d just suddenly turned on her and fucked her, at her encouragement mind, taking her to task and now letting out every bit of frustration and want for her as you pounded her harder than she’d been fucked in years.

“Fuck me, god fuck me,” Jennie gasped, not caring that you knew she loved it now as you continued to smash her. Your hips slammed against her ass in a motion that must have been a blur, slapping noisily against her as your pulsing, twitching cock plunged into her again and again. Your shoves against her G-spot and the sustained way you were driving almost against her cervix had only cranked her orgasm up and up and with a sudden shudder it gave way as she came -- hard. She shook and opened her eyes, grunting hard as she climax washed over her rapidly, gazing through the misted winded onto the empty surroundings as her breath caught and stuttered into fast, struggling gasps through her noises.

You smile as you continued to pump yourself into her with all your might, loving how snug and wet her pussy was wrapped around your cock, loving how she shook and just begged for you to take her. Watching her come was a satisfying reward, loving that you’d made the gorgeous Idol peak in two minutes, unable to help herself as she whined in pleasure and dug her nails into the seat cushion. You pounded on her hard as she slowed down and quaked more deeply in culmination of her orgasm, the immense pleasure fading to leave her fragile and sensitive, fumbling to pull away from you.

“Slow down,” she breathed, barely a mumble through gasps for air, trying to recover as her forehead prickled with sweat. She tried to ask for it even as she knew you wouldn’t slow down, knowing she was your little toy right now and you were running the show whether she liked it or not. In fact, she loved it and even as she trembled in overwhelmed sensations, your thick cock ploughing her sweet pussy harder and faster than ever given how wet she was. There was no mercy, no break, no pause in your fucking, just slamming yourself into her as she struggled to take it though it only turned her on more than ever -- her fiancé never fucked her like this any more.

She grunted and groaned through it as you pummeled her ass with your hips, your thick cock straining and pulsing inside her, feeling harder than ever as you pursued your own orgasm. Her hot, clenching pussy had only helped to accelerate your climax and now you starting to bubble, the thought of finally fucking Jennie Kim getting to you. Jennie herself just moaned and mumbled tiredly in pleasure and a cocktail of stimulation as your thick shaft drove into her again and again, though you could feel her deliberately squeezing and clamping down on you with her vaginal muscles, aiming to maximize your ride and make her pussy the tightest she could.

“Fuck,” you grunted, your first exclamation that told Jennie you were enjoying her as much as she enjoyed you, her body so hot and tight, hands digging into her, loving how she responded to the rough treatment as you fucked her hard and fast with little focus on her own pleasure. Her orgasm said everything you needed to know about her love it and now it was time for your own, the tingle you’d been holding back growing into a deep, intense release that was waiting to burst forth. With no reason to now hold it back and her ass still shoving back into her cock as she worked to please you, you just picked up your efforts, somehow finding a bit more pace to smash yourself into her in the shortest, hardest strokes you could manage as she whined in pleasure.

“Don’t come inside me,” she breathed, urging you to pull out as she felt you strain and twitch, knowing you was on the brink and holding back for a final few intense, hard, body-shaking thrusts into her to slam her against the window. Instead she grunted as your hand dug into her waist and you shoved her face hard against the glass, smearing her lipstick onto it as she gave a muffled complaint while you jammed yourself as deep as possible.

“I’m come wherever I fucking feel like,” you said in a near growl, making her tremble in excitement, unable to deny how much she loved being fucked like this, totally dominated and owned as your thrusts immediately picked up the pace again. It was an overwhelming, eye-rolling moment of discovery as she was reminded what it was like to get properly fucked as you absolutely unloaded every bit of energy you had and stroked your cock into her with short, rapid pumps until you gave a final stiffen, a few last strokes and slammed hard into her to get full depth before your cock jerked and spurted deep inside to unload yourself against her cervix.

“Oh fuck...” she breathed as she felt your hot cum burst into her, spilling at the entrance to her womb; even though she’d asked you not to she wasn’t the least surprised you’d blown it inside her, choosing the most enjoyable method and leaving it up to her to deal with. It was hotter that you’d deliberately ignored her and done exactly what she’d asked you not to, just dismissing her and dominating her to the last as your balls tightened and you exploded inside her with short, hard gasps. You squeezed and clenched your muscles hard to urge every last drop of your cum into the pretty idol, giving in to the extreme pleasure of it all and letting it shudder through you, relishing the moment as you emptied your balls inside Jennie Kim. It’d been weeks since you’d had a chance to get any relief yourself and to finally get that with her of all people was a dream come true.

“Fuck that was good,” you breathed, squeezing a couple of more times as you just rested inside her, letting yourself have every chance before you slipped back out of her easily and turned to sit down on the seat.

“Yeah, exactly what I needed,” she breathed honestly, sinking into the seat but not looking back at you, embarrassed with herself and how much she’d enjoyed it. She’d given you the come on though and knew it was entirely her doing so she could hardly complain.

“Good,” you replied simply, pulling your trousers up and pushing the door open, Jennie inhaling as the breeze blew in over her bare ass and dropping to the seat now as you slammed the door and then momentarily slipped back into the driver’s seat. Jennie just rolled over and clumsily fumbled her yoga pants and thong back up, tugging them awkwardly over herself as she covered herself after the roughest, and most exciting, fuck she’d had for years. She felt exhausted, slumping into the back seat and letting it take over her, the tension falling off her like a coat in the aftermath as you started the engine and pulled away from the side of the road. Jennie looked up and your eyes met in the rear view mirror, a look that said everything -- you had everything she needed right then, and you was going to give it to her.

“You’re coming back with me,” you said quietly, commandingly.

“Yeah well, of course, same motel and all,” she proffered, trying to break the topic as if she didn’t know what you meant. She of course wasn’t stupid and knew exactly what you were saying.

“Don’t be stupid, Jennie,” you said with another look in the mirror, “I’ve got exactly what you need.”

“So speed up and give it to me, don’t make me wait,” she replied after a pause, longer than it should have been as she tried to think of a way to counter that. She didn’t have one and agreed that frankly you did have what she needed, and wanted, for the night so fuck it, she might as well just encourage it. She hardly had to wait as she heard the engine roar and the car surged forward, sinking into the seats and relaxing as she recovered, feeling both immensely satisfied by her climax and horny again already, knowing she was going towards a night of being fucked her without an ounce of control.

She fumbled around and got her phone out, looking through it as you focused on driving back as the light of the day failed and faded, sun sinking below the horizon now to bath the road in twilight. Jennie kind of enjoyed being your passenger again, riding in the back even if it was after you’d forcibly thrown her there and then fucked her. Fucked her harder than she’d ever imagined you would, and bought yourself a ticket to her for the rest of the night.

In what seemed like no time at all thanks to touching triple figures on the speedo you pulled up at the motel, guiding the luxury sedan into the entrance and parking up in easy reach of the front door. Few people were there at the bar except for the staff crew, and many of them hadn’t returned yet. You pulled up and stopped the car, getting out to open the rear door for her and usher her out towards the entrance of the motel like a proper guest. You saw her into the place then once they were away from the main foyer you grasped her hand and pulled her along, directing her towards your room as you made sure she couldn’t change her mind. She had no intention and let you pull her towards her night of adventure, unlocking your door easily and pulling her inside.

“Smaller than yours I assume,” you said with a smile, gesturing around; it was smaller than hers but not by as much as you’d think as her room at this place wasn’t exactly majestic, it was just a small motel in the middle of nowhere. It really was the middle of goddamn nowhere, which was why she was here in the first place, ready to get fucked even though she’d never had imagined she’d do this. It wasn’t her at all, she was faithful. Not any more though she figured, but despite that she wasn’t going to be a pushover and wanted to get some control back, to drive what happened and not let you treat her like a total fucktoy as was clearly your intent. Her body hadn’t given you any idea she wanted anything different mind.

“Look, I’ll stay the night and all, you got me alright,” she said as you threw your jacket down, looking up to her.

“We’ll hook up but it’s not like that,” she said, trying to wrestle back control of the whole situation somewhat.

“Not like what?” you questioned.

“That,” she said pointedly, raising her eyebrows, “like what just happened. I’m not your little fuckdoll for the night or something, I’m still your boss.”

“Yeah right,” you said with a short laugh, looking her up and down, amused by her faux indignation and attempt to boss you about.

“I’m serious, I don’t...” she started but was immediately cut off by you surging toward her to stand face-to-face with her, towering over her, making her suddenly feel small and powerless before you.

“Shut the fuck up, Jennie,” you said coolly, calmly...dominantly. She felt a tremble run through her and instantly wanted to submit, to let you take charge of her even if consciously she felt she shouldn’t.

“I’m in charge here,” you said, reaching out and firmly squeezing her breast through her baggy top, making her murmur then squeak as you were particularly rough with her.

“And you’re going to do exactly what you’re told tonight, just like you want to. You’re gonna be my perfect little obedient fuckdoll for the night, you really are,” you said deeply, so cool and calm with her. Jennie took a deep breath, realizing her heart was racing, pounding in her chest as you just totally owned her leaving her unable to reply. She simply didn’t know what to say or do.

“Now take your clothes off,” you ordered, stepping away from her to pull your own shirt off.

“All of them?” she blurted out, even though she knew the answer, scolding herself for even asking.

“Yes, Jennie, all of your clothes. What else do you think I’d want,” you replied, stripping yourself and leaving her to catch up as she took a breath and set about peeling her clothes off. It took her only a few moments to throw off her casual hoodie and top, easily unclipping her comfortable, unsexy bra and then shoving her yoga pants down again and this time off her feet to leave herself standing naked before you as she awaited instructions. Her dignity and any semblance of fight had left her completely and now she’d resigned herself to being exactly what you wanted her to be -- your fuckdoll. And she was sure she was going to love it.

“Very nice,” you said, glancing up her lithe, toned body, her workout regime paying off handsomely as she stood before you like a treat. She was slender, abs defined, a lovely thigh gap and her pussy was shaved into a nice landing strip, though she hadn’t kept up with it for a couple of days and stubble prickled her skin.

“Thanks,” she replied shyly, stupidly given what had already done. She was just waiting for you to lead her, which you did.

“Let’s take a shower,” you said, walking to the bathroom without a backwards glance. You just knew she would follow you and your trust that she would infuriated her, made her bossy attitude burn; she was literally your boss and could have you fired any time she wanted, but here she was in your room letting you order her about like someone you’d paid for. And what made it worse for her was she was giving into it, just feeling helplessly commanded by you and wanting to submit. She’d never been treated like this in the bedroom and couldn’t help herself, almost wanting to see where it went as much as anything else as she followed you into the bathroom.

The shower was already running with you standing under the hot cascade of water, washing down as she walked into the bathroom. You looked up to her right at the moment when she shivered, feeling your load of cum sinking down under gravity and threatening to leak out of her. You smiled and held out a hand to encourage her in, a hand that Jennie took slowly, letting herself be led into the shower and a night of exploration. She knew that’d been her last possible chance to leave but realistically she’d never even considered it -- if she was going to be pissed off and regret this, she wanted to see it to the end so she could properly complain about it, like watching a bad movie and refusing to walk out.

“Ohh,” she shivered as you pulled her under the hot spray, the night not cold but having been feeling a little chill without her clothes, the warmth of the shower tingling her perfectly. You pulled her into your arms beneath the tumbling water and finally fixed her with a kiss, pressing your lips to her firm, full pout. Tongues immediately entwined and found a perfect rhythm, mixing easily, so much better than she’d ever expected with a first kiss as you leaned down into her under the spray as she pressed her naked body to yours. She could already feel your erection pushing up into her tummy as your lust for her made itself evident, which she guessed she couldn’t really complain about as you felt her stiff nipples push into her body as her lovely breasts squashed between them.

“Mm someone’s ready,” she murmured with a smile as she felt your cock grow to full hardness as your hands slid down her back and squeezed her tight ass.

“Yeah, so don’t hesitate,” you murmured, kissing down her neck as she leaned back and sighed in pleasure, body tingling. She loved having her neck kissed and arousal spread through her like a wave, spurring her hand to fumble between them and wrap her slender fingers around your hard cock. It gave her a chance to properly explore and assess it given previously it was only being thumped into her cunt hard and fast from behind. Her hand stroked slowly up and down as you kissed her again, the hot water splashing down over while your own hands squeezed her ass, fingers teasing over her tightest hole before moving up to squeeze at her tits, your large hands easily encompassing her fairly petite chest, thumbing at her nipples carefully to stimulate the hard points.

You both didn’t speak, not needing to, satisfied at finally getting your hands on Jennie Kim, the woman you’d been driving to every day and who was in essence your boss. She was just lost to the pleasure of somebody finally getting their hands on her, the physical relief of it something she hadn’t realized she’d needed until now, loving the feel of your hands sliding and groping over her body, taking in every womanly curve of her, making her feel wanted and desired, lusted for, like a woman.

You reached out and grabbed shower gel from the shelf on the wall, liberally spreading it into your hands before soaping her up, spreading it over her shoulders and down her back to her ass. She just murmured as you spread her ass and reached down into every crevice of her body, pulling back from her to soap over her front. You spent plenty of time on her tits and enjoyed every bounce and squeeze of her as you spread the soap over her before lathering down her body, taking in her slender waist and the curve of her hips, her lovely strip of pubic hair and toned legs. She was quite taken by the way you showed her respect as you soaped her up and then turned her into the shower to rinse her down, loving the way the soap just seemed to peel down her body towards her feet over her lightly tanned skin.

Jennie murmured in pleasure as she just loved the intimacy of a shower with you, loving the attention you were giving her after too long without it. Your hands on her were a delight, sliding over her soapy body and taking in every womanly curve of her figure as you did, knowing exactly what you were doing with her. Jennie wondered how she’d completely overlooked you as your skill was evident and the thick cock she still had her hand wrapped around was a perfect fit. Oh sure she’d randomly contemplated doing it, she did with many men, but she’d never been serious about giving you a shot and realized she’d probably missed out. You had her now though and she was very sure you were going to give her everything you could; you’d already fucked her as though it was your only chance with her and she was sure things would only follow suit.

“Kneel down,” you said, only proving her right as she looked up into your eyes and then locked lips with you again, tongues fighting before she broke away and sank down in the shower with your hard cock throbbing right in front of her face. Assuming you wanted a blowjob she wasted no time in sucking you off, stroking and then immediately engulfing your cock in blissful liquid heat as her tongue assaulted. You groaned in pleasure and pulled your hand into her hair to encourage her as your cock swelled in her mouth, flexing and straining as you shivered at the incredible sensations of her velvet touch, feeling her suck firmly as she started bobbing her head.

Jennie rather enjoyed sucking cock and knew it always made men happy, loving the way they just melted to her touch as she set about devouring them, pushing them into her throat to let them feel her yield and stretch, shudder at her suck and tremble at her tongue. And as much as you loved that, intent on enjoying it fully, it wasn’t what you’d shoved her down for her and managed to refrain from getting lost in it totally as you reached out to squeeze some more shower gel into your hand and lather them together.

“Stop, Jennie, stop,” you reluctantly asked, pulling back a little to let your cock slip out of her mouth as she rocked back onto her heels and looked up at you. It was a perfect scene; the lovely Jennie Kim knelt before you, your hard cock pulsing moments from her mouth, her big eyes staring up to you in total obedience as the water splashed down.

“This is what I want,” you said firmly, your dominant tone directing her effortlessly as you reached down with both hands to soap and squeeze her firm tits in readiness before grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her up onto her knees. She cried out slightly as you yanked her up, pulling her to her tallest position as your other hand guided your cock to press it against her chest between her firm B-cups, the implication clear.

“Wow ok I’ve never really done this much,” she conceded, since her more humble chest wasn’t something many men seemed to focus on.

“I don’t care, grab them,” you ordered and with that Jennie did exactly what she was told and pushed her hands up under the sides of her tits to squeeze them together around your cock. She didn’t really know what she was doing but figured it would work just fine as she looked down to see her petite boobs squeeze up around your cock, feminine flesh engulfing your manhood with the soap concealing her nipples. Your hands went to her shoulders as you thrust against her, your cock easily slipping up against her wet, slippery body, trusting her to keep control her lovely breasts as you pushed your cock between them. You drew back slowly and then thrust up against her again with a slow, controlled motion that let you feel every little thing.

Your cock glided easily against her succulent, soapy body, the softness of her tits absolutely divine as they wrapped around you and perfectly sealed against the throbbing hardness of your cock. She just looked down as you started to thrust against her with a slow, powerful rhythm that told her that you wanted to enjoy it as her body rocked with your energy. You held her and she was glad that you did as your thrusts pushed her back towards her heels, something she knew would have made her toned thighs burn if she’d had to resist it all herself, able to focus solely on pressing her perky tits up around you.

Her nipples were rock hard as the soap slid off the neat, screwed up points of her breasts, water trickling down over her as you shielded most of the shower behind you. She looked down and enjoyed the sight of your thick cock pushing up between her tits, loving the way her body yielded and smoothly gave way to your manhood as you shoved it slowly and deliberately against her body. Unable to resist the pleasure of it, you started to pick up the pace and pump your hips forward against her faster, pushing into her more firmly to make her rock back then resist as you used her body for your pleasure. Jennie looked up to you, taking her gaze from her chest as she looked up to you with a smile, rather enjoying giving you a tit fuck especially when you seemed to enjoy it so much.

“Like that huh?” she asked through her smile, starting to rock her body a little, tightening her abs to let herself push down onto as you thrust up, accentuating the sensations around your rock hard erection as you slid between her perfect, soap-slick tits.

“You seem pretty good at this for someone that’s not done it before,” you smiled, not slowing down for a moment.

“I didn’t say I hadn’t, just not much,” she replied with a naughty little half-smile.

“Well you should do it more, you seem a natural,” you said, straining against her harder as she worked at you, getting into a motion as the water poured down over your back, steam filling the bathroom from the hot water as she worked up and down to massage her gorgeous tits around your cock. Just to enjoyed it for a couple more minute, you pushing harder and faster against her sternum while she focused on pressing her tits together for you, soap washing gradually away so there was more friction, more intensity to encourage you to thrust quicker as your erection pulsed between her tits.

Your fingers dug into her shoulders more and you helped to push her down as she bobbed on her knees, arching her back as she worked. Her breaths were short and sharp, almost rasping as she exerted herself, feeling the ache in her body and oblique muscles as she exercised herself in a somewhat unusual way. She worked out a lot, her video posts on social media showed that off plenty to everyone that wanted to drink in her tight body, but this motion was unlike anything she trained for as she compressed herself but arched her back to push her perky chest out for you. Still, her abs were strong and she put herself into it, doing all she could as the bathroom filled completely with steam so you both practically couldn’t see, condensation streaming off the mirrors and glass, beaded over everything cold or metal.

“Mm fuck,” you growled, cock jerking against her stiffly, so much so it made Jennie sure you were going to pick up the pace and work to the end on her before you suddenly slowed. Giving a final, lingering push up again her chest, you held for a moment then released her, stepping back as she let go of her tits, in tune with your clear intention for that to be it with her tits -- for now at least.

“Come on, we’ve got things to do,” you said, pulling her up from her knees by her arm, which helped given her somewhat tingling legs from where she’d been knelt down.

“You have…” she said, looking you in the eyes, “me.”

“Exactly,” you smiled, loving that she was seemingly onboard now and was enjoying herself. You turned the taps and shut the shower off, the hot cascade suddenly stops and leaves embraced by silence, broken only by the last few drips of the water fading away. You stepped out and grabbed a towel, throwing it back to Jennie as if she was always at your place as you picked up another for yourself, burying your face in it and rubbing through your hair. She let it tumble open before pressing it to herself, not bothering to be modest as there was no point, rubbing over her body to absorb the water from her body as you watched on with a smile. Her make-up had survived surprisingly well, only a little smudged from the shower.

She smiled back and just let you enjoy the view as she reached down to dry her legs, rubbing over her tight pussy before pulling the towel behind her to draw it over her back and down across her ass. Jennie giggled a little as you seemed enthralled by her, just drinking in the sight as she lifted the towel up to work it through her damp hair, stretching and displaying her body perfectly as you absent mindedly dried yourself, hands just on autopilot as you didn’t miss a thing.

“Very nice, all those workouts clearly pay off,” you commented, the evidence right in front of you.

“Thanks, I certainly work hard enough,” she replied as you cast your towel aside and grabbed her hand, leaving her idly rubbing round her neck as you led her out of the steamy bathroom into the main bedroom once more. You pulled her to the bed and then turned round, sitting back down onto it, your stiff cock sticking up for her; she assumed you would just pull her into your lap and slide inside her again to make her ride this time but found you had other plans.

“Kneel,” you commanded, pulling down at her wrist to urge her towards the floor. Without hesitation she sank to the floor smoothly, kneeling on the carpet at your feet and swallowing in preparation for what she assumed would be another blowjob.

“Up, now,” you commanded, Jennie struggling to her feet on tingling legs as you pulled her hair -- then took her by complete surprise by twisting and grabbing her over the shoulder and between the legs like a body slam and throwing her powerfully over and down onto the bed.

She squealed as you swung her over and cast her down on the sheets, her slender body bouncing on the mattress as her feet jumped up towards the ceiling, looking backwards as you stood over her. Without a word you grabbed her wrists and pulled her to the edge of the bed, Jennie craning up to look around before you shoved her head down, tipping it back off the side of the bed.

“Right there, that’s what I want,” you said firmly, dominantly, using a tone she’d not heard from any man and it made her tingle in excitement...and obedience. She knew she had no control over things anyway and just opened her mouth like whore, knowing it was what you wanted her to do and would make her if she didn’t. You were so turned on to see her just present herself, opening her mouth and closing her eyes, head back, knowing what you would do to her. This wouldn’t be any ordinary blowjob and you didn’t disappoint in showing her how, grabbing her face to direct her as you dipped your knees and shoved your cock down with your other hand and straight into her waiting mouth.

Jennie immediately sucked and applied her tongue, giving you a moment to enjoy her skills before you go straight to it and shoved into her throat. She gagged, unable to stop herself, knowing this was how it would be but unable to help herself. She’d never been very good at controlling her gag reflex but she got the feeling it wouldn’t matter a fuck to you right now. Jennie was absolutely right and you held her head and shoved hard into her throat, feeling her constrict and tighten around your cock to halt your progress. It didn’t deter you however and you knew you’d break her, shoving repeatedly with more and more pressure into her throat, making her gag and choke noisily, heaving on the bed before you, thick saliva running down her face now and making her close her eyes.

“Fucking take it, come on,” you said, an encouragement and an order at the same time, wanting into her throat as you pushed at her straining form. It took a few more attempts but with one, slow, powerful drive into her mouth you felt her resistance flutter, strain and fail suddenly so you jolted forwards into her and blissfully buried every inch of your cock into her hot, squeezing throat as she could fight it no longer. The noise she made was music to your ears as she gave a loud, wet gagging sound that was immediately muffled, wrenching and convulsing on the bed as she struggled before she gagged hard through her nose.

Her hands dug into the bedding, not trying to fight as you might have expected and as she might have claimed she would only a little while before. She just intended to take it, even as her eyes streaming and her make-up ran down her face, throat aching as it tried to push your cock back out, body heaving and spasming on the bed. She fought to calm herself down as you pulled back and gave her a second to breathe, Jennie hauling in a huge breath before you shoved your cock back in and followed her inhale down to neatly trick her and thrust yourself back into her throat before her body could react. She surged and choked again, hating how her body was doing this and also you for doing it to her, though she couldn’t deny how wet her pussy was from it.

Her hand strayed from the bed even as the other stayed twisted up in the covers, knuckles white from how tight she was holding it. She pushed her hand over her body and down between her legs, shocked at how wet she was, drenching her fingers as she found her clit and started to slowly circle it to let the pleasure in. You loved seeing her start fingering herself, telling you that despite whatever she thought she was enjoying herself in a primal, physical manner and it only spurred you to keep going at her for your own pleasure. She was clearly enjoying that.

“That’s it, just let me in,” you murmured, the silence only punctuated by her heaves and wet gagging along with your deep, intense breaths. She mumbled something but you obviously couldn’t work out what and frankly you were enjoying yourself far too much to care or give her the time to speak. You were absolutely rock hard, tingling with pleasure as her throat tightened hard around the head of your cock to stimulate your nerves with every thrust into her resisting mouth. She gagged and mumbled as you smashed into her throat, making it bulge as you drove fully down each time.

Jennie’s fingers danced precisely at her clit as she pleasured herself to being used so completely, utterly under your control as you leaned over her and dominantly thrust your hips forward to force your cock into her throat. Even though her body kept trying to fight, unable to stop herself, her muscles were weak and aching, a mere token protest now as you powerfully and methodically pushed yourself into her throat. You were loving pushing down into her, seeing the slight catch as your bulging head popped into her throat and made her tense, trying to hold it down as you pressed yourself right into her throat until your balls were against her face.

You could only hold back and sustain that for a couple of minutes however before your lust and want to use her throat took over, steadying your feet and starting to thrust much faster. Your strokes were shorter and harder, full depth every time as she gasped desperately, choking back her gags and hauling in breaths where she could. Her dark eye make-up streaked down her face as her eyes watered helplessly and she clung to the bed, only with one hand however as her other continued to stimulate herself, more aggressively now, her fingers grinding around her sensitive button intently. Her tongue, which had been attempting to join the party, gave up under the onslaught and she just held it fixedly to stroke your cock as you pumped in and out of her mouth.

The wet sounds of her throat were all that broke the air of the room as you plundered Jennie Kim, taking joy at every moment you could, knowing this was a once in a lifetime chance. Your hands were pressed hard into the mattress of the basic motel room as you stood prone over it and thumped your hips down into her waiting mouth, loving the bulge of her throat around your head, tingling the most sensitive areas. You gazed down over her tight body, perky tits with her nipples screwed up hard, toned abs clenching and pulsing as she struggled to take your cock, her fingers still working hotly at her clit. This was certainly going to help work her abs out.

“Oh fuck,” you growled, feeling a characteristic tingle as your cock pulsed and stiffened, knowing your orgasm was coming fast. You didn’t know if Jennie could feel it but didn’t really care and pressed on hard, picking up speed to thrust harder, shoving against her pretty face more intensely as you pursued your climax towards its inevitable conclusion. She hadn’t felt the hardening of your cock, that typical rock hard pulse that always signified the arrival of climax, but she heard your breathing increasing, getting harder and shorter, feeling your energy picking up as you thrust more rapidly into her. She couldn’t do anything apart from brace herself on the bed, both hands now stuck into the bedding as she held tight and just endured it, still gagging and choking, struggling to breath and practically creaming herself without being touched. She absolutely loved it.

You didn’t pay much attention to it but you knew she was into it, loving her playing with herself as you felt the pressure build in your balls. Your thrusts turned to a flurry, intensity unleashed now as you pumped her throat as hard and fast as possible, barely pulling two inches out of her before shoving back against her full lips in an overwhelming rhythm that she could barely handle. Her breaths were gasps, wet strangled grabs of atmosphere as you grunted and growled with pleasure, eyes squeezing shut as you trembled, holding it back. Thick saliva ran from her mouth and down over her cheek to run into her hair and drip to the floor as you pumped her throat, unable to stop herself from gagging around you.

By now Jennie knew exactly what was coming and couldn’t do anything to change it even if she wanted to. You thumped your hips hard into her, shaking and holding on until it burst forth in a sudden, incredible explosion; jamming yourself against her hard to shove her head back into the foot of the mattress, your cock jumped and swelled as you ejaculated intensely down her throat, a thick rope deep into her where she had no choice but to swallow. Jennie gagged hard, as much as you suddenly stopping as anything, feeling your hot load jetting into her as your thick prick jumped and surged in her mouth.

All she could do was mumble, unable to breathe as you pinned her down to empty your balls, pressed to her face. She held on as you pulsed and jerked to spill every last drop of your thick, salty load down her throat and then held still to make her swallow, Jennie quickly figuring out you wasn’t going to let her go if she didn’t. It wasn’t a big deal, it was so deep down her throat it was half way there and with an awkward heave and a gurgle she swallow it all. You pulled back and slipped your thick cock out of her mouth, standing up as you withdrew to let the idol haul in a huge, undignified lungful of air, taking several deep breaths as she turned her head and let a huge string of thick drool slide out of her mouth to the floor with a mumble of embarrassment and relief.

“Fuck that was good,” you breathed. She couldn’t reply, totally exhausted after her first, proper throat fuck.

“Ready for some fun?” you asked as you reached down slapped her face a couple of times, making her complain and snapping her back to reality as you moved round the bed. She was completely at your mercy and unable to fight back, just zoned out for a moment as you grabbed hold of her feet and hauled her round on the bed, dragging her head back onto the mattress to give her neck some much needed support. She mumbled incoherently as you spread her legs wide open and exposed her shaved but stubbly pussy, pulling her to the edge of the bed so they hung over it.

Without a word you dropped to your knees and shoved your arms up under her thighs, shoving them over your biceps as you lowered your head and drew your tongue straight over her puffy labia, letting the tip split her lips so it collided with her sensitive, rock hard clit. Jennie gave a stuttering sigh, breathing deeply as you went down on her, your tongue immediately going straight back to her begging button and softly pressing perfectly into her folds to stimulate her. Jennie gasped and groaned heavily in pleasure as she tipped her head back into the bed and rolled her hips up towards your intimate touch.

“Oh fuck, that’s so good,” she breathed, having not had her pussy eaten in so long. Her fiancé was good at it but he hadn’t done it for her in a while and when she was so turned on already it was an absolute treat. Her whole body tingled as your tongue touched her clit, pushing up under the hood and circling around her, different textures of stimulating every desire of hers as it slipped over her. Her hips rocked rhythmically into your tongue as it worked up and down, steady and powerful as you breathed hotly over her mound and just stimulated her perfectly, seeming able to read her just right.

The Idol just groaned in satisfaction and unmitigated enjoyment as you lapped at her juicy pussy, already so turned on from what you’d just done to her as she’d shamelessly loved her first face fuck even if it had been a messy struggle. She was dripping wet and your tongue easily parted her swollen lips, splitting them effortlessly as you dipped down and dragged back up from her asshole all the way to her throbbing clit. You focused onto her juicy entrance, loving how she was into it as you glided over her and just teased, making her wait and frustratedly wiggle before burying your tongue inside her.

She moaned in ecstasy with a shiver, pulling her legs up against your hands as her skin goosepimpled, body alight at every touch now as she relished the way your tongue twisted and swelled inside her to stimulate every nerve ending of her velvet walls. You thrust it inside her and swirled around, her slick juices coating your chin as she basked in pleasure, loving how you seemed to pay attention to every part of her. That was only confirmed as you pushed down and pulled your tongue over her asshole, returning the favour as she gave a tremendous surge and her breath caught in her aching throat. She’d never had her asshole licked properly before and felt the new, exciting sensations as your tongue spent several seconds licking and playing over her tightest hole before you swept back up to her clit.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, reaching up to push her hair back from her face, arching her back and trying to push down harder into your expert tongue as it took her towards orgasm. The climax was building intently in her tummy as she felt things tightening up, the tension accelerating as it bubbled up from her soul towards the inevitable. You could feel it, the way she was rocking and pulsing, the tightening of her muscles under your hands as you held her on the end of the bed. It only made you even more focused and you ate her hard, going as briskly and powerfully as possible on her without giving her that bit too much, your tongue aching as you prodded, probed and circled her clit.

The tip of your tongue worked in hard, small motions as you thrust it over her clit from all directions, breaking it up with circles one way and then the other beneath her hood for the most direct stimulation. She gasped desperately as you took her to the edge, not making her wait or teasing her however as you pressed ahead and drove her over the edge with the continued onslaught of your intimate ministrations. Jennie gasped helplessly for a few seconds as she ground her pelvis against your chin, fingers digging into the bed as the climax rushed up on her until she could hold it back no longer with a tremendous shake.

Her eyes squeezed shut and she threw her head back into the bedding, long hair tumbling over her face as her body primally quaked as the powerful orgasm hit her. It was harder than any climax she’d had in months, certainly more than her vibrator had given her whilst out on the road and she just gave in completely to its power. She let out a long, wailing, trembling moan of unadulterated pleasure as her toes curled and legs bucked in your grasp, feeling you lean on her hips to hold her down as your tongue continued to thrash at her to make it last as long as possible. Her hips gave strained motions to try and push up into you as she enjoyed every last second of the wave of ecstasy you’d brought her, ignoring the near-cramps in her legs as her muscles screamed while she creamed.

And suddenly it was over, like falling off a cliff and back to reality as she was suddenly finished, squeezing her thighs together and fumbling down towards to push her fingers into your hair and stop you as she gasped deeply for breath. She sucked in the oxygen as her eyes opened to the bright room, vision wavering a little in the wake of it all before she closed her eyes again and sagged back into the bed, exhausted ecstasy taking over as you pulled yourself back from between her clenching thighs. Her legs sagged open easily as you pulled yourself away, the idol basking naked before you totally sated and relaxed.

You just sat back with a smile, rocking onto your heels as she breathed deeply on the bed, completely wiped out for a moment in the aftermath of another powerful orgasm. Holding her hair back, she enjoyed the silence and peace after coming hard again which only made her realize how much she’d needed this and that her toys simply weren’t enough for a prolonged period. Her basking was interrupted as your fingers suddenly slipped into her, making her inhale in surprise as two of your digits teased momentarily at her slick opening and then pushed inside. Her body just welcomed it and she easily spread around the penetration to allow your fingers to slide inside, her pussy so juicy and ready she would have struggled to stop it even if she’d wanted to.

She shuddered and groaned in sensitive pleasure, still touchy from her peak but ready for more as you delved inside her, stroking her velvet walls and thrusting them slowly in and out of her. You could feel just how hot and ready she was, perfect for you to slide your cock inside which you were going to do now that you were rock hard again and ready to give it to her. You curled your fingers back and pulled back towards her entrance to press up for her G-spot, seeking out that little rough patch on the front wall of her vagina and finding it expertly as she gasped, groaning and grinding her pelvis into your hand slowly to help you stimulate her as your fingertips worked neatly.

Just as she was getting into it, thinking you was going to work her to another climax with your fingers, you stood up and leaned over her, slipping out of her and grabbing her slender legs to lift them from where they still dangled over the bed. You pulled them up and threw them over your shoulders, pressing yourself against the back of her thighs as you reached down to line yourself up and in an instant thrust inside her. Jennie gasped in surprise as you immediately buried yourself inside her, her body offering no resistance or hesitation, just letting you bury every inch of cock into her tight body in a single stroke.

“Fuck,” she muttered with a shuddering breath, trying to take it in as her eyes squeezed shut, the shiver spreading through her body as it all overtook her. You shook in similar pleasure, the feel of her slick, tight pussy just too much as you delved inside her, feeling her gorgeous body rubbing over every sensitive millimeter of your manhood.

“Fuck that’s nice,” you mumbled, closing your eyes and just relishing the sensations as you pulled back and started thrusting into her, taking your time to be slow but powerful. Effortlessly drove yourself into her, your hips pressing to hers as she took you balls deep and grunted with every pump, feeling you shove into her completely and nudge her cervix as you bottomed out. She just flopped back on the bed and enjoyed letting you fuck her, loving your thick cock inside her, how it stretched her out and pulsed inside her velvet tunnel. Jennie could tell you were absolutely loving it, loving getting your hands on her, loving taking your bitchy boss down, loving getting your rocks off and turning the tables on her for the night.

And she did too. She hated that you had so much control over her but she couldn’t resist, knowing you had her since you could mention it to the right people and her fiancé might find out and you obviously had long since given up caring if she got you fired for this. She wasn’t going to, she had too much to lose and frankly was enjoying herself; she figured if she kept up her end of this deal then you wouldn’t say shit to anyone. Except her.

“Fucking love this don’t you?” you asked, making her point immediately.

“Uh huh,” she groaned with a smile, bracing herself on the bed underneath as your pace picked up and you started to thump harder against her ass as you drove yourself into her. You relished the feel of her, the slippery sensations, pulsing and flexing your cock inside her as you worked your hips to give her every last bit of it. She was certainly enjoying it as she rolled her hips on you, doing her best given the way you were holding her legs and restraining her movements, the idol just using her significant muscle tone to resist and shove against you to rock her body.

You smiled down at her, loving her toned and lithe body as she held herself tight and worked her pelvis, tight abs looking delectable as she did, tilting her hips down with every ever-accelerating thrust into her. Your pace picked up but you were in full control, calm and cool, your cock hard and up to the task as you fucked the gorgeous Idol. Didn’t let the fact that this was something that would likely never have happened, not letting the moment overwhelm or overexcite as you pumped into her, confident in your endurance as she gasped and groaned in sheer pleasure beneath, just giving up to the enjoyment of it all and letting herself feel every thrust and motion of it.

You pushed your hands up under her knees then pressed them back onto her, rolling her hips back and pinning her legs down over her as you used her impressive, gym-honed flexibility to bend her into the position you wanted. Jennie was pinned down as your helpless fuckdoll now as you leaned right over her and started to fuck harder, pumping much faster and shorter into her as you suddenly picked up the pace to thump your thick cock into her hungry pussy with greater intensity. You surprised her by leaning down between her legs and kissing her, drawing her into a hot, hurried lip lock, tongues battling noisily as you never let up with your pumping, never disturbed or disrupted, hand still pinning her legs back under her knees as you both made out hungrily.

You pulled away from her and stood back up, thrusting into her harder and more intently, making her grunt at a twinge from her cervix as you plunged especially deep before she was lost to the pleasure of your thrusting into her hard and fast. Using the entire length of your cock, slammed back and forth rapidly, stimulating every nerve ending she had it felt like as her pussy just lit up around you, loving the feel of you fucking her hard now. The renewed angle meant you shoved up against her G-spot more effectively, the contours and ridges of your cock gliding and grinding over the sensitive patch to make her pussy clench.

You knew exactly what you were doing, knowing exactly how to fuck to give the maximum pleasure to women and Jennie Kim was no different. She was proving it as she gasped faster underneath, loving how you pinned her down and slammed your cock into her, your pace much faster now as you ploughed her with your thick, rock hard cock. She felt the same characteristic tingle again of an impending orgasm; it made her angry at herself, at her body that she would love it so much as to come again so soon and validate how you was fucking her. Jennie didn’t want to show you how much she enjoyed this, knowing it would only embolden you, but the bottom line was your cock and energy were just fantastic.

She grunted again and shuddered, body tightening up in pre-orgasmic tension, knowing you’d see it and just fuck harder. Absolutely correct, her body rocked harder as you shoved into her and pushed her down into the bed, pinning her legs back to her shoulders now as you leaned down on her heavily and thumped your hips into her to bury your cock over and over again into her hot, sweet pussy.

“Gonna come, Jennie?” you asked teasingly, smiling with smug satisfaction. She just turned her head away onto the bed as she blushed, feeling the heat in her cheeks to match the rush of sensations building from her G-spot as you fucked her. And you were fucking her, not making love to her or anything tender like that, pinning her on her back on the bed and slamming your thick cock into her like she needed. It only took another minute or so of that treatment, the shape and ridges of your thick head rubbing relentlessly over her most intimate spot to bring her to climax, making her tremble then shudder on the bed underneath.

You gave a contently laugh as you saw her quake in pleasure, whole body shaking as her eyes clenched shut and her fingernails dug into the bedding again as another orgasm hit her. It wasn’t as intense as it had been previously but it was still good, being fucked to climax was always something she enjoyed so it was all she wanted in that moment and you didn’t disappoint. As she came you fucked harder and faster, pounding her intensely for a few seconds as she wailed her pleasure to the motel room, clinging to the bed and pushing herself into you to take every possible inch of your cock as her body bucked and shook, abs clenching, jumping and shaking underneath your relentless thrusts as she gave in to another orgasm.

Unlike when you’d fucked her in the car in cramped doggy style, the squeezing and gripping of her pussy didn’t set your own climax off. You had more stamina than that, especially now after getting into it and simply fucked her through her orgasm then slowed as she couldn’t stand it any further, giving a final few thrusts and then stepping back to slowly, and teasingly slip your cock out of her until it jumped in front of her. Not that she could see it, her head still back into the bedding with her eyes closed as she took deep breaths in the wake of another hit of ecstasy.

That was until slapped her across the chest, your hand connecting with her perky breast to make it bounce and jiggle. Jennie’s eyes popped open as she gasped sharply as the sharp, completely unexpected pain shot through her, the sting spreading through her skin as it pimpled up and her nipple twisted up harder again. Her dark brown eyes fixed on you intently as she cried out harder in shock when you hit her from the other side, slapping her other breast to make it jiggle in turn as you struck her. She wanted to protest, to complain and tell you not to, how dare you treat her like that....but she didn’t. She couldn’t. It stung, the blows of your hands swatting at her gorgeous body as you were emboldened by her silence and started hitting her again.

The sting turned to pleasure and she shivered as her skin pricked across her body, hairs standing on end as she gave a deep, shuddering gasp, her eyes squeezing shut again as she embraced the different sensations of your hands slapping down onto her. Knowing she was enjoying it only made you smile and urged you to keep on, hitting her a bit harder, faster and more intently, your fingertips biting into her skin a little as you added a hint of pink to her skin. She shook on the bed as her nails dug into the sheets again as she let the intensity of it all wash over her, just breathing hard, hungrily in pleasure and pain, almost tempted to tell you to stop...but more tempted to beg you for more.

Men never treated her like this, your hands moving over her body as you expanded to slap down her sides and over her toned tummy. She tensed up from the bed as you did, reacting to the pain pulsing her mid-section as she twisted underneath you in ambivalent sensations that rushed through her. Your pace and speed picked up in a rush that made her not know where to turn, metaphorically speaking, until she let out a ragged cry of pain and shock as you reached up and slapped her across the face. She took a momentary shocked look at you then clenched her eyes shut again as you slapped her again, your energy lessened, being a bit more careful as you made her flinch.

“Just don’t leave any marks on me,” she gasped hurriedly as you paused for a moment. She didn’t take the chance to tell you to stop, to beg for mercy or complain it hurt. No, all she did was ask that you didn’t leave anything on her that she’d have to explain to the make-up girl the following day and essentially give you the green light to continue mistreating her. Jennie was rewarded with a harder slap to her face, wincing as another then another rained down on her then another, your hands picking up a rhythm to deliver a series of fast, increasingly harder slaps to her pretty face as she gasped and endured it.

When you stopped her cheeks were a healthy pink and her eyes were watering again, her ruined make-up running just a bit more over your handiwork as you leaned back up from her to leave her gasping and at your mercy beneath you. Her pussy was so wet that you could easily slide back inside her, something you took advantage of to make her inhale sharply as she felt your thick cock slip into her velvet folds once more. You drove full depth for a moment, giving her a few thrusts and then pulling back out again as she opened her eyes and leaned up, looking down to see you pull out of her as her chest heaved. She was caught off guard as you suddenly reached up and delivered a hard, final slap across her face, making her yell out as the pain really bit into her, tingle of pleasure gone as you caught her flush.

“I’m gonna fuck you in the ass now,” you said casually, standing up away from her and giving a slight stretch.

“What?” Jennie blurted out, unsure she’d heard you properly as the sting faded from her face, pushing her elbows into the mattress to lean up.

“Your ass, I’m gonna fuck it,” you reiterated, calm and clear so she was in no doubt. She wasn’t, and that was a problem; she didn’t like anal sex, she never had after trying it and finding it painful and uncomfortable, not to mention she hated giving up that much control in doing it.

“I don’t like anal sex,” she said quickly, “it hurts and just....I don’t,” she finished a little lamely.

“Well that’s too bad,” you replied with a slight shrug, her concerns dismissed as easily as that.

“Come on, do you have to?” She tried to convince you not to bother.

“Have to? No of course not,” you said, giving her a glimmer of hope, “But I want to,” you finished, crushing it.

“After the shit you gave me earlier, I deserve to, I’ve always wanted to,” you smiled, reaching out to play your fingers over her toes, tickling her playfully. She had nothing else to say, simply looking into your eyes and giving a small nod to submit to it, knowing you called the shots and was certainly good at that, having her under the thumb as you urged her to slide back up the bed, following her on as her feet retreated. You were fired up, in control and dominating her, getting everything you wanted as her resistance simply seemed to crumble away. The idol looked up at you with wide eyes, waiting for your next move as you smiled and grabbed her hips.

You threw her over onto her front, surprising her with your strength as you took control and easily turned her slight, slender figure over where you wanted her, grabbing her ass with a hard squeeze, spreading it apart to reveal her tight asshole and making her juicy pussy lips pry open just a little.

“Mm this is gonna be fun,” you murmured to yourself though she could hear it as your hands hooked under her pelvis to pull her back up on her knees into a perfect doggy style position for you to plunder her most secret, sensitive treasures. She didn’t resist, resigning herself to it now and knowing that without a doubt you were gonna fuck her in the ass; she’d never liked anal sex, having tried it and hated it, finding it painful and not in any way satisfying. The guys she’d tested it out with just treated her like a fuck toy which probably didn’t help and the second they felt her tight ass on their cock they lost all care for her wants or needs and had just gone straight at it way too hard and fast for her to handle, resulting in tears and complaints...and refusal to ever do it again. On top of that she hated giving up so much control, submitting completely for it and feeling so dominated, that was something she really didn’t like.

But here she was, about to get fucked in the ass again as you yanked her back into place and shoved down on her back to make her arch into the perfect, most vulnerable position. She was yours now and just took a deep breath, settling her knees into the bedding as you pulled up behind her, your cock sticking up rock hard as you relished the chance, spitting thickly into your hand and reaching down to rub it over her asshole as she twitched at the somewhat unexpected touch. You slicked what was left over the tip of your rock hard cock and then grabbed the base, thick dick surging in your hand as your other grabbed her hip to pull her back in place, pressing yourself to her. It was the moment of truth for Jennie, about to get fucked in the ass again for the first time in years.

You wasted no time on her, in charge and holding her still as you pushed against her tightest hole; it was a unique sensation and one she had no idea how to prepare for, having never really had any interest in doing so. Jennie tried her best as you pushed forward, willing herself to resist even as her body subconsciously tightened up to resist you, her asshole is tight and strong as you guided your cock and shoved forward to try and penetrate her. You slipped over her a few times, applying more energy and weight to her as your cock took advantage of a brief lapse in her resistance and spread her asshole to drive in.

Jennie let out a cry and yanked forwards, pulling out of your grasp before you even got inside her, the stretch of her sphincter sending a sharp bolt of pain through her and making her instinctively get away from it, rocking forward on her knees so your cock slipped back out. You gave her a moment then pulled her back up into position, hand hooked under her pelvis to try and keep a more commanding hold of her.

“You need to relax,” you said, your only guidance throughout this. If it hurt it was her problem and you really could only do so much but didn’t want her to dislike it, after all it was only a positive if she enjoyed it. You just wanted to experience her tight asshole stretched around your cock and plunder her ass on this, your one opportunity to have at Jennie Kim. She settled herself again as you took aim and pushed at her once more, your tip working into the muscular ring of her asshole and pressing against her resistance again, ready to squeeze yourself inside. Your hand pulled hard into her hips as you shoved forwards, leaning over her this time as you forced your cock down into her asshole, catching her a little by surprise somehow and getting the jump on her muscles to pop your cock inside her. Your bulbous head popped inside her, breaking through her tightest resistance to jerk blissfully inside her, loving how it felt around your cock head, tingling your nerves perfectly as she clenched on you.

That was the peak of it however as she yanked forward again, her strength surprising as she pulled out of your grip once more and off your cock, making it spring out of her once more as she dipped towards the bed and clenched with a near howl of pain at her ring being forced open so abruptly again. You surged over her, energy wasted as you gave a growl of frustration, Jennie burying her face in the bedding as she winced at the sharp, intense pain hitting her.

“Fucks sake,” you snapped, leaning up then reaching out and laying a hard smack straight on her ass, making her clench and scream in pain, your fingers flexing to deliver every bit of power into small, intent points of pressure. It was frustrations boiling over a little, knowing she could do this if she let herself.

“Behave, Jennie, you can do this,” you said authoritatively, angry but in charge, cooling yourself as you dominated her, just knowing that she’d respond even if she didn’t love it. Your hands grabbed her again and yanked her back, harder and more focused than before, making clear that you wouldn’t stand for her playing up any more. You meant it too, holding her so hard it almost hurt as your fingers dug into her tanned skin where you supported her, in total control of her as you positioned yourself again. You didn’t lube her any more, figuring she didn’t deserve it now as you guided your throbbing cock into position and leaned over her once more, intent on getting on with it now.

“Now hold still, just take it in,” you commanded but in a softer tone, holding her still and pressing your bulging head against her asshole, still rock hard despite the delays. You would not be denied the tight pleasure of her booty and with that eased forward slowly but powerfully to split her open, pressure building against her tight ring of muscle until you suddenly slipped in and she grunted as you were greeted by the hot, wet sensation of her pussy around you where you’d slid down into her. You pulled back, aiming yourself again and stabilising yourself more, hand right near your tip as you guided yourself to press hard at her ass, inexorably building until you felt her yielding and in a slow motion moment felt her stretch tightly around you, forced open reluctantly by your throbbing head as you broke her strength and entered her slowly.

You growled in pleasure, shivering at the ultra tight sensations of her wrapped around you as Jennie gave a muffled protest, body tensing in pain as it twinged through her intently and made her heart race. Tears pricked her eyes as the pain shuddered through her, lasting and not immediately subsiding as she felt pulse your cock, the hardest you’d ever been it seemed as you relished the moment. Your hand was still at her hip, holding her tightly in place so she couldn’t escape as you made no offer of pulling back or giving her a break, instead letting her grab a single breath before pushing your weight down onto her and squeezing the rest of your cock into her ass in a long, continuous push until be buried yourself balls deep inside her while her restrained complaint became a cry of pain.

You relished the moment of getting to press your hips against her ass, feeling the pained spasm of her sphincter around your shaft as she struggled to deal with, her breaths hard and fast as she fought the pain. Ignoring it, you held her hips tightly lest she escaped and pulled back to start thrusting into her, drawing your cock back full length and then shoving it roughly inside her again, wasting no time with slow, steady thrusts to get her going and instead just going for it, pursuing your pleasure. You knew she didn’t like it, she couldn’t relax and just give it a go, but couldn’t help the fact you did, shoving deeply into her again as she grunted in pain and flinched again.

“Fuck, gimme a break,” she whined, eyes squeezed shut as a tear slid down her cheek, wishing she could relax but her body was just so tight that in that moment she had to endure as you held her like you owned her and pumped your hips against her ass to bury your full length inside her again and again. Every pull back let your thick head just bulge her asshole a little, making her body instinctively clench again, sending the pain back through her once more and just giving every bit of pleasure you wanted at her tightest hole. She felt fantastic and the fact she was hating it, as she’d said she would, somehow made it hotter in a way and only spurred you on to fuck her harder, faster, more intently, more ferociously.

She could only complain more as you did just that, picking up the pace, slamming her harder so she rocked on the bed and had to brace herself into the covers. Jennie couldn’t believe she’d got into this situation frankly, down on her knees in a crappy motel, head buried in the sheets as a guy shoved his cock up her ass much to her dismay. It wasn’t even like you were a producer or director, somebody that she might be sleeping with to advance her career or get ahead, it was just her driver, the guy that literally just drove her to set every day and then back to her own room at this piss poor place to stay. Instead she was in your room, with your cock up her ass.

And her pussy was dripping; she was the wettest she’d been in years and frankly was afraid it would drip on the bed, her body so turned on despite her pain that if you wanted, she was sure you could easily bury four fingers inside her. It made her both hugely turned on and utterly humiliated, that something she hated so much just made her pussy so wet, so ready, her clit rock hard in arousal at your vicious penetration of her asshole. Your balls compressed against her pussy with every thrust, her juices coating your cock to give her away and exactly how much her body was enjoying this, this domination, this utter ownership she was giving in as you fucked her in the ass for the first time in years.

She would be angry and deep down she was -- at herself. Jennie knew she had instigated this even if she’d never expected it to go so far; she had given you the invitation, goading and taunting you into fucking her, quite literally inviting only for you to take it and give her one of the roughest, hardest fucks she’d ever had and that she hadn’t realised she’d needed. From there out you’d taken control and that was how she’d found herself here, her protests falling hopelessly on deaf ears as you’d taken her to task and got her into this position. And worse still she loved it, absolutely relishing the way you were just fucking her as your plaything, having complete control of her as you could cause a lot of problems if she didn’t play along. That was merely a sideshow now as frankly she didn’t want you to stop, even if she hated admitting that.

She’d given herself to you on a silver platter and you were loving every bite, getting a most primal go at your boss and you weren’t wasting a moment of it. Your fingers dug into her supple flesh, flexing your cock as your heart pumped hard, slamming your hips forward again and again to drive your manhood inside the prone idol. It shoved a deep, guttural cry of pain from her every time you slammed against her, her ass jiggling perfectly as you gave her every inch of yourself, stretching her out a little bit more than she could handle every time to make her twinge in pain. You just murmured with pleasure, smiling down as sweat prickled all over her, her head buried in the bedding.

You loved how taut her muscles were, fingers dug into the cloth as she braced herself, forehead pressed hard into it as she tried to absorb it. The strangely pleasurable sensations of anal sex were getting through to her now, something she’d rarely experienced in the past before she’d pulled the plug, but they were still accompanied by pain that electrified her body with every, faster, hungrier, more intense thrust into her. She was managing to relax herself somewhat however and that only made things better, giving a mumble of near pleasure that made you hard as rock, feeling your cock strain inside her as you heard it. Jennie immediately blushed, not that you could see it, chastising herself for enjoying it at all but worse letting you see that she was. She was adamant she hated this and to let herself tremble with pleasure from it, even for a moment, would only encourage you to fuck her harder.

You hardly needed encouragement though as your own pleasure drove to do just that, loving how you could just rock her hips back as you worked your own to plunge the full depth of yourself into her, thick cock just plunging into her overwhelmed, defeated asshole. Rocking her in unison with your rhythm helped up the pace whilst keeping your length in full use, the best of both worlds as to let your head strain her hole still, making it bulge before you buried yourself again. You tried that a little too vigorously on one stroke however and popped out of her, sliding up over her ass as she gave a gasp to match your own, the sensation unexpected. Jennie felt empty, out of sync and then utterly degraded as you took a moment to grab her ass and spread it wide, making her exhausted, loosened asshole gape wide open.

“Fuck, look at that,” you breathed, in both wonder and arousal, loving how she’d gone from an uptight, resisting attitude to now having her hole gaped completely. Jennie felt the blood rush to her face, angry and embarrassed as you held her open, giving a token squeeze to try and clench her asshole shut but even she felt the futility of it, her tired muscles barely managing it before it sagged wide again. You just laughed smuttily to yourself, loving having her like this as you grabbed your cock and aimed it again, pushing inside her with barely any resistance from her as she stretched out and let you plunge deeply into her ass again. On the plus side, it barely hurt now, ass warmed up and taking it even if she’d never wanted that.

You held her hips firmly and fucked hard, knowing she wouldn’t try and escape now, her will and resistance broken as you pumped your cock in and out of her ass as she hated herself for feeling a bit of enjoyment. Having made a fuss about it, she couldn’t now admit she was liking it or ask you not to stop, that would just be shame she couldn’t stand. Besides, she was pretty sure you knew with how wet her pussy was. You were well aware and it only spurred to keep fucking her hard and fast, rocking her body perfectly in rhythm with yours as if you two been screwing for years, cock plunging deep inside her, feeling her heat and the delectable sensations around every nerve ending on your cock. It was hot, but you wanted to see her work for it and with that you leaned back and pulled her as she gave a mumble of confusion.

“Come on, you’re gonna ride this cock,” you said, leaning back and pulling her on top of your hips, sliding deep inside her as she sat back on you a little awkwardly while you kicked your legs out under her to stretch on the bed. She mumbled and shifted around with difficulty, fumbling to get her feet out from under her and position her knees properly so she could ride as she was ordered to While your hands pinned her ass down on you so she couldn’t escape. Jennie shoved her hands down on top of your knees and steadied herself then with an unsure, testing movement rocked her hips and lifted up a little to slide your cock in and out of her ass, pressing her firm booty back down as you smiled in pleasure.

“Yeah that’s it,” you murmured, watching her lovely figure as she got started, holding her hips more commandingly than physically, hands just letting her know you are in control more than anything else. Feeling it out, Jennie rocked up and down carefully, just taking in the different penetration of your cock in her ass, the angle and aim changed, stimulations different as she rocked on you. Getting more confident of where you were and realizing she could still feel your bulging head as it tugged at her asshole, she started riding a bit harder and longer, working her sphincter up and down your cock as it clung tightly. You were pleased as she got into it more, breathing intently, focused on her task as she pushed up onto her knees and rested her hands on her own thighs to change the angle and let her push down into you much more effectively.

“Yeah that’s good,” you groaned, loving the suddenly more intent, stimulating push down of her onto your cock, her ass squeezing around you as she drove down and got full depth. She didn’t complain at the pain or anything now, having subsided and despite the general lack of lube she was finding it pretty easy to work herself up and down, her muscles having long since given up the fight, stretched and exhausted. It was then that she looked up into the room more, taking in things as she rode you and realized she could see herself pretty clearly in the mirror of the bathroom where you’d left the light on. She could see her slender, sweat-pricked body as she rocked up and down, her face streaked with dark tears from her eye make-up, firm breasts with hard nipples topping them above her toned abs as she worked on your cock.

Jennie hated seeing it, seeing herself working to pleasure and to please you, thighs tight as she pumped her ass up and down on your cock, to let you enjoy anal sex with her. She couldn’t tear her gaze away instantly and just watched herself riding it, shoving herself down harder, faster, more intently as if to punish herself as she stared into her own eyes; she hated doing this even if it didn’t hurt now, hated it even more that she was kind of enjoying it now and wasn’t only doing it for you now, she knew she was doing it for her and that stung her even worse. Her face flushed as her cheeks burned with her embarrassment and anger at herself, spurring her however to thrust down hard and faster into you as she felt your fingers at her hips and heard a grunt of pleasure.

“Mm fuck, just like that,” you growled, loving her energy as she worked at you, finally averting her eyes from her gaze and looking down at the bed, at her fingers as they strained on her thighs to brace herself and allow her to work harder at your cock. Regardless of the fact she hated what she was doing and how she’d got herself into this position, she couldn’t deny it felt good; her nipples were tight and her clit was throbbing in need, pussy still dripping wet and just waiting for stimulation. She couldn’t resist and pulled her hand up to her crotch, letting her fingertips play over her mound for a moment before she pushed it confidently down over her lips and let her middle digit drive straight down over exactly where it needed to be.

Her shudder and groan was like heaven to you, watching Jennie Kim shake in pleasure at the mere touch of her clit as she rode your cock, taking in her slender back and gorgeous ass as her strong, toned thighs pushed her up and down to work you into her booty. You loved the sight of your cock disappearing into her ass, her tight ring hugging it before it disappeared from view as she sat down on you every time. Your hands merely followed and caressed her now as she got into it, her fingers getting moving as her rhythm picked up again, riding you just as hard as her digits started to circle her clit. Jennie grunted in pleasure, her asshole twitching and grabbing at you to slow her just a little bit as she just instinctively got into her, seeming to know exactly what she was doing and how to co-ordinate herself as her fingers started to dance.

You just laid back to enjoy as the idol got into it, seeing her glance up to herself in the mirror as she did; Jennie took herself in, knelt over hip and reciprocating her hips as she drove your thick cock into her ass, feeling your bulging head delving deep inside her as her fingers worked fairly furiously at her clit, unable to help herself and chasing the pleasure it brought. Her ass was squeezing and gripping at you like she hadn’t before as she throbbed and mumbled in pleasure, her breathing harder, faster, more insistent as the pleasure flooded through her quickly. She hadn’t realized how hot and horny she was, not directly at least, somewhat unsure, almost hoping that her dripping pussy didn’t mean she was loving getting fucked in the ass as much as she feared she was. Touching her clit had answered that question in a single stroke and only spurred her to chase more of it, looking at herself in the mirror as she rubbed intently and thumped her body down into you.

“Fuck that’s it, don’t stop,” you smiled, loving how the famous idol was just losing herself to it and giving you all her energy now. She just moaned a non-committal response as she practically ignored your thick, hard erection buried in her ass as she bounced up and down and rubbed furiously at her pussy. Her fingers wasted no time with anything but her clit, circling around it and strumming across it, working in the most direct way she knew, the way she got herself off when she didn’t have time for sex with her fiancé and just wanted release. Your hands pulled at her hips and laid token spanks on her ass as she went at it, just enthralled at her change to going for it and forgetting her protests as she rode hard and frigged herself for all she was worth.

Hard breaths and the sound of her booty driving against your cock was all that broke the silence of the motel room for a minute as she wound herself up, orgasm not taking long to achieve in the heat of it all. She stole a last glance at herself and scolded herself for being such a whore, getting fucked in the ass and rubbing her clit to it but soon looked away and focused on what she was doing. With a few more seconds of stimulation that seemed to stretch on way longer, she gave a shake, tensing up as she held back her climax as it rushed up on her, sharp and intense, much like the fuck she was taking and she gave several hard, short thrusts to bury your cock as deep in her ass as she could while her finger went mad on her delicate clit.

She wailed loudly as she hit her peak, suddenly erupting as she shook and collapsed as the strength in her legs failed, burying your cock deep as she shuddered violently, her hips bucking and shoving forwards, ass squeezing intently at your cock to make you throb as she quaked. Her fingers never stopped throughout, just cranking every last drop of her climax as her eyes squeezed shut and her breath caught in her throat, her orgasm just hitting her so much harder than she expected and making her grind down into the pleasure of it with everything she had. You just held her hips as she rocked on you, immensely turned on to see her come with your cock in her ass like this when she’d protested over it initially.

“Fuck…” she mumbled, a small admission to how incredible it’d felt to reach her peak as it ended, her fingers stopping on her clit even as she wished she could continue, too delicate in the wake of it as she rocked her hips and squeezed her ass a little before trying to keep riding your cock. Her legs were weak, shaky, unable to commit strength as she tried to push up and only achieved weak, uncoordinated motions, struggling to catch her breath and get back to it like she knew you wanted. All you wanted was for her to stimulate your cock hard and fast like she had been; watching her ride then come furiously all over was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen and your cock still rock hard and ready to pump her to the finish now.

With a sharp push you lifted yourself off the bed and rolled her over, Jennie giving a cry of surprise as you surged beneath her and flipped her onto her front, pinning her down on the bed and burying your cock deeper than it had ever been. She flinched and blurted out an expression of pain as you pinned her down, taking complete control of her again, dominating her tired form as you shoved your hands down on her shoulders to shove her into the bedding. Wasting no time, you started to pump your hips and slam down into her with intent and purpose, your cock throbbing hard in pre-orgasmic bliss thanks to her erotic ride moments before.

You held her down, ignoring her muffled complaints as you slammed into her ass harder than she’d ever experienced and took every bit of pleasure her clenching, overwhelmed asshole had to offer as your cock slid in and out of her in a blur. Strokes were short and sharp, pounding down into her with just a couple of inches of your manhood as you chased your pleasure now, wanting to completely overwhelm and exhaust her in the process. You had no problem doing just that as the gasping idol couldn’t keep up, slumped on the bed underneath with her fingers dug into the bed at her sides as you fucked her now, just being your submissive fuckdoll in your final seconds of smashing your cock into her gorgeous body.

Jennie just whined in pain and pleasure as you hammered down into her, your cock rock hard, the stiffest she’d felt it as you pounded her hard and slapped your hips into her ass with an intensity she’d not felt in years. No guy had fucked her so hard or with such abandon in so long that it was almost like a new experience again and she could only cling to the bed and groan, grunt and gasp her way to your completion. Your cock strained harder, flexing in a familiar way that told you the end was close as you thumped against her, spurring you to find a final gear that meant you slammed your cock into her clenching, tired ass as hard and fast as you could, somehow stepping up from your already intense pace that that was making her whine and pushed a strained, struggled noise from her.

You absolutely pounded on her, hips slapping into her ass as you tried to bury her into the mattress for a few seconds before she felt a characteristic pulse and knew it was over -- only to be shocked and thrown for a loop as you suddenly yanked out of her and jumped up with energy she’d never had expected. Jennie gasped and whimpered desperately, hungrily for your cock in her ass, squeezing and clenching at nothing as you suddenly moved over her, completely lost as you withdrew and looking up to see where you were. It only gave you the perfect position to grab her head, fingers twisting into her hair to yank her purposefully to you and straight onto your cock, forcing it deep into her throat before she could react, only time left to choke and gag.

It was the first time she had ever done ass to mouth and she heaved, gagging deeply in shock and thought of it, tasting herself as you shoved your thick cock as deep into her throat as you could manage. With her overwhelmed by it all she couldn’t get a handle on it and it left her vulnerable to your thrusts which you took advantage of with abandon, holding her head tightly and thrusting your cock hard into her throat, loving how she struggled and gagged. The tightening around your cock was simply heaven, a cherry on top after plundering her tight asshole, not that it was as tight after your efforts and now you just wanted your finish. Pumping hard into her mouth as she gagged, choked and coughed, body heaving as she grimaced at her first ass-to-mouth, absolutely hating that you’d made her do it while your cock throbbed on her tongue.

Jennie had no chance to complain however as you gave her no opportunity, giving a final shove deep into her throat so her nose pressed into you and then yanking back out of her sharply. She coughed on the withdraw and was just drawing her breath as you jerked your cock ferociously, on the brink and taking just a couple of seconds to stimulate your cock on the brink as you aimed it at her face. You yanked her head into place and held her with her hair as she gave a yelp of pain, barely registering what you were doing in time to squeeze her eyes shut for your first hot, thick spurt to hit her across the nose. You let out a huge groan of pleasure, of release and ecstasy as you jerked your hard cock to explode repeatedly over her pretty face, Jennie wincing and growling in distaste as your viscous eruptions burst over her to hit her forehead, cheeks, eyes and lips as you emptied your balls powerfully onto her.

“Fuuuck” you breathed, heart pounding and your legs shaking as you worked the last of your load out and wiped it over her puffy, bee stung lips to her displeasure, giving a final clench and then sagging back on your knees, releasing her so her head dropped. She caught herself before she hit the bed and made a mess, pulling her head up and opening one eye, all she could manage, as you turned and sat back onto the bed. You breathed hard and let the relief and pleasure hit, tingling through you as the gorgeous idol pushed up to sit on the side of the bed as she grabbed for some tissues on the side table. Jennie fumbled with a handful and shoved them to her face, soaking up your load as it started to run down her face and mix with her ruined make-up, wiping it out of her eye then off her lips.

“Fuck that was good,” you murmured, sagging back onto the bed.

“Hope you got what you wanted,” she mumbled, not wanting to acknowledge quite how much she’d enjoyed it.

“Not entirely,” you replied, making her to look at you indignantly.

“Not entirely?” she questioned, angry in that moment and figuring surely you’d had your fill of her.

“No, we’ll fuck again in the morning. Go get cleaned up, we need some sleep,” you said with a cheeky wink, slumping back onto the bed as she glared at you, unnoticed, before standing up and stalking awkwardly to the bathroom to wash her face. A splash with cold water made her feel fresher, relieving her sweaty, come-splattered face though her ass ached like she’d never felt before, figuring it was how it felt to get properly fucked in the ass. By the time she walked back into the bedroom you were already under the sheets and dozing off, leaving Jennie little choice but to slide in next to you. She was rewarded with a cuddle, being drawn under your arm as she got in before falling asleep far easier than she expected.

—

The night flew by in relaxed, sated sleep for both of you, Jennie awakening and wondering initially where she was, not recognizing the room entirely. It was similarly decorated but not the same as her own room and that just took her a second to remember exactly where she was and how she’d got there. She was also reminded as she moved and immediately felt a twinge from her ass, sphincter giving her a wakeup call to bring back all the memories from exactly what she’d done the night before, her pussy aching as well from how hard you’d pounded her. It was a while since she’d woken up like this, feeling the after effects of an intense fucking the night before and it was a sensation she missed, wishing she could feel it more often as you stirred beside her and woke up, rolling over to her.

“Good morning, Jennie,” you said with a smile.

“Morning,” she replied a little unsure of herself in that moment, “and that’s boss to you,” she added, wanting to take control again.

“Not yet it isn’t,” you answered, immediately quashing her intention to take charge somewhat as you rolled to her and slid your hand over her hip, up her tummy to squeeze her breast as she gasped. You were exactly the same with her as you’d been the night before, interested in only one thing from her and she responded, shivering a little as she secretly had to admit to herself that she loved how you treated her. You weren’t wasting any time and only wanted to fuck her, which was flattering in its own way even if she shouldn’t have liked it.

“Already hard,” she murmured with a smile as she felt you push your erection against her, nestling it in her ass as your hand squeezed her chest, your teeth biting down into her shoulder as she shivered and gave in to how turned on her was making her, pussy already wet and waiting for you.

“Of course, got to enjoy every minute of this,” you replied quietly, hand pushing over her toned tummy to tease at her near-smooth labia.

“Before I become your boss again,” she breathed, somehow wanting to remind you of the fact that she was in charge of you usually and that this was a one-off opportunity you’d cultivated for yourself.

“You’ll be the boss again when I let you,” you growled playfully, making her gasp as your hand connected with her ass for a firm, meaningful slap that tingled her and only turned her on more.

“So boss me around,” she breathed, quietly, almost not letting the whisper escape her mouth, not wanting to let you hear it. She knew you had though as you swiftly reached up and grabbed her throat, giving a squeeze that made her breath catch momentarily before you released her, Jennie shuddering hard as a tingle raced through her body, your hands at her hips now as you threw the covers off and rolled her back over towards you. You grabbed her wrist and directed her hand onto your thick, throbbing cock which she immediately gripped and started stroking, being your obedient little fucktoy without hesitation as grabbed her tits again hard to make her wince before you lay back.

“Ride,” you commanded, already urging her as she started to move. The idol pushed up from the bed to immediately obey, getting her knees under her and throwing her leg over to mount you and get in position, pressing her delightfully hot pussy down into your throbbing cock. You let her do her thing as she reached down for your cock and held it up as she rocked her pelvis forward in readiness. Jennie slowly let herself down and teased the tip of your cock over herself, spreading her abundant juices around it before she let herself sink down steadily to ease her inside and let your size spread and stretch her aching pussy.

You bulged out her velvet walls as she sank down, giving a groan as she descended and felt the blissful sensation of your cock inside her once more -- she couldn’t deny she liked it. Jennie let herself push down to take your cock all the way in with a single stroke, pushing herself the last couple of inches to make her vagina open up fully, wanting to feel every bit of it, flexing hard inside her as you felt her love tunnel envelope before clamping down, loving the feel of how her pussy gripped your cock. Her murmurs of pleasure only turned you on more and you watched as she started to ride, slowly lifting up then sinking down again, taking it fully as she pulled right up until it almost popped out of her before driving into you to grind her clit against you, eyes closing in pleasure as she got into her steady rhythm.

“Faster, come on, ride it,” you commanded, slapping the side of her ass to spur her on, breaking her concentration for a moment and making her motions stutter before she composed herself and resumed harder and faster. She started pumping her hips down into you with an intensity and pace that you relished, stimulating your cock perfectly for a morning fuck as her gorgeous, snug pussy fit around you perfectly. Jennie leaned down onto your shoulders, her eyes shut with a look of concentration on her face as she worked her hips, her abs tightening and tensing as she rolled her hips and thrust down to take every inch of your cock inside her with quicker strokes. She was lost to the pleasure of it all as she rode it firmly, right up until her phone started ringing and shattered her focus. You both ignored it initially, then it rang again, causing Jennie to lean over and see who it was.

“It’s my producer,” she said, looking back down at you underneath her, her pace slowing for a moment as your hands held her hips.

“So?” you replied.

“It’s probably important, he never usually calls me in the morning,” she said.

“So answer it,” you replied with a smile.

“What? Like this?” she said, looking back down at you with wide eyes.

“Sure, why not?” you teased, when it was obvious why not.

“I’ve never answered the phone in the middle of sex before,” she said as it stopped ringing again, only to start ringing again almost immediately.

“Seems like he really wants you,” you said, working your hips to pump up to meet Jennie as she continued to fuck, riding you on autopilot.

“You gonna stop so I can answer this?” she asked.

“Not on your life,” you said, gripping her hips tightly and pulling her down harder, making it clear she was going to fuck you till it was done right now.

“...Fuck,” she said, holding the phone up and knowing she was going to have to answer it.

“It’s a video call,” she said, only making you laugh somewhat as she swept her hair back and tried to make herself look vaguely presentable.

“Don’t do anything, this is serious,” she chastised you, squeezing her pussy and riding in short strokes to minimize her movements as she took a deep breath and answered the phone.

“Good morning,” she said clearly, her practiced, PR friendly voice on point.

“Good morning, Jennie,” said her producer, unseen by you as Jennie rode you with her phone turned the other way, doing her best not to make her movements visible on the call.

“What’s going on?” she questioned, wanting to cut straight to the point and keep this quick.

“Just wanted a quick check in, I heard there were problems on set yesterday, not the smooth kind of process we’re looking for,” he said to her.

“Yeah there were some disagreements,” she replied tersely, remembering how it had upset her...and led her to make the mistake that brought her onto her drivers cock.

“Well that’s not great, Jen,” he said, giving her a look of somewhat disappointment, “we really need to keep things going well, is there anything up?” he added.

“No no, it’s just a blip,” she replied quickly, stifling a mumble of pleasure and shivering a little as she pushed up to slow her riding, needing to stop before she gave herself away. She’d never done this, not to anybody, and to do it in front of her producers was scary but exhilarating. She knew she had to remain composed and not give away what she was doing, not that there was anything wrong with it per se but she simply couldn’t afford to let anybody else know she was stepping out on her fiancé.

“Are you alright, Jen? You seem flushed,” her producer asked, seeing her skin tone on the camera even with the half light of the motel room she was in.

“Yeah yeah I’m fine,” she said. At that moment you grabbed hold of her hips and shoved yourself upward to make her quake, barely suppressing a grunt as the stab of pleasure passed through her before you began to pound. You arched your body up, You arched your body up, heels dug into the mattress as you energized yourself, and slammed your hips up into hers, almost hanging from her hips, leaving her nowhere to go. Jennie felt the tingle and buzz go through her as she was fucked hard and faster, losing her composure and shuddering, fumbling the phone and struggling to hold onto it.

“You don’t look like it, want me to send someone over to check you out?” he offered, meaning some sort of medic that they had on the team.

“No no, it’s just a bad connection,” she said, carefully but jerkily getting her thumb over the camera to block it out as she tried to slowly let out a breath and not focus on the sensations of your cock slamming into her.

“The camera’s gone off, are you there?” he replied, giving her the perfect out as she quickly pretended the signal had dropped.

“Hello? Are you still there?” she asked, waiting a few seconds as he tried to get her to answer, trying to add to it with a couple of hammed-up crackling sounds before she hit the button the hang up and threw her phone aside.

“Fuck you,” she breathed with a small laugh as she sank back down into you, shoving her hands back into your shoulders as your pulled up around the small of her back, pulling her down deeply into you as she focused all her concentration on your cock, started fucking it hard again. Her body rocked perfectly to slide you in and out of her juicy snatch, squeezing and clenching as she did, loving the way your cock pulsed inside her as you worked to pump your hips up into her and make her take every possible inch. Her phone rang again but she ignored it, no intention of answering it again as she hoped it hadn’t in any way been possible to tell what she was really doing. It was then that she looked at the clock and began, realizing how short we had on time and how if we didn’t finish this quickly, we’d be late for the set.

“Shit, we’ve got to get going,” she exclaimed, looking from the clock back at you.

“We’re not done yet,” you said. Not a protest, a simple statement that reminded her she wasn’t going anywhere until we were done fucking.

“But we’ll be late. Do you want someone to find out about this, really?” she asked, making a good point that suggested blowing this would likely not work out well for both of you.

“No, I don’t,” you said.

“Then let’s go,” she replied.

“We’re not done. How about a shower? We’ll finish up in there as we get ready,” you said, seeming so cool and calm, full of useful and straight forward plans in that moment. Jennie looked back to the clock, then at you.

“Deal, come on,” she said, hopping off you as you released her hips and heading straight for the bathroom. You followed and enjoyed watching her firm ass jiggle as she dashed ahead of you and turned the shower on. The hot water cascaded down and she slipped into it, sighing in pleasure as the spray hit her feminine curves before you followed her in, hands sliding round her and squeezing at her breasts, pushing down her sides as she shoved back into your erection, ready for it to be inside her again. She wanted to enjoy the fuck but time was against it and she cared more about getting busted.

“Put it in,” she whispered, leaning against the wall and shoving her ass back in the most deliberate invitation you’d ever seen. And it was irresistible.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” you smiled as you grabbed your cock and stepped in to her, easily sliding to her pussy between her spread legs, arched back pushing it out ready for you to effortlessly slip into. Just a light push and you inside her, both groaning again as her velvet tunnel glided over the thick contours of your rock hard cock, your hands going to her hips to take a tight grip as you buried yourself inside her and then started to thrust. You worked your cock in and out of her, resuming the pace we’d had on the bed as we both got into it, Jennie shifting a bit and sinking lower, pushing her feet as wide as the shower tray would let her as you widened your stance to give yourself maximum stability.

“Come on fuck me, fuck me!” she said, louder than she intended to as she invited you to get on with it. You ignored her somewhat taking charge and simply dug your fingers into her flesh as you started to thrust, immediately shoving her forwards, seeing her muscles tighten as she braced herself against the tiles and pushed back against yours as you slammed your hips forward. We both groaned, Jennie harder than you as you started to fuck her hard and fast, pounding her with one intent now and that was completion and pleasure.

Your fingers were white with the pressure as you held her slippery body, hot water crashing down over us as you fucked her with hard, fast strokes. Your motions were short and intense, body slapping noisily against her booty as she jiggled in front of you, the idol just bracing herself and shoving back into you as the stimulation of being fucked from behind got to us both. It was so much more intense, hitting more nerve endings and doing the business for both of us when we’d already comprehensively warmed up with her riding on the bed. Your cock shoved deeply into her pussy, across the front wall of her vagina and her G-spot in a perfect manner, sending those deep, soulful tingles through her that she knew was a one way ticket.

Your hand slid up into her long, dark hair and grabbed a handful, yanking back to make her gasp gutturally, feeling a rush go through her, a tingle then quakes of pre-orgasmic tension, just letting it all hit her as you got her to the finish. You weren’t far off yourself, your cock tingling and throbbing with every stroke of it into her gorgeous body, holding yourself back and focusing on getting her to the orgasm that was obviously on the brink. You were relieved when, after a few more seconds of thrusting, she shuddered violently and gasped hard, accelerating breaths before letting out a wail of pleasure as she came.

The orgasm hit her fast and she almost slipped, her foot losing grip on the wet floor of the shower as she trembled in pleasure, ecstasy washing over her as she shook and tingled all over, goosepimples spreading across her gorgeous body despite the hot spray of the shower cascading down over her. The clamping down of her pussy around your cock and the mental box checked meant your own climax followed swiftly on with a buck of your cock as you swelled rock hard. Jennie was treated to a few hard thrusts to amplify her own climax before she moaned in satisfaction as you jumped and unloaded inside of her, growling your pleasure in her ear as you shoved her forwards against the tiles and buried yourself deeply to empty every drop of your cum inside her.

She loved that you’d come inside her again, especially right before she went to work as she knew it’d be a naughty secret to feel your creampie leak out of her during the day. You slid back out of her, and she stood up, turning into your arms and meeting you for a deep, somewhat intimate kiss that felt so much more than what had come before.

And then it was over. You stepped back and got out of the shower, grabbing a towel and getting ready, leaving her to do the same. Jennie watched you leave then took charge of herself, knowing this incident was over and gave herself a quick wash down in the shower before following you out.

The next half an hour or so was hurried preparation to leave, neither one of us speaking as she got ready, taking much longer than you as she quickly dried and dressed, trying to dry her hair out and touch up a bit of make-up before we had to get a move on, time running out as she knew we had to get to set. She was rather embarrassed now, feeling awkward like she might after a one night stand, but also felt the most sexually satisfaction she had in months. It was a double edged sword she supposed.

With her dignity and attitude completely gone, our relationship having done a complete 180 in the last 12 hours or so, she headed down to the car with you and slid into the passenger seat as she usually did to let you drive her to work. She was the boss again now, but she didn’t feel like it. You made good time, stepping on it a bit to get her on set in time so nothing looked amiss apart from the slightly bedraggled way she turned up on set, not that it mattered as she went straight into make-up to get tidied up for the days shooting.

The day went smoothly on set as she kept her head down and quietly got on with it, working well with the director to contrast with the previous days conflict, being cheerful and productive in a way that got everything done on time with no snags. Out of her earshot, the director flippantly commented to that perhaps she got fucked properly the previous night; he had no idea how right he was. Jennie just felt calm and relaxed, though she blushed when she saw her driver odd times during the day, thinking back to everything that had happened between us. You’d completely taken advantage of the situation she’d inadvertently created and she’d loved it, just relishing how you’d treated her as she turned it over and over in her mind.

And she wanted it again.

There was no denying it, she needed it, lusted for it and was absolutely sure you would happily deliver. With that she steeled her mind to get it and thought about what she would do for you when her day in front of the camera was over. The rest of the shots went easily, no problems at all when she was just on autopilot and let herself be ordered around, something of a hangover of the night before which she’d relished. Due to the efficiency they managed, they were actually finished around an hour early, with the director wrapping for the day and telling them they could all go and have a break as the next shots relied on brighter weather and the encroaching darkness was no use to them. Jennie gave her goodbyes and then headed for the wardrobe trailer to make a change.

You were waiting by the car as Jennie approached you, her long coat hiding her body as she smiled at you...then got into the back seat. You were curious as she hadn’t done that since our first week together, hopping in behind the wheel and starting the engine as you looked back at her in the mirror. She stared at you as she took her coat off to reveal a short, tight dress that hugged her curves and barely made it onto her thighs, tits pushed up so they almost spilled out of it. Throwing her coat aside she spread her legs and lifted them a little so you got a glance up her skirt, seeing the see through panties that completely showed her off, her near-bald pussy that was all yours. You took your time checking her out, knowing she was there for you to look at as you took her in, along with her naughty smile.

“You’re checking me out again,” she murmured.

“Yeah, I am,” you replied, pulling away and managing to drive smoothly even as you stared at her in the mirror.

“Good,” she smiled, flicking her tongue. You accelerated away down the road, heading back for our motel once again, less than a whole day since everything had happened between us.

“I want you to fuck me hard again tonight,” she said quietly, meaningfully, the weight of her words clear. She wanted a repeat performance and probably plenty more, knowing you wouldn’t talk and as long as she was covert, she could have her cake and eat it.

“No problem, boss,” you said with a smile and flick of your eyebrows, playing to the fact she technically was, but it was clear she was giving you control out of hours now.

“Good, so whenever there’s a good place to pull over, you know,” she said, reclining back into the seat, relaxing as she told you clearly she wanted an exact rerun of the day before.

“Absolutely,” you replied, smiling to yourself as you focused on the road and pressed the throttle, cock already hardening. After all, you weren’t going to disappoint your boss.

[randombush3]

audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

content warnings: there’s some (a lot of) cheating + postpartum depression. it’s more frustrating than sad though x

notes: this covers 2019-22(ish). It was SUPPOSED to be the last part. It’s not anymore. I’m gonna do a fourth to deal w the mess I have created in a more self-indulgent amount of words than the 3k i had planned. That will probably have smut in it 😛

“Y/n left me.” 

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you. 

“What?” says Jenni. 

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.” 

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?” 

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know. 

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home. 

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.” 

“Are you angry at her?” 

“Yes.” 

Alexia thinks about it. 

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek. “I can't. I have a son.” 

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.” 

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.” 

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.” 

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought. 

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.” 

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.” 

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Well, I'm not angry at her.” 

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that… Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her. 

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?” 

“Alexia, bésame.” 

…

You had passively bought your house. It’s how property sale works when you’re a celebrity. People are always willing to do things for you if you know the price, and it never hurts to use your name to add a new flashy level to whatever stupid business they are running. It’s a mutual exploitation, to some extent. 

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful. 

The reception room, with its high, decorated ceilings, is your favourite place to numbly take in the twisted jigsaw of your life when Nico has cried himself to sleep. The nursery is on the first floor. He is near enough for safety, but at a distance that allows you to regret all the mistakes you have made.

You watch him roll over onto his stomach, eyes trained on the baby monitor though your fingers graze the ivory keys of your new piano, attempting to compose something worthwhile. At this rate, your solo career is going to fail just like your relationship seems to be doing. 

Yesterday, while Alexia seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, you came out. It was an off-hand comment during the Graham Norton Show. A quick ‘my fiancée named him. She’s from Barcelona’ was all it took. You hope Alexia, wherever she may be, has heard about it. Jenni would have told her. You trust Jenni to be somewhat on your side because she always has been. 

The doorbell rings just as you sniffle, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “Don’t be pathetic,” you mutter to yourself. “You didn’t pay five million pounds to sit here and cry. You chose to come back home.” 

Being in England – colder, drearier, lonelier England – has made you realise that your decision was not the right one. Or maybe it was. It has proven that you are as terrible a mother as you convinced yourself you were back in Barcelona, and it has also shoved the cavity Alexia leaves in your life when you refuse her entry right down your throat in the form of a constant lump and a dull stabbing in your chest whenever you think about anything past whether Nico has had anything to eat. You can’t even feed him properly, despite it being supposedly in your nature. You buy formula from the nearest Waitrose. 

The doorbell rings again. 

The insistence is not uncommon seeing as you are, at the minute, the English press’s number one target. You open the CCTV app on your phone so that you can decide whether or not to ignore the potential stalker, and your heart rate spikes when you see the hooded figure standing on the porch. Back to the door, it is not possible to determine the threat. A well-buried maternal instinct kicks in for once, and you ensure that Nico is still peacefully out cold before getting up to answer the door with the poker from the Victorian fireplace firmly in your grip. Just in case. 

You are a mother, in whatever capacity you have decided that role looks like, and so you undo the three latches on the door with brave, protective fingers. The baby monitor’s volume has increased, and the fuzz of white noise is audible if Nico were to make a sound. The vague repulsion at the idea of it all is only an aftertaste in your silent prayer for the hooded figure to not want to kill you. Some sick part of your brain imagines Nico dead, as well. It tortures you. 

The poker in your other hand, for the most fleeting of moments, is almost plunged into your chest. The imaginary, self-inflicted wound makes you think of the blood and how the baby upstairs would wail until someone found him. The grimace of annoyance on your lips is nothing new, but you have no more time to torment yourself because the doorbell is pressed again, rather impatiently. 

You open the door and the hooded figure is right in front of you. “He’s asleep,” you say, the Spanish foreign on your tongue. 

Alexia shrugs, and her hood falls down, revealing the brunette tendrils that hang from her slowly sinking bun. “I came for you,” she replies, so earnestly that it is as if nothing ever happened: past pain forgotten and replaced by sprouting memories of soft kisses and mornings where leaving was too hard to do. Some of them, you think, are not real. They don’t seem to be. Your blank stare is unsettling. You almost don’t believe her. “Can we talk?” she tries, and you notice the team-issued duffle on the tiled floor she is standing on. Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she extracts a pastry box. The plastic window is filled with circles of different colours, and she holds out the macaroons to you as if to bribe her way into a home in which she is unsure she belongs to.

Stepping aside, leaning the poker against the wall by the door, you scratch at the bare skin of your neck. Alexia, while sweeping an arm down to collect her bag, fixes her gaze onto the ring you are wearing, and the diamond glistens with hope that this can all be fixed. “Would you like to come inside?” 

She swallows the whine of anguish that tears her heart open at the idea that this might never be her house to live in, too, and she follows you dutifully as you lead her through hallways far more luxurious than the flat in Barcelona could ever be. This is what you left her for – the person you are, no longer in worn clothing with messy hair, is quite the opposite of the woman with her back to her moments before she had to focus on football. The necklace draped on your sharpened collarbones is new, and she does not dare believe what she has been hearing is true. Yes, there are pictures, but she trusts you. She will always trust you. 

“Have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the wooden dining table. It is clean enough for her to determine that it is unused. Alexia places the macaroons in front of her, and aches at how you sit at the opposite end. 

“I…”

“I thought you were going to give me all the time that I needed.” It is a statement of distance, as if your location is not enough. 

Alexia, eyes widening at how unwelcome she suddenly feels, needs only to remind herself of the impending date of the wedding. It is beginning to loom uncomfortably, with the excitement of getting married drained out like a low tide on a deserted beach. “We have two weeks. If it isn’t going to happen, then you should tell me now. We have to give everyone notice so that they can cancel their flights.” Your silence spurs her on. “You will need to contact the wedding planner, because you refused to let me have a hand in any of it so I don’t even have their number. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to wear your dress. Vivienne Westwood is a big thing for you, I know. I’m sorry that it’s inconvenient.” 

“But Alexia,” you whisper, “I don’t not want to get married.” 

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilted slightly to the left. “I know. That is why I am saying this.” 

Your voice grows louder. “No, no. Sorry, that wasn’t the easiest thing to understand.” Across the dining table, your love that has faltered, that has hesitated and been reconsidered and been stamped down over the past month, extends towards her: its final destination, always and forever. Alexia feels it grab her by the throat, wrenching the words from her before she can even formulate a thought in response, and her body is so drawn to you, in such a powerful fashion, that she pushes her chair out from the table with a grating scrape and is stepping towards you with a finality that makes her wonder if she’ll ever leave your side. 

As she approaches, the idea that she is here becomes a little too real. You have played with the fantasy of it, of course, but the tenderness in her usually fierce eyes does not match the anger you had expected, and, in the most feeble fashion, you have never felt more apologetic in your life. 

“I’m so sorry,” you begin to say. Tears stream down your face with freed anguish, and the words are so simple yet they bear the weight of your entire soul. “I’m so sorry, darling. I made a mistake, and I have been met with the most crushing of realisations: I can’t do this without you, Alexia.” I still want to marry you, Alexia. 

The room seems to close in on your despair, attempting to bottle it, almost, and keep you trapped underneath a haze of emotions you don’t quite know how to sort through. “I… I’m beginning to hate him.” The confession hangs heavy over Alexia’s bowed head as she stands frozen in place, stuck in her journey towards you but unable to arrive. “I’m acutely aware of how cruel it is,” you continue, this next admission being what agonises you the most. It floods the room with guilt, and your voice trembles with self-condemnation that reigns harsher than any other voice in your head. 

“It’s ridiculous. I’m evil and I’m wrong, and I just feel like it is inherently in my nature to be like this, as though some fault has been built into me with warning signs we evidently ignored.” You struggle to breathe. “I wish I could take back the day we decided to have him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, lips doused in tears, skin searing with shame when Alexia cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “He should not have to be stuck with me as a mother.” 

Your chest heaves, and you are finished. You have never verbalised it before now, and it is impossible to decide whether it has helped remove the lead lining of your heart where it has been bolstered against your will. Her other hand steadily rises to your face, but then, with only a second of hesitation, she is pulling you upwards and enveloping you in her embrace. You feel a little bit closer to her. “Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, tone cracked with sorrow and regret. “Lo siento mucho. Desearía haber sabido, desearía haber estado allí para ti.” 

Gently, she tilts your face upwards to meet her gaze. “You are not evil and no estás equivocada. Estoy aquí ahora, y no te dejaré enfrentar esto sola nunca más.” You collapse into her. “I’m here, cariño, and I am not going anywhere.”

The sentiment is wonderful, and Alexia makes good on her word. 

When Nico begins to cry, the sound piercing through your choked sobs, Alexia realises she has missed all of her life with you. Being separated and being apart due to work, she now knows, are two excruciatingly different things. The whiny wails from upstairs visibly jar you, though you pull away from Alexia to attend to him. “I will do it,” she declares, though her firmness is not mean. “Sit down. Eat the macaroons – they’re… ‘to die for’?” You nod with instinctive encouragement. “Sí. They’re to die for. Try. Jenni says that the pink ones are the best.” 

“Jenni picked them out?” you ask with a briefly regained humour, eyebrows raising. “Had to get your friend to choose your apology gift?” In truth, neither of you know what Alexia would be apologising for, but Nico’s crying grows more incessant and Alexia is climbing the carpeted staircase before the topic can be discussed. 

Alexia reaches her son with tears brimming in her eyes. The failure of Spain at the World Cup is amplified by the idea that she has disappointed him, though he does not yet possess the tools to pledge his allegiance to her country. In fact, Nico has been sleeping in Manchester United attire (your father has been his primary carer of late, and he does not charge you money, so the price is obviously Alexia’s sanity). She is more than glad to smell his nappy, and delighted about the opportunity to change him into something less hideous. 

“Mama loves you so much,” she tells him as she manoeuvres his chubby legs into a plain, inoffensive onesie. “I promise, petit. I am going to help her, okay? And we are going to get through this together.” Alexia forgets about the taste of Jenni’s lips and the heat between them. “Mama just doesn’t see the direction she is going in. It is like her eyes are covered, and she is telling herself that she is walking down the wrong path, but this is not true. You are the most special thing in the world to us. You are the sunrise, the sunset, and the hours of the day.” 

She pauses to stand him up on his tiny feet, hands hoisted underneath his armpits. He is heavier than when she last held him, but she is stronger than before, too. Women’s football is growing, along with her muscles. Nico babbles out a vague reply, but Alexia hears what he is trying to say. “I agree. We’ll be alright.” And, with all her heart, it rings true. 

…

The following day, she calls the doctor for you, script written out on a piece of paper in front of her, translated perfectly so that her concern does not waver the information she needs to tell the receptionist. The clinic is famous and discreet, and they are quick to prescribe you antidepressants before the week draws to a close. You won’t be able to drink at your wedding, and everyone might think you are pregnant again, but Alexia reassures you that it will be worth it. 

Wrapped up in your own bubble, the three of you enjoy London in a way that isn’t possible in Barcelona. 

Here, Alexia has no commitment to football. There are no training sessions she must rush off to, there are no teammates to pry, and no one else to interfere with your private little routine. You quite like it, and she does too. It is only temporary, before you fly out to Menorca and hand Nico off to Eli in order to enjoy your respective bachelorette parties and then, in exactly seven days, your wedding itself. 

“You’re still smoking,” Alexia says disapprovingly, the sleep in her voice enough to make you feel a pang of guilt. It’s late at night when Nico has finally been soothed from his aching gums, and she has been able to climb back into bed expecting to find you asleep already. “Why are you awake?” 

“I’m still smoking,” you tell her. She sighs at the way you parrot her words, but presses an affectionate kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulders despite the lingering smell of cigarettes. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to smoke. This is Hollywood.” 

“This is Highgate.” Her accent curls around the name with something a little too foreign for her to ever consider this place home. “Why are you awake?” she repeats. 

You look down at the open notebook in your lap, the pages either blank or full of crossed-out lyrics. “He was so loud, but I can’t seem to write anything either so, really, it has been quite redundant.”

“I had to get a glass full of ice and hold it to my fingers so that I could help him. I could have lost some very important assets, but it seemed to do the trick.” He’s teething. You’re telling yourself that the antidepressants are little pills of miracle, and have kicked in already. “Feel.” She presses two freezing fingers to your cheek, and you gasp, flinching away from her. 

“There’s a teething ring downstairs, you know,” you tell her. She shrugs. Maybe it isn’t clean. “Don’t give yourself frostbite. I happen to quite like your fingers.” 

Alexia’s smirk is beyond suggestive, and her lips hit your neck once more with an entirely different heat to them. “Yeah?” You push her head away. “I bet it would feel good. Nice and cold.” 

“You’re delirious.” 

She continues to kiss you. “I don’t know what that means,” she mumbles into your neck, until her lips reach your face and she is near climbing into your lap – notebook long pushed onto the floor. “Dímelo en español.” 

“No lo sé.” 

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.” 

“Claro.” 

She laughs into the kiss she presses against your lips. She never has never felt like this with anyone else. Never this relaxed, or loved, or safe. “Me vas a matar con tu inteligencia y voy a sentirme estúpida para siempre.” 

“I love you,” you state softly. “I love every part of you.” Alexia, in that moment, decides to never do what she did with Jenni again, and to never break your heart by informing you of her betrayal. 

…

You’re married. 

You’re married to Alexia, a woman who bears the beauty of a goddess and the strength and will of someone who could capture the sun and tame the fire that rages on its surface. 

You admire her as she sleeps so peacefully beside you, tanned skin warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the hotel room. Later, you will get on the ferry, go back to Barcelona, and then fly to Capri for three days alone before Alexia’s preseason starts. Aside from a few meetings with Dave, you theoretically aren’t swamped with anything. You’ll be joining her in her city with Nico with a bit more permanence than last time. 

Alexia buries her face in the covers, crawling into your open arms the minute the sunlight rouses her. “Everything is sore,” she groans, her bare skin slightly sticking to yours, the sweat from last night not yet gone. 

“What happened to ‘mi vida, one more time won’t hurt’?” you tease, impersonating her heavy accent over your English with enough drama to get her to elicit another grumble. This time, it’s something about being bullied. “Darling, we have to get up. We’re having breakfast with our parents, and apparently Nico has been upset that we got a night to ourselves.” 

“Pobrecito,” she replies with a newfound level of English sarcasm. She spent the wedding reception avoiding the dance floor, engaged in a long conversation with your father. The topics spanned over most areas of life, and briefly touched upon how you are doing now. Alexia, with much pleasure, confirmed the improvement, however miniscule it has been. She is very proud of you, and he is too. “I only want one thing for breakfast.” 

Her hands begin to roam, the band of her wedding ring hitting your pubic bone. “Mi vida, one more time won’t hurt,” she mocks you from before but in her sexier, Spanish husk, sucking at your collarbone, straddling your waist.

You replace your near moan with a thoughtful hum. “I really want pancakes. Do you think they’ll make me some?”

Downstairs, where it is brighter and impossible to conceal the hickeys on both of your necks, you greet your parents, brother, Anya, and Gio. Alexia’s mother, her sister, and Jenni are sitting at the table, too. Your baby is pretending he isn’t teething, and grinning like an angel. 

“How’s married life?” Anya asks as you take a seat opposite her, Alexia to your right. The table has a gradient of bilingualism, but Gio discovered that she picks up Spanish quite easily considering she can already speak one romance language. “We’ve already found, like, four articles talking about it.” 

“How?” you ask, but you are not offended. 

Gio shrugs. “Drones, I guess. Nothing bad, though. Some speculation about the other bride – if the article does mention that. Most talk is on the dress.” It was a bloody good dress. “And I suspect that there’ll be a juicy little question about who was your Maid of Honour.” 

“Don’t be salty,” you tell her. The MOH issue was sorted out years ago – perhaps 2015 – when you binged Friends together despite having watched it thousands of times before. Anya has been yours, Gio will be hers, and you will be Gio’s. And they say trios never work. 

“I left Mia with her dad for this.” 

“You shouldn’t have had a baby with a man-slag,” Anya says with a snort, enjoying her second mimosa and Gio’s grimace at the idea of her daughter having to put up with her father’s revolving door of one-night-stands. “You’re one to make terrible decisions. At least our girl over here’s married someone who looks at her like she’s hung the moon.” 

Alexia turns to you with a smile, as if on cue, with Nico in her lap. You glance at his rounded cheeks and shining eyes, looking back up at your friends as though to check they are still there. Alexia leans forwards so that she can whisper in your ear. “Te amo. Nico, también. Mi familia es perfecta.” 

…

Returning to Barcelona comes with one negotiated condition on your part. You buy a bigger apartment, where there is space for an office and extra bedrooms. Alexia says her teammates will be taking the piss out of her grand new place the minute she sees it, but she is more than content to contribute to the finances with her new-and-improved salary for this season. “It’s weird to think that I’m from Mollet,” murmurs Alexia, standing in the middle of the large lounge area, surrounded by boxes. Most are from your old flat, but a few have been flown in from London. Alexia wanted you to have your Grammy with you. “This place is so fancy.” 

“It’s half of what the men’s team get,” you remind her, holding Nico with care as he gnaws away on a frozen carrot. His saliva drips onto you, but the antidepressants are working, and the therapy has been effective enough for you to start taking childcare in turns. (You had tried to previously, but Alexia wanted you to focus on yourself, knowing that things will change for all of you once the season started.) “Hey.” You place your hand on her shoulder. She tickles Nico’s chin. “We deserve this. You deserve this. Why don’t you host one of your team’s dinners? I’ll take Nico round to your mum’s – God knows she’d love to shove some food down my throat, too.” 

She shakes her head, strands of brown unstraightened due to the stress of the move and falling out of her bun with a determination to defy her hair bobble. “They would kill me if I did it without you. They’re all far too grateful that you invited Taylor Swift to our wedding.” 

“She’s a friend.” If you hadn’t been distracted by various other happenings that night, you’d have clocked that Alexia’s side of the guests were completely up to their ears in celebrities they’d never expected to meet. “Okay, so do you want me to stay here?” 

“I always want you to stay here,” she answers. 

“Not what I meant.” 

“I won’t take it back.” 

Nico babbles an incoherent yet cutely Spanish-y noise, though his words are getting closer to being said at the old age of eight months. Then, suddenly, something in him clicks. “Mama,” he squeals, his little fist scrunching up the fabric of your t-shirt. “Mamama.”

“Nicolau!” Alexia replies with just as much enthusiasm, cupping his cheeks. She kisses his nose, and then his forehead, and then his chubby knees and socked feet. “Nicolau, sí, la mama et té a las mans! Bon noi, el meu bon i intel·ligent noi.” 

“Does that count?” 

“Mama,” Nico repeats, tugging your earlobe. “Mama. Mama.” It is easy to forget about the (lessening) resentment you harbour when he speaks. Alexia gets him to say it as many times as she can before he goes back to his carrot, but, even then, the two of you stay in that spot, marvelling at your creation. 

Slowly, she turns around in a circle, absorbing the plain walls and towers of boxes. “This is going to be good. Life is going to be good,” you declare with such a firmness that it has to be true. “Darling, let’s get to unpacking and then we can think about a date for this dinner party.” 

“We are going to plan the party?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “Is this party going to start at five o’clock?” 

“Not all of us shit yellow and red.” (In a national sense – you’d have haemorrhoids for United any day of the week.)

Alexia takes Nico off you, in a show of cultural dominance. You’re actually outnumbered, considering he isn’t a British Citizen, and though he shares no DNA with your wife, he has inherited the same ability to narrow his eyes just enough to serve absolute cunt whenever he so pleases. If you weren’t feeling so ganged up on, you’d be a little impressed. “Nico y yo vamos a hacer croquetas de jamón. Adiós.” 

“Darling, the kitchen isn’t–” But you cut yourself off, deciding that she can discover that on her own, along with the criminally empty fridge. You don’t hide your smugness at all when she finds you in your almost-finished bedroom, wearing a look of utter disappointment and mumbling out a heartbroken request for a food delivery as soon as possible. 

…

November marks three years of being together and, also, four weeks of having Alexia’s ‘DNA’ – a pomeranian called Nala, whose Instagram account is run by her favourite parent after you called it silly and told your wife you’d much rather attend to your own seventeen million followers. 

Towards the end of the month, after a well-spent morning and then a family outing to Barcelona Zoo, Alexia meets Jenni Hermoso in a restaurant in what Jenni calls ‘your new rich-people neighbourhood’ in her text to Alexia.

Alexia, really and truly, is happy to have her best friend back in Barcelona. She missed her last year, when Jenni had returned to Atleti, and that separation maybe made what happened the night Spain was knocked out of the World Cup just that bit more understandable. “You’re a Culer, no matter how hard you try to fight it,” Alexia had said when she had climbed back into her own bed, not wanting to fall asleep in Jenni’s arms. “It was terrible to not have Y/n or you.” 

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people. 

“How’s your wife?” Jenni asks with a grin, two glasses of wine into a pleasant evening at an expensive restaurant. “You’ve left her with Nico, so something must be working.” 

In truth, you have been determined to get better. There were articles released not long after the photos of your wedding were circulated, and those speculated a lot about how you are finding motherhood. The baby pictured, captured by long-range lenses and invasive drones, was the world’s first glimpse at what Nico Putellas L/n looks like, and reminded many of them that you had a child to care for when in London, yet were frequently spotted at nightclubs and parties. You rise to most challenges, however, and find it a lot easier to adapt to weekly therapy sessions and pills every morning when you have a wrongful image to disprove. 

“It’s as if it never happened,” Alexia says, both with pride and surprise. “She now seeks to spend time with him. She takes him with her to the recording studio – the album’s coming along well.” It’s your first on your own. Nico plays with one mixing desk, while Dave (flown in from London with the promise that the Barcelona sun will do wonders for his wife’s misery) plays with another. “And… Jenni, we’ve been talking. The clinic that we used for Nico asked us if we wanted to reserve sperm when we first had him, and now they have called asking if now is a good time. I think… I think that she is really considering it. She told me yesterday that her therapist wants me to sit in on the next session, so we can go over how we can make this time different.” 

Jenni frowns, which is not what the woman opposite her had expected at all. “Why are you two having more children? You’re only twenty-five, Ale. Isn’t this going to affect your career?” 

“The men do it all the time.” She’s done a spot of research. They are younger than her when their girlfriends start getting pregnant, and they continue to play with the added admiration that they are fathers as well. 

“Yes, but they have the benefit of getting paid millions. They don’t have to fight with their federation for pitches or pay, and they can focus on football without their career sparking controversy for even existing.” 

“Then my children will grow up with a mother who fights for change.” 

“Or they grow up with a pop star who only wants things she cannot have and a footballer who can’t spend any time with them because she is too busy speaking at various conventions so that the next league match isn’t cancelled.”

“Jenni, do you think your opinion would be different if Y/n was a man?” 

This elicits laughter from the other woman, who rolls her eyes in a way that can only be described as condescending. “Alexia, you’re forgetting that I’m a lesbian too, which is a magnificent feat.” Jenni references the kiss they shared, and what happened after that. “But, no. I don’t. I want you to be the greatest footballer in the world, and you want that too. What are you going to do when Y/n tells you she wants to move back to England? Are you going to give up your future here for her?” 

The waiter interrupts briefly, collecting their empty plates and carting them off with a mission to retrieve the bill after a sharply declined offer for the dessert menu. “You don’t even know if that will happen,” Alexia scoffs, though she is a little sad that her exciting news hasn’t been well-received. “I was going to say that I’d think about the name Jennifer if it ends up being a girl, but now I’m leaning more towards María…”

She is kicked under the table, and she has to hold in her cry of pain because this restaurant is one of your favourite places to eat. “Mapi cannot have this victory over me. She’d be insufferable. Ale, you simply aren’t allowed to do that.” There’s another kick, but it is more playful this time. 

Alexia laughs, smiling and thankful that the tension has diffused. “I’m only joking. Y/n has a list scribbled in the back of her lyric book. She’ll probably be called Elena.” That is much more acceptable to Jenni’s ears, and she files that information away for next year, when she’ll tell Mapi that Alexia doesn’t like her name.

…

It works. Alexia and you are lucky. The doctor tells Alexia that, if she were a man, the two of you would have to be extremely careful. Your wife marvels at your ability to destroy your body and stay fertile, but she supposes that you are not the kind of woman to be a lesbian. Sometimes, she wakes up in a cold sweat, believing that you have changed your mind and left her. 

The New Year is a fresh start. Alexia decides to fix the (not so) hidden cracks in your relationship. She confides in her newly-acquired therapist. She may have made a mistake once; the secret is sandwiched between her worries about your susceptibility to depression and how Nico is a decided food critic. 

Though the therapist, a lovely bilingual woman named Sofía, raises her eyebrows, she does not pry. She slides a paper calling card over to Alexia. The paper squeaks along the coffee table between the two comfortable armchairs of the office. “I specialise in couples. Seeing as your wife is already a client of mine, I think you should consider a joint session.” Alexia is new to the idea of mental health. Before, she had been too focused on football to care about it. Even when her father died, any professional she spoke to was only hearing how her mind worked because she knew it was what was best for her performance. “And, Alexia.” She looks up at the therapist with a small, nervous smile. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I am sure Nico will make a wonderful older brother.” 

Morning sickness drags you out of your shared bed most days. 

Alexia asks you about couples’ therapy when you have finished your dry-heaving one morning. 

“I mean,” you begin before pausing, gulping down the sour taste in your mouth and hoping nothing else is trying to hit the toilet water until tomorrow. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise.” She is dressed in her training kit, but she slings her jumper over your shoulders as soon as you shiver. “Do you think it’s a good idea?” 

“It would do no harm.” As long as Sofía does not bring up Alexia’s confession, your statement will ring true. “You book the appointment. It’ll be easier to work around your schedule that way.” 

“When are you flying back to London?” Her question is not filled with hatred for the city, but with resignation to the fact that your job involves you being stretched between here and there. 

“Not until next month. I thought that I could take Nico to an away game with my dad if I got a flight for Saturday. The rest of the week would be interviews and photoshoots.” 

“How’s the album doing?” 

So far, your songs are only written when Alexia has paid you enough attention to swirl your thoughts and blur your vision. It is in these moments that the lingering, sinking weight inside of you dissipates. “Dave remains hopeful. It won’t fail, but I need it to be better than what we currently have.” 

Shamelessly, Alexia is aware of her effect on your songs. She smirks; “Alba has been begging to babysit, you know.” With no care for your current state, Alexia’s eyes rake up and down your body. You grow embarrassed by how you are slumped over the toilet, and how she is standing above you as though she runs your world. “You look beautiful, mi amor,” she murmurs as you bashfully duck your head between your bent arms. 

“You’re a flirt.” It feels too late for her to still be in the flat. “And you’re going to miss training if you don’t get a move on. There are eggs in the fridge, and Nico definitely liked the omelette you made him a few days ago. He’ll be waking up soon.”

A small sigh escapes the midfielder’s lips, but the prospect of the things she loves most in the world appearing in her life consecutively is enough to convince her to pad her way out the bathroom, swanning into the corridor with a little grin on her face as she sings out ‘bon dia’ to an impressively multilingual toddler and heads into the kitchen with the domestic intention of getting breakfast started. She leaves an omelette out for you, which you attack shortly after Alexia and Nico disappear into their daily routine. She drops him off at preschool, and you pick him up a few hours later, taking him first for lunch with Alba, and then to the studio. 

You come home to a showered Alexia who is memorising her most recent match. She lets Nico slide into her lap without hesitation, but she stays focused on the football even when he tugs on the strands of hair falling out of ponytail. You marvel at the idea of having enough room in your heart for so much love. You decide that you are not like Alexia, though it is not necessarily a terrible thing. A further observation from watching your wife settle her son with a calm, muttered Catalan telling-off, coaxing him into loving football as though he does not already, is that you are so very content with your life at the moment. 

But 2020 kind of sucks. 

For the entire world. 

You’re cut off from your home in any other manner than a digital one, and being stuck in a luxurious penthouse in Barcelona isn’t the worst fate, but it really isn’t ideal. 

Elena, however, has the benefit of coming into the world with ever (physically) present parents, who could recite the java script for Zoom given that they spend hours on therapy calls. Elena, bright and smiley and the picture of her mother, spends the first few months of her life in a happy, happy family, protected by an entire football team and a fierce older brother. (And a yappy Pomerianian called Nala.) 

“Y/n doesn’t like the name María,” Jenni tells Mapi when Alexia sends the first picture of your new addition to the Barcelona group chat. 

“The next baby is going to be a Jennifer,” Mapi says, to both the forward and the unimpressed midfielder walking a few paces in front of such a silly conversation. “For that, I can only feel sorry for her.” 

…

The routine changes the following year. 

It starts with an abrupt but expected conversation. One that Alexia has been dreading. 

Your album – the first one that is just you – was released two months ago, and it has done too well. Selfishly, Alexia had hoped it would fail. You have enough money, and she is earning more and more each season. Success, unfortunately, means that this little life can no longer exist. Or can it? 

“I have to do it,” you whisper to her, tears in your eyes though the smell of sex still lingers. The quietness of a child-free apartment allows for you to hear her gulp. “It’ll be different this time, darling, but I can’t be here anymore. I can’t fly out to London every few days. I can’t leave you with a five-month-old and a toddler when you are training every day and playing matches every weekend. It’s not fair on anyone.” 

Alexia kisses your bare shoulder, hands slipping round your waist as she pulls your sweaty body into her. Her chest presses against your back, but she is only behind you in this bed. She does not agree with you. She does not support it. But, like she always does, she bites her tongue. “If that’s what you want,” she replies, and part of you dies with the thought that she does not really care. “I love you. I want what’s best for you. For us.” And she tells Jenni all about it when she goes to see her a week later – the flimsy excuse of meeting a childhood friend for dinner enough to wrap a cloth around your eyes and leave you at home with a screaming toddler and a baby whose only flaw is that she grows distraught the moment she is put down. 

In the dimly lit living room, the tension hangs thick in the air. You lock eyes. “Why can't you just move with us? Everyone will want you, darling, and life would be easier,” you plead, a month down the line. The house in Highgate has been readied for your more permanent return. 

Alexia takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Why can't you get it into your head that I'm not leaving Spain or Barcelona? This is my home.”

“What about the children? School? Life? My career? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes soften. Your heart breaks, and the piece of you that has already died somehow dies again. “I'm thinking of the children. All the time, I think of them. About the reputation of my name – their name. Putellas, the greatest in the world, or Putellas, the one with potential wasted at West Ham?”

“You're being selfish, Lex,” you snap. “This is an opportunity for all of us, not just me. Think about their future!”

“Their future is here, in the culture they know, the languages they speak. I won't strip them of their identity for the sake of a 'better' life. And my career? I've worked too hard to build what I have here. I won't throw it away.” I don’t want to throw it away. Underscored by Don’t leave me again. 

The room echoes with the weight of her voice. “Their identity comes from both of us.” It’s too final for either of your liking. Elena begins to cry in her cot. “I want to try it. I want you to be open to trying it.” 

She gestures to the suitcases by the door. “Trying it and doing it are two different things. You’re taking them from me!” 

“You’re probably going to love life without them anyway!” you shout. You feel like the crying baby, except the tears rolling down your cheeks carry much more suffering than hers. “You’ll – what? You’ll go out with your friends, and you’ll be able to go to the gym whenever you want. No arguing, no crying, no toddler to entertain, no nappies to change. You never wanted children. I forced it upon you. I regret it, and I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

“Don’t go.” 

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.” 

You turn your back to her as you fly through the corridor, prepared to console Elena in a taxi. Alexia slips her ring off her finger, and clutches it in her palm instead. Desperately, she searches for a solution. There is nothing within her reach, not even you. 

… 

She is an island amongst a sea of happy people. She is going to be the greatest footballer in the world. It kills her to realise that she can now focus on football. 

Nico starts nursery, attending the same school you once did. He adjusts to life in London seamlessly, and Elena does not seem to care either way. He learns more English every day, and his other mother calls him nightly to read to him. 

With childcare more than sorted, you are free to be interviewed, pictured, and invited to events. You rake in the publicity, especially after laying so slow over the course of the lockdown in Spain. 

“Alexia.” Jenni’s hands knead her tight shoulders, partly teasing her. Alexia wears a frown, eyebrows knitting together with an emotion she’s not sure she can name. “Ale, it’s the same game as always. Nothing has changed.” 

“I know,” she murmurs. “I don’t understand why I feel like this.” She has continued to speak to Sofía, though your joint sessions have now come to a halt while you spend your time doubling as a singer and model. The therapist, try as she might, cannot evaluate the situation effectively enough. Eli and Alba have both tried to help, hoping that weekly dinners and the constant reminder about the invention of aeroplanes would ease the turmoil of Alexia’s mind. It does not. “I am so alone, Jenni.”

Nala is too small to fill the emptiness of the flat. Screens don’t allow for her to kiss you, or play with Nico. She is scared she will miss Elena’s first words. 

“You don’t have to be.” 

It only takes a month for Alexia to break, and it sort of works. 

In Jenni’s bed, it works. Hips keening, soft pants falling from her mouth. 

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment. 

Each time Alexia leaves, though Jenni repeatedly requests that she stays, she walks out as half a woman. She blinks back her tears and she checks her phone. When she calls you – not a video call – you are never any the wiser to the scratches down her back. 

Alexia remains an island, but the sand beaches are tainted with the arrival of someone else. 

In this way, she is functional. 

She can do sex. She can deal with borderline romance. She can fill the space that you are tearing open with every passing minute spent in that god-awful country you insist on calling home. She can fix it a little bit with Jenni. 

She tells herself that it does not mean anything more than a bandage means to a wound. Who wears the bandage once the gash has healed? 

Where does she put the used bandage? 

Why is she focused on bandages?! She’s having an affair. It’s not an affair! (It is.) Alexia doesn’t… quite… wanttoadmititjustyet.

…

The buzz of your phone is the final push that gets you to conclude the current interview you are trapped in. Before checking what the notification is, you glance at the time. You have half an hour before you need to pick up Nico, and your parents said they would drop Elena home once they returned from London Zoo. 

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea 

It’s an intriguing text amongst the more practical ones that oil the mechanics of managing the distance. Tonight, Barcelona play their last match of the season. After this, she’ll be flying out to London. You have missed her. The last time you saw her in person was after Barcelona embarrassed Chelsea in Gothenburg. Elated and filled with pride, it was incredibly nice to have the biggest room in the hotel to yourselves. Her medal was almost as beautiful as her. 

You: Go on…

Alexia: Just draw a heart on Nico’s hand from me porfa. You’ll see. 

You slide into the driver’s seat of your newest self-indulgent car; a Porsche. Momentarily distracted by a camera flash, your turn onto the main road is a little risky, but you manage to make it to the school in time to collect your son. 

“Was he good?” you ask his teacher as she hands you Nico’s book bag. You take in the sight of him: hair messy, school uniform stained though they require the little ones to wear aprons for most of the day. “It’s a little different here. I’m hoping that he’s enjoying himself.” 

“Our new assistant is from Spain,” says the teacher with a small, tired smile, batting her long eyelashes at you. “We had to pry him off her.” 

You let out a laugh. “He misses his mum.” 

“He’s extremely intelligent. He knew to speak Spanish to her and English to us.” Though your grasp of Spanish is near-fluent after such reluctance from your wife to try English, you know that the two-year-old has a talent for juggling the three languages he is growing up around. You’re proud of him. “You shouldn’t worry about him. And, speaking of, we have a parents’ coffee morning just around the corner. It’s always great for the parents to get along – it helps the school feel even more like a family. Will it just be you attending?” Nico’s teacher is around your age, and you can smell her rose perfume that mingles with the soft hint of ready-mixed paint. She has deep, brown eyes, and she is definitely flirting with you. 

“Next week, right? I’ll have to check with my wife.” 

It’s then that a toddler-sized hand grips your fingers and tugs. “Mama, me voy,” he groans; something akin to Alexia’s impatience. It reminds you of when you used to go shopping and she’d herd you out with the threat of getting in the car and driving away. “Venga.” 

“One sec, sweetheart.” There are countless ways in which you miss Alexia. “My wife and I would love to come.” 

Her smile does not falter on her lips, but there is a greyish disappointment that dulls the warmth of her irises. You smile as you turn your back and lead Nico to the car. You are so excited for Alexia to complete the broken puzzle. 

You melt when she kisses the heart drawn onto her hand when celebrating her goal. Nico copies her, lips pursing and sloppily mimicking the action on a similar heart. “For you, sweetheart,” you tell him as he settles back into your side, careful not to jostle Elena who has fallen asleep on your chest (the therapist did wonders for you). 

“It was for you,” Jenni tells Alexia after the match. Her goal is now serving as the move Alexia feared she’d make. They have changed and been massaged and done the media the are required to do (women’s football is growing): they are free to roam Barcelona if they so wish. 

Her flight is tomorrow evening – “I have a flight tomorrow evening.” 

“Come over tonight.” It isn’t a question, yet it is not quite a command. Mapi passes the two of them, eyes narrowing at the way Jenni has wrapped her hand around Alexia’s wrist. The defender is aware that something is going on, though it breaks her heart to imagine Alexia ever doing that to you. Not knowing they are being watched, Alexia steps in; cups Jenni’s face, brushes her cheekbone with a stroke of her thumb Mapi knows is meant for her wife. Mapi’s stomach lurches. She feels sick. 

“I need to…” It’s not a ‘no’. “Jenni.” She hates that it is not a ‘no’. 

“Ale.” There’s a beat. Mapi blinks twice, shakes her head, and backs away. “I’ll miss you, you know?” 

… 

Jenni doesn’t seem to mind when, the next day, blurry pictures of you on a family outing make rounds through the tabloids she usually doesn’t read. The fact that, up until now, no one has known that your wife is Alexia Putellas has no effect on her. She was stupid for thinking the last six months meant something. Winning together, losing together. Sleeping together. 

In this deal, Alexia has fucked over both women who love her. Except, you don’t know. She hasn’t told you, though Jenni had hoped for it secretly – hoped Alexia chose her – and it is obvious. Obvious to Jenni, who is well acquainted with the blonde hair in the wings of your concert at the O2. Obvious to Jenni, who refuses to think of herself as the other woman. 

She consults Mapi. 

Mapi, who she has come to shamefully realise already knows. 

“I can’t believe the two of you.” The defender is clear in her distaste and disappointment and, honestly, her disgust. “But I am not going to be the one to break that poor girl’s heart.” 

“I’m not asking you to.” 

What is she asking? What does she want from this utterly useless conversation? 

“Mapi.” Jenni closes her eyes, but she sees two faces instead of darkness. Nico. Elena. She’s Elena’s godmother. You decided that – convinced Alexia to choose her best friend over her younger sister, told your wife that there’d be another for Alba to corrupt. “Mapi, I love her. I don’t know what to do.” 

“She loves her wife.” The next sentence proceeds to brutally remind Jenni who that isn’t. “Tell her you’re done. Find someone else. Anyone but her.” 

That is Jenni’s resolve, because she knows that Mapi is right. 

… 

June, July, and August pass with bliss. 

Everyone says that you are a beautiful couple with beautiful children. Alexia beams with pride as she flaunts her practised English, and gladly claims ownership of Nico when he wins a prize on speech day. Every child in Reception is awarded something but that doesn’t stop her from boasting.

She explores the country with the children while you shack up in the recording studio, and brings hugs and kisses (and Red Bull) every evening after dinner. The visits are what reminds you of the sun Alexia brings, especially as the warmth follows her from Barcelona and London is blessed with golden days. Dog days. 

“This isn’t permanent.” Alexia looks up from her phone, comfortable in your bed. The house in Highgate has flecks of Spain woven into the decor now, and you like it that way. 

You climb into the bed beside her, and her arm lifts so that you can snuggle into her chiselled stomach (wow, she has been working hard this season). “What’s Jenni saying?” you ask, following your statement and hoping you’ll get her attention. She presses her phone screen into the duvet before you can translate the message – it is too long of a paragraph for you to handle. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this isn’t permanent.” 

Alexia, over the past few months, has been the most affectionate, loving, amazing person with the same smile and giggle you married. You thought she had disappeared and was replaced with stern, career-focused Alexia Putellas, jugadora del fútbol. You were wrong. 

“I’m thinking January is when we’ll come back. Nico’s English will survive.” Your parents are going travelling. They’ve never been on the Orient Express before. “I want to be with you.” 

It is a good thing Jenni has just broken up with her. 

“I love you,” you continue. “So much.” 

Alexia hums. Her heart breaks, and she does not know for whom. “¿En serio?” She is happy, she thinks. Certainly, she is glad that the four of you will be reunited. 

 You are. 

January 2022 ruins things for Jenni Hermoso. She calls Pachuca back. 

[terresdebrume]

I've written a couple of scenes of Charles' having an emotional breakdown and Edwin comforting him, I felt is was time for the reverse. Set in the I'm down on my knees universe at like. Some point, IG.

Warning for mentions of racist behavior throughout and also implied ableism via the Paynes vs Edwin. Hurt comfort. Sorta.

Edwin's fists start mashing together the second his hands come off the steering wheel, which Charles knows very well is the the top one sign of a stress spiral. It's pretty much the default position for Edwin's hands whenever they go to a social thing he hasn't got the hang on yet, and the morning before all his business law exams. It feels wrong to see them like that now, sitting in front of a rustic looking restaurant where his parents are waiting for them.

"We can still leave you know," he tells Edwin. "Tell them I tested positive for COVID and you don't want to risk giving it to them or something."

Edwin doesn't quite laugh, but the corners of his mouth lift up, and the creak of his leather driving gloves subsides for a moment. He makes a face like when he's trying to figure out how to say something he's not sure how to handle. Charles, one hand on his still buckled seatbelt and the other on the door handle, waits him out. Eventually, Edwin speaks.

"I should have said earlier," he says, sounding for all the world like the words are taffy stuck in his teeth, "but my parents are sort of... Well. They have a certain idea of how the world should work and be divided—"

"Yeah, I figured," Charles says. He grins when Edwin blinks at him. "Everyone else, when we've got plans, you say shit like 'Oh, Charles is making curry tonight'—"

"I do not sound like that," Edwin protests, but Charles snorts.

"You sound exactly like that, you big toff," he says, grin widening despite himself.

Edwin rolls his eyes and calls him ridiculous, fists softening against one another. Grinning to the point his cheeks ache, Charles gives Edwin's knee a light knock with his knuckles. It makes Edwin click his tongue, but Charles doesn't lose his smile.

"My point is, with you're parents it's always like 'Charles is making dinner' and stuff. Like you're playing the pronouns game with food."

Charles suppresses a wince when. Edwin's eyes widen and his fists tighten together again, like tectonic plates gearing up for an earthquake. Of course Edwin was going to take it the wrong way. Charles should have bloody well known better.

"I'm sorry," Edwin says, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Charles shrugs. "I mean they know what I look like, right?"

"Yes!" Edwin promises, hands so tight together it looks like they're going to merge. "Of course. I made sure they couldn't pretend they'd misunderstood, too, I just—"

"Then I'm fine," Charles says, making sure his smile looks easier than it feels. "I was friends with racist gits for years, I can handle your parents for an hour."

Plus, they'll be in public. What are the Paynes gonna do, try to make him join the staff? Calling him the P slur over dessert? They might think it but Charles suspects they're too interested in seeming proper to be that crassly racist where they can be heard. Probably they'll just make some noise about certain types of people and NHS fraud and jobs being stolen away from the homeless people they have no intention to help. Maybe something about Islam—there people tend to assume Charles is a Muslim a lot. He chalks it up to two birds one stone mentality, and the appeal of unlocking two rants over a single guy.

"Alright," Edwin says, looking relieved but not guilt free yet. "But if you wish to leave early, please pretend you just remembered a favour you promised Jenny, will you? I will drive us back immediately."

"Sure, I'll do that," Charles promises. He genuinely doesn't think it'll be that bad, but if he's wrong he'll be glad have the out anyway.

Reassured, Edwin takes a deep breath, and nods, and in they go. Everything is very posh in that very 'bling is for lesser people' kind of way. The menu predictably shows no prices. Edwin's parents make the usual thinly veiled remarks about Charles and Indians and brown people in general, and it's not the most comfortable but Charles could deal with it if not for the Issue.

It starts when they approach the table, Edwin's parents standing next to it with spines so straight Charles half worries he's hunched down again. Edwin places his hands in his mother's to kiss the air around each of her cheek, but then when he goes to press his fists together again, she takes his wrists and pulls his hands apart. Charles's entire back goes rigid at the sight, but he manages to push it aside and smile as he extends a hand for Mrs. Payne to shake. He said he'd do his best to make the dinner a success, and he meant it.

They sit down, Edwin and Charles on one side of the rectangular table, Edwin's parents on the other. Edwin's hands are very flat on the white tablecloth, gloves pulled away and fingers carefully aligned together. They stay there while Edwin answers increasingly invasive questions about his studies and his life, but they drift together again when the Paynes' attention turns to Charles.

"Stop that," Mr. Payne says with a stern look, cutting himself off in the middle of a sanctimonious explanation of why Charles is not being ambitious enough in life.

It's such a complete contrast to the polite, vaguely affable air he took one when speaking to Charles, and he goes back to it so quickly, Charles barely has time to react. The only thing he can think of is to press his knee against Edwin's in comfort. He should have thought of a signal for Edwin, too. Or at least asked if he wanted one.

The entree's arrival provokes some surprised praise over how their brown waiter is surprisingly well trained and articulate, and Charles takes it in stride. They're not actually saying anything to the waiter, and when they do speak he's out of earshot. He's had worse, and Edwin doesn't quite seem to be ready to throw the towel in, so he'll stick it out a bit longer. Even if Edwin's going pinker and pinker with every minute that passes.

They're about halfway through their main dishes and another rant from Mr. Payne—augmented by his wife's approving noise and not much else, Edwin having fallen silent somewhere around the time his gaspacho touched the table. Charles hates to see him like this: Edwin has always had a big personality, a larger than average presence in any room. He should be leading the conversation, or at least insisting on being heard through it, not looking down at the tablecloth with his mouth shut.

Charles is halfway through opening his mouth to pretend Jenny just texted him about plumbing issues, when Edwin's dad speaks again. He has the kind of articulation they promote on the BBC, yet Charles doesn't register any of what he says, only the fact that Edwin's fists fly together without him even noticing, and then Mr. Payne's hand darts from the other side of the table to slap Edwin's closed hands.

Now, see, the thing about Charles, is he's got excellent reflexes. Between dodging his dad's many and varied projectiles over the years, a decade of cricket, and countless hours of playing shooting games, he's pretty much primed for it. Add to that the fact that he's been getting angrier and angrier on Edwin's behalf throughout the meal, and really Charles doesn't think he can be blamed for dropping his knife, reaching out, and slapping Mr. Payne's hands.

"How dare you?" The man hisses in the deadly silence that falls over the room after the exchange.

The whole restaurant seems to hold its breath, the way Charles and mum used to do whenever dad stopped and asked 'What did you just say?'. In the corner of Charles' vision, Edwin's mouth hangs partially open in shock even as Charles hisses:

"How dare you?"

"The way I discipline my son," Mr. Payne starts, and Charles snarls.

"Your son is twenty-five," he says raising his voice on purpose. "You don't get to treat him like a bloody toddler."

"You little—" Payne senior starts, but before Edwin even has the time to react to his dangerous tone, Charles stands up with a loud scrape of his chair against the floor.

"And another thing," he says, loudly speaking over the fast purpling man in front of him, "there's nothing wrong with Edwin. That thing with the hand? You're making a mountain out of a bloody molehill! And if you didn't spend so much time worrying about it, maybe you'd realize Edwin is really bloody mint, actually, and if you can't appreciate him, then I don't see why we should bother staying here at all." Charles pushes his chair back against the table with another loud scrape, and turns to Edwin. "Come on, let's go."

Edwin's parents protest, mildly at first and then more loudly, but Charles doesn't care. He's too furious at them, at the way they filled their son with a sort of guilty shame Charles had never seen until the, at the way they somehow managed to stop him from even wanting to answer.

He waits until Edwin stands up, and then he takes hold of Edwin's wrist and drags the both of them outside. Edwin has to tug hard on his arm to remind him they used a car to come in, actually, and they can't leave it there. He sounds—well he sounds strained, is what he does. The sort of voice that means there's an emotion somewhere he's not letting out, and this time Charles knows exactly where it's going.

"I'm so sorry," he says, "I ruined dinner!"

"Oh," Charles, Edwin sighs.

His eyes are wide and wet and his grin ks kind of wobbly, but he steps up and engulfs Charles in hug anyway, hands tightly clasped around Charles waist. Charles responds in kind, putting as much love as he can into the embrace, into the pressure of his arms around Edwin.

"Thank you," Edwin mumbles against Charles' neck. "No one ever stood up for me line that."

"They bloody well should have," Charles says, gentling his tone when he realizes something warm dripping down his neck.

Edwin, too busy controlling his crying the best he can, doesn't answer, but it doesn't matter. Charles holds him tight until he's done crying anyway.

[coraniaid]

A large part of the Buffy fandom loves to cast Giles in the role of the Scoobies' collective Dad (and, for reasons that continually escape me, to cast Jenny Calendar as the Scoobies' collective Mom) but if you actually watch the show I think it's pretty clear that's not what's going on.

Yes, Buffy herself does increasingly view Giles as a substitute father figure (especially as her own father becomes less and less involved in her life).  But while Giles does very quickly come to view Buffy as somebody whose safety and personal happiness he is responsible for and as somebody he is willing to break the rules to protect – as something like a surrogate daughter, in other words – he is, equally and just as importantly, utterly convinced he would be a terrible parent. (For example, see his preference to offer himself instead as, as he puts it, "some sort of rakish uncle" in Season 6’s Life Serial when Buffy suggests that seeing him again is “a little bit like having Mom back”.) 

As a result of that conviction, Giles insists on maintaining an emotional distance that means that Buffy herself becomes convinced he doesn't want that sort of role in her life at all (see, for example, his refusal to accompany Buffy to the ice skating show in her father’s place in Season 3’s Helpless; his reluctance throughout Season 2 to let her into his home or to tell her about his personal life). The irony of course being that Giles does eventually take on the very role of Buffy's "shiftless absentee father" he didn't want to have in the first place: he hurts her by being a poor father figure precisely because he thought he would hurt her if he actually tried to be a father.

On the other hand, Willow doesn't view Giles as a father figure at all -- the show brings up several times the idea that Willow initially has something of a crush on Giles (most notably in Season 4’s Where The Wild Things Are, when she says as much outright, but it’s also strongly implied, for instance, in Season 3’s Faith, Hope & Trick, where Willow seems to agree with Faith’s description of Giles as “young and cute”) -- and likewise although Giles is clearly fond of Willow he is fond of her in the role of a favorite student who needs to be reminded not to overwork herself (or, in Season 6, as a former student who has made some regrettable decisions as a result of not listening to his advice).  Willow is not his daughter, but rather she is his daughter Buffy's smart, hardworking friend who he thinks is a good influence on her.  (Willow, let’s not forget, actually does have a father who seems to be fairly present in her life: he’s just not ever present on screen, because this isn’t Willow’s story.)

By contrast, Xander does clearly view Giles as some sort of idealized father figure.  Even in the early years of the show he empathizes with Giles in a way none of the others do (cf. his reaction to Jenny's murder: "poor Giles"); he wants to make Giles laugh, he confides secrets in Giles he doesn’t tell any of his female friends.  The more we see of Xander’s own home life the clearer the reason for this becomes: Xander’s biological father is awful.  But this relationship is entirely one-sided and unvoiced – Giles would be very confused (and appalled) if he realized Xander felt that way about him.  To Giles, Xander is Buffy’s silly and unreliable friend: the bad influence to Willow’s good influence.  This is the context in which he agrees with Xander that Willow is “much, much better” than him.  However much Xander might want it, Giles just doesn’t consider him as some sort of adopted son.  He only associates with him at all because he is compelled to do so.

(I don’t know if it’s a deliberate writing decision that the Oxford-educated and generally fairly posh-seeming Giles has a largely positive and supportive relationship with middle-class teenagers like Buffy and Willow and a much frostier and arms’-length one with the far more working class coded Xander and Faith, but it’s certainly hard not to notice.)  

Faith, on that note, doesn’t really have a relationship with Giles at all, something that she’s pretty openly bitter about (“You get the Watcher, you get the Mom … what do I get?” she asks Buffy in Season 3’s Enemies; you don’t need to think very hard to guess what word might replace ‘Watcher’ and parallel ‘Mom’ here).  Yes, later on the Angel spin-off will try to retcon Wesley as “Faith’s Watcher”, but in the context of her initial appearance on the show it is clearly Giles who plays the role of the Watcher Faith wishes she had (recall that, when he first arrives, Wesley is meant to be Buffy’s new Watcher).  But, in contrast to Xander, who wants a connection with Giles specifically, it’s a much more abstract kind of longing we’re dealing with here –  we see repeatedly in Season 3 how desperate Faith is for any sort of parental figure, from Gwendolyn Post to the Mayor, and that’s what she’s angry about not having here.  

Rupert Giles himself as a person isn’t somebody Faith has any strong feelings about (“Giles is okay”, Faith tells Mrs Post in Revelations, which is the closest she comes to having any opinion on him).  For his part, and despite his promise to “look after” Faith at the start of this season, Giles has exactly the relationship with her that, one suspects, all Watchers are encouraged to have with their Slayer.  He gives her orders (implicitly he’s still doing this as late as Doppelgangland) and he expects her to report to him for training, but if – as in Helpless – she doesn’t show up, he doesn’t have any other use for her.  What she does with her life outside of killing monsters is not something we ever see Giles care about at all.

As for the other younger Scoobies … well

Anya is often treated as though she were a child, but she’s actually over a thousand years old and doesn’t have any sort of father issues at all, as far as we can tell.  She certainly doesn’t seem to ever view Giles as a father.  He’s sometimes a rival (“I know way more about demon dimensions than Giles does”), or an employer (“If it wasn't for me, Giles would be a terrified old man staring at a quarterly tax statement and wetting himself”), or an equal (“silent overseas partner”). But I don’t see any evidence of him being a substitute parent.

Tara doesn't even consider herself to be a Scooby for most of her time on the show; obviously her biological father is a monster but she first meets Giles as an adult and I just don’t think she ever has that sort of relationship with him (she’s still calling him “Mr Giles” at late as the middle of Season 5).

If Oz knew that Giles was a fellow guitarist – possibly even a guitar player who could teach him to play the dreaded Eb diminished ninth chord – he might have a more complex relationship with him.  I don’t think he ever does learn this, though, so I’m pretty sure Giles is only ever just “that librarian Willow likes” as far as Oz is concerned.

We know, per Real Me, that Dawn doesn’t think Giles likes her.  Given Dawn’s role as a part of Buffy, and what we know about Giles’ relationship to Buffy, I think that checks out; Dawn is the part of Buffy who Giles refuses to get close to because he thinks he has to be willing to sacrifice her to save the world; the part of Buffy who assumes her Watcher is reluctant to think about her inevitable death because the topic is too “unseemly”. 

If you asked Cordelia to describe her relationship with Giles, and she didn’t have anything better to do or somebody more popular to talk to, she would – speaking slowly, as if talking to an idiot – explain that Giles is her school librarian, and that the library is the place the school keep all the books students might need to read.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias/Trent Alexander Arnold x Reader - Dark Rivarly Part 2/15

Part 3 and 4 are already out on my Patreon for FREE!

Reader is Trent Alexander Arnold's twin sister. The two have been inseparable since childbirth, more so now when Reader is fresh out of university looking for a job, crashing at her brother's place whilst doing so. One day Reader gets a job offer that she cannot refuse, however it would mean working for her brother's biggest rival in football, Ruben Dias. 

Enjoy!

"Not like that, like this."

"But grandma..."

You were miserable being a seamstress apprentice, but at least you were doing something your parents would say whenever you'd call them to complain. They had you move to Manchester so you could learn the business. Grandma was happy to have you since dad was never good for anything but stitching up socks when he was young. You remember him doing so all the time as Trent would grow out of his clothes faster than you.

"Rearrange them." Grandma demanded, pointing to a pile of spare buttons that you wrongfully arranged by tossing them all into one single box. "Afterwards Jennifer has got some more work for you to do at the counter."

"Wait, you're leaving me?"

Grandma was seen putting on her hat and fur coat. "The Great British Bake off is on." She smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." And with that she left the shop.

Frustrated, you rearranged the box of buttons and went on to receive more instructions from grandma's only employee at this particular shop, located in a quite posh part of Manchester. Sometimes you would recognize people who walked in from TV or the cover of famous magazines. It was cool how Grandma had managed to make quite the name for herself, having started from nothing.

"All done?" Jennifer asked, as you walked up to the counter, shoving the box of buttons into a drawer beneath it.

"Yes. Can I go home now?"

Jennifer looked at you with guilty eyes. Her green guilty eyes. "I've actually got some things for you to sort out. We've got an important client coming in tomorrow. His assistant called this morning, asking us to prepare his measurements beforehand so it wouldn't be as much of a hassle tomorrow. What I need you to do is clean up in the back by putting some clothes on the headless mannequins.....oh, after you've attached their heads of course."

"Jenny," You sighed. "That's gonna take me at least two more hours in the shop. Please tell me you're at least sticking around to help me?"

"Sorry." She shrugged, closing down the computer and grabbing her purse. "I've got a date tonight."

And like that you were left for dead. Your Friday night set.

After two hours you were still on your knees in the shop window, dressing the mannequins, customizing them with Grandma's latest collections. Suddenly the bell to the front door rang.

"Coming!"

It was too late for any deliveries. You were surprised to be confronted by a tall man with dark hair and broad shoulders, wearing sunglasses even though it was nearly dark outside.

"Can I help you sir?"

The man looked over his shoulders then to the left and to the right before acknowledging you. "Are you Mrs Arnold?" He asked skeptically. Although you couldn't see his eyes from behind his dark sunglasses, you knew that he was looking at your bare feet.

"Erm..no, I'm her grandchild. Can I help you with something?" You regretted the fact that you left your heels in the store window. You thought the delivery man was at the door. Instead you found this huge man that, unless he wanted to buy something, you were going to have to ask to leave.

"My assistant called your grandmother about a suit fitting. I was in the neighborhood and I have the suit with me right now if we could just get it over with today, since my flight leaves early tomorrow afternoon."

"Um, sure. What was the name?" You moved over to the counter, checking the computer. If it was just a suit fit then perhaps you could get it done yourself. You had done many of those before, without Grandma having to assist you.

"The name?" You repeated, peering over to see that the man hadn't given it up yet. All he had done was remove his sunglasses, revealing a pair of handsome brown eyes.

"It's Ruben, Ruben Dias."

"Ruben....Dias...." You typed the name into the bookings, and that's when it hit you. "Wait a minute?"

The man seemed startled by the swift way your eyes left the computer, examining him. "You play for Manchester City, don't you?" And not only that, he was THE Ruben Dias.

"Yeah." He smiled, not really wanting to make a big deal out of it. You however....

"My brother hates you!"

"Pardon?" He scratched the back of his head.

"No, you don't understand, he really hates you." You laughed. "The way you played against Liverpool last time around was hilarious."

"Um...thanks."

You could see it, Ruben getting a bit uncomfortable by the change of your demeanor. You were probably coming across as very unprofessional.

"Excuse me." You said, clearing your throat, settling down a bit. "I'll be right back."

You rushed over to the store window where the half dressed mannequins lay, along with your high heels. You returned to the front of the store, having collected yourself and put on your shoes.

"Let's see the suit." You said, to which Ruben brought out a paper bag, setting it on the counter in front of you. He pulled out the jacket of the suit, but the way it look, the texture of the fabric...

"It's green." You grimarced.

"Yeah." He nodded.

"Why is it green?"

"You don't like it?"

"No." You snorted. "It's hideous. Unless the theme to whatever event you're going to is 'Moldy Pinguin'?"

"It's not." He said, looking less than amused.

"Well whoever suggested you'd wear it should be fired."

"Did my assistant give you the measurements?" He said, in a business like matter, a sign for you to shut up and do your job.

"Sure." You nodded, ones again wiping the smile off your face. "Please, sit. This may take a while."

Ruben was glad to be seated whilst you took his suit into the back office where Grandma kept her sewing machine. You took Ruben's measurements and applied them to the suit. It should fit him well once you are done.

"Done. Let's try it on."

You returned with the fitted suit. Handing it to Ruben who stood and followed your directions towards dressing rooms. Whilst he took his time, you contemplated calling Trent, perhaps lying and telling him that Grandma had Manchester City players coming in and out of her shop. Of course, he wouldn't believe you unless you had proof, and sneaking a photo of Ruben would be too risky, not to mention creepy. No, you shouldn't do it. Although you really wanted to. If you could just get closer.....

"I don't think the shirt fits."

Approaching his dressing room, phone in hand, you were forced to back off as the curtains flung open, revealing Ruben with an unbuttoned shirt and no pants on.

"Um, w...what doesn't fit?" Your mouth went dry. Ruben's black underwear fit him perfectly, the elastic fabric hugging tightly around the curve of his ass, cupping his front, firmly holding up the bulk in his pants.

"My shirt?"

"Oh." Your gaze lifted. "Of course. Your shirt." You approached him, examining the design.

"Look." He said, demonstrating the fact that the buttons wouldn't close, not with the current size of his chest.

"I see." You hummed, trying not to make it obvious that you were checking him out. He had outlined muscles everywhere you looked, even tracing down towards his...

"Can you fix it or not?"

"Tonight?" Your eyes left his muscles, mimicking his frown.

"Yes. I'm leaving for Portugal tomorrow, it's where I'll receive my reward."

"What award?"

"Does it matter?"

Clearly Ruben was getting irritated, however none of this was your fault. You did the measurements just as his assistant had informed. Perhaps Mr Muscle Everest should stay off the weights if he wanted clothes to fit him better.

"Can you?" He repeated, seeing how you failed to answer him.

"Fine. Okay." You nodded, stretching out a hand for Ruben to hand over the shirt. He did so rolling his eyes.

God, he was annoying, you thought. No wonder he and your brother had beef.

"I'll be right back." You said, and spent another hour working overtime. By the time you left the sewing machine and waited for Ruben to try on the suit, the time was already well past nine o' clock.

"Okay, tell me what you think, and don't lie." Ruben stepped out of the dressing room in his moldy penguin suit.

You shrugged your shoulders and handed it to him straight. "I'd definitely call you if I needed help solving the murder mystery of my late cat Whiskey."

"Huh?"

"It means you look like Sherlock Holmes, Ruben."

He raised a brow.

"And Sherlock Holmes is not who I'd aspire to look like If I was expected to go on stage, receiving an award in front of hundreds of people."

Ruben's expression faltered. "Is that all?"

"Yes, that'll be 50 pounds for the fitting. Would you like me to run it up by the front desk?"

"Gladly." He grunted, shutting the dressing room curtains in your face.

You mumbled the words on your way to the front desk. "What a dickhead."

Part 3 and 4 are already out on my Patreon for FREE!

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Doctor Who, but Chronologically 26

It's 1913 and fuck me but this episode fucks like a rabid rhino as it's time for Human Nature.

Holy.

Shit.

And it kind of makes sense! Remember when the Tennant Doctor talked to Jackson Lake? And told him about how Time Lords sometimes store memories in fob watches? And then remember how Tecteun and the Ood had a fob watch they used to be a dick to the Whittaker Doctor? And she was maybe going to open it? Fob watch! We know all about these!!!

So, we start with Tennant and Martha, sprinting into the TARDIS to escape "The Family". These, it transpires, are aliens made of lurid green gas who can possess people, so we're off to a simply fantastic start right there in terms of saving the budget. To escape them the Doctor turns himself human, and gets Martha to basically guard him in The Past because as a human he remembers nothing, which

A) means we are treated to David Tennant's acting changing to being Subtly Wrong, right down to the way he smiles, which is unsettling as fuck; and

B) fucking sucks ASS for Martha because she's now a black maid in a posh white English boarding school and this episode is not interested in portraying posh white English boarding schoolers in 1913 as anything other than raging cock-heads who make you glad there's a world war around the corner to wipe two thirds of them out.

Although I say English. That's St Ffagans, that is. With some exteriors up by Llangors. I know my Welsh historical sites.

Anyway, Martha yeets herself bodily up the rankings with this one. She's capable, and clever, and marooned in a fucking awful time as a bodyguard for a man who doesn't remember her and treats her like shit, and she is so achingly alone. She's stored the TARDIS in a shed, and she goes to it for some normalcy, and to dream of going home. She's made friends with Jenny, another maid, and their friendship is sweet and wholesome, the only bright spot left, and the whole thing would make you weep if only, um, Freema's acting was good.

(I'm sorry I adore her but she is just... very hammy)

So it's very depressing when Jenny becomes an alien host.

BUT it's also an AMAZING SCENE, because Martha has managed to source some afternoon tea for them to share, and Jenny comes in and is Weird, and Martha doesn't just notice - in a move that had me going "Well THIS scene was written by a Welshman," she looks Jenny in the eye and says "Okay, shall I put some gravy in the teapot? We could have jam and herring." And Jenny falls for it just as a changeling would, and Martha gets the fuck out. Incredible. Martha for the win. Everyone should know their changeling lore. Martha clearly does. Good girl.

Although shout out to the Family actually; the Daughter is a little girl with a red balloon and the same nursery rhyme backing track as the sinister little girl with the red balloon in Remembrance of the Daleks who turned out to be possessed by a Dalek or some shit, which is very cool, although these little girls with red balloons and sinister nursery rhyme backing tracks are about as good at acting as each other, which is to say, not really. BUT the Son is played by what's his tits off of Game of Thrones, you know the one? Played the little blond inbred lad who loved dragons. He's fantastic in this! Plays it with just the right amount of menace and charm, it's great. It could easily have become hammy and undermined it, but it's just great. Who knew you could sniff in a frightening manner and make your eyes glow with the Power of Acting alone?

Um, what else, what else... oh yeah, the Doctor as a human is a trembling virgin who gets a girlfriend played by Jessica Hynes. He falls down some stairs because he's so flustered about asking her to a dance. He literally starts saying "Um, I've never..." before kissing her, as though that's at all news to anyone watching.

Anyway, plot-wise, the Doctor dreams of his real life and has written it all down in a dream journal, which he insists on explaining to every woman who looks his way with the tediousness of people who keep dream journals everywhere. He keeps the fob watch on the mantlepiece. He has left a list of instructions for Martha, of which number 23 is to open the watch as a last resort.

But, one of the students in the boarding school is that kid from Love, Actually who later was an American chess player in the Queen's Gambit (side note, I swear like half the cast in the Queen's Gambit was British and putting on lacklustre American accents). Turns out this kid is Mildly Psychic in the way that people often are in RTD's era because why the fuck not, and so he has, in fact, stolen the fob watch because it spoke to him. Occasionally he opens it and learns about Time Lords, but that means the Family can smell the Doctor. This means Martha tries to open the watch, only to find it missing.

So they all go to the dance, which is in the old Oakdale Working Men's Club, and my dad used to go drinking there. It's in St Ffagans now. They're moving the Vulcan there just next door which is fun, because I used to go drinking in the Vulcan, so it'll be two generations of us moved to a museum. I've forgotten what I was talking about.

So they all go to the dance. Unfortunately, this includes the Family, who are armed with a heady mix of alien guns and extraneous scarecrows. In a cliffhanger that lets down the rest of the episode, they grab Martha and Jessica Hynes, and tell a very confused Doctor that he has to change back from human or pick which of these women to kill. It feels a bit needlessly stapled on, tbh. But it's nice to see Oakdale Workies again.

Anyway I think no new questions? Other than "How will they get out of this?" but the second half is next even on this batshit watch order, so we can ignore that one. That's fun. However we do still have a fob watch hanging plot thread for Whitaker, so there's that.

The list!

“She” (an unknown person) is returning (perhaps River returned as Missy. Maybe Me? Maybe Clara???!)

There is something on Donna’s back

An entire planet, Pyrovilia, just… disappeared, somehow. (Maybe because the TARDIS is exploding??? Saturnine was also lost, and that WAS because of the TARDIS exploding. The lion man’s planet was also lost but he was a bit of a knob about it if I’m honest.)

Amy is maybe dead (she’s not)

The Doctor has been cubed (he’s out, but how?)

River is possibly blown up  (unless she’s Missy)

The TARDIS has blown up  (It’s fine now. Except it’s sort of melting now because it’s corrupted, but it’s fine again)

The universe appears to have ended  (the universe is back again)

The Doctor has employed(?) Nardole (And Nardole was “reassembled???”)

There’s a vault in the TARDIS and it contains Missy but we don’t know why (sometimes she knocks for the bants)

What has happened to all these companions and where are the new ones coming from?

There’s an immortal Viking girl now. Her name is Me and she’s now looking after the people the Doctor abandons

What’s With The Silence?

Why was Rory entirely unconcerned by the entire world suddenly going silent when that is Not Normal and should have been, at the very least, extremely disconcerting?

What did the Doctor do to Queen Lizzie One?

Who is Captain Jack Harkness? (Is he the one who gave the companions a warning about the lone cyberman?)

Why is Amy seeing a one-eyed woman in a vanishing window?

What’s with the Doctor’s future involving getting shot by an astronaut?

Is Amy pregnant and why is it inconclusive?

Who is Sarah-Jane Smith?

How is the Doctor Bill’s teacher and why/where does he have an office?

What is going on with the Cyber War and the Cyberium???

Who did the Doctor lose to Cyber Conversion?

What happened with the Other Cyber War?

What happened with the Third War that deleted the void?

Why does Rose seem particularly important?

What’s with the Weeping Angel statues, and why can’t you blink at them?

What order do these Doctors go in? (Eccleston, Tennant, uncertain, Smith, Capaldi.)

Which companion just… forgot the Doctor, and how?

Yaz and Vinder are about to die as Mori/Mwri/Muuri

There is a Lupari shield around Earth.

What’s a Time War?

What’s the Rift?

What’s Bad Wolf?

What happened with Amy’s pregnancy?

In which war did the Doctor become a war criminal, and how?

Who is the Master?

Why has Amy forgotten Rory?

Is Rory plastic or not?

Why is the Doctor sulking on a cloud?

How exactly does the Doctor have a cloud?

What exactly happened with Strax to, uh, tame him?

Which friend killed Strax?

Which friend brought Strax back?

Where did this lesbian lizard and human couple come from?

What happened with Clara as Souffle Girl and the Daleks?

How does Clara actually join?

Why so many Claras?

Why is Missy apparently in robo-heaven?

Why is probably!Missy pushing Clara and the Doctor together?

What is Trensilor and what happened there?

Who is Handles?

The Doctor is about to be dissolved by a beautiful geode man

The universe is being crushed by the Flux

Will the Doctor open the fob watch? (NEW INFO: he also needs to open a fob watch as Tennant, but this presumably won't count.)

Sontarans are invading Earth again

Who is Kate?

Who is Osgood? Another name of Clara’s again?

The fuck is the deal with the Grand Serpent

[woso-dreamzzz]

Bambi's dance mom hcs?

Just Jenni finding the most responsible looking person when Bambi moves and being like 'you, you're the one that's going to look after my kid'.

She's probably super fancy and has one of those super posh English accents that makes it so obvious she went to private school and rides horses on the weekend

[bobcatblahs]

Tiny Dancer Ch 11:

‘The Art in Heart’ is up now!

(Happy Friday)

Summary:

With her father often busy, Jenny finds herself a new friend to help her navigate becoming a young woman... She thinks her new friend could be her dad's friend, too. OR Single Dad Detective Nine is set up with Rose Tyler when Jenny picks herself out a new mom at a posh department store.

New to the story? Catch up here!

[definesanity]

The Weird Ones

Uzi Doorman was not your typical teenage girl. In fact, she was the farthest thing from it.

Her mom had managed to get her into college, bless her, and in Copper City, no less, but people STILL knew she was the daughter of Khan.

Greeeeeeeeeat.

Thankfully, there is someone who doesn't mind. Actually, a few.

First, Lizzy and Russian Doll. No, that is genuinely her name, and isn't bullied for it due to Lizzy. Lizzy is the atypical mean girl, and Doll is... well, a friend of her's, and a Russian transfer student.

Thad is cool. Not much to say other than, minus the ones he hangs out with, he's decent enough.

And, then, there are the last three. Who are, by far, the strangest.

Nathaniel, Victoria, and Jessica Elliot. Or, more commonly, for some reason, N, V, and J.

They're the adopted siblings of Tessa James(who calls their daughter James???) Elliot, a girl who is preeeeetty high up on the social ladder. N, as much as the guy is a golden retriever, is a nice guy at the end of the day.

Which then led her to meeting V and J, and then realising that she was gay as fuck.

She means. Come on! V walks around with that coat showing off her honkers and J is. Well she definitely awakened some things!

So, it came to Uzi. Alone. Groaning that she's single. Again. For like. The. Fifth time that day.

Her phone buzzed and her arm nearly dislocated at the speed at which she grabbed it.

It was a text from N:

Golden_Retrievers_Have_Gentl: Hey! Busy? Just wanna hang out and chat about something! :D

Uzi's reply was simple, but effective:

DarkXWolf17: pls holy shit i am so fucking bored rn. where u wanna meet

Golden_Retrieves_Have_Gentl: Outside of campus! I'll wait for ya! ;3

Finally, something to do.

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

Eh, it's not bad.

It is just. Chatting. But, to be honest, Uzi likes N's stories. They're pretty funny at times, especially when it's concerned over Tessa and her less-than-posh ways.

Still, N eventually paused, oddly enough, and made a thinking pose.

"Yo, Thinker, you doing okay?" Uzi was gonna kill herself later for caring.

"Eh? Oh, right, sorry! Just thinking, is all... so, um. Can I ask for a favour?"

"...What is it." Uzi didn't look amused.

"Hey, I'm not asking you to win the Election! It's just, you're single, right?"

"Thanks for the reminder." Uzi didn't look impressed, and N sucked in a whince.

"Yeeeeeah... well, not related, can you... keep an eye on my sister, please? I got a call from Tessa who happily reminded me I'm needed for something, soooooooo..."

"Oh, sure, yeah. Who is it? V? J?"

"Cyn!" N replied happily.

"Who." Uzi's flat expression could be framed in a museum. Or, heck, give her a record for "Most Flat Expression" so she can be famous for something *other* than being the spawn of Khan Fucking Doorman.

"...Oh, right, yeah! Um. She's the youngest, although we're all about the same age anyways, she's pretty short, has yellow eyes, and is really sweet!"

Uzi raised an eyebrow. "...Then how come I haven't seen her before, then?"

"She's homeschooled! She's a little, uh..."

"I heard you were. Talking shit. Big Brother."

"OH JESUS CHRISTMAS--" N jumped five feet into the air, and to the side, revealing to Uzi the most autistic girl she's ever seen in her entire life.

Cargo shorts. Fucking. Cargo. Shorts.

Cyn was, put simply, kinda cute. And also heavily autistic, from what Uzi can tell.

N whispered to her, *"Hey, just so you know, she's not doing that on purpose! She has a speech problem!"*

"Annoyed Expression. I can, hear you. Dickhead."

"OHLOOKATTHETIMEIGOTTAGOANDDASHNOWBYYYYYYYE!" N ran away, leaving behind a goth in a hoodie and beanie with an autistic college(???) girl with a t-shirt with Jenny Wakeman on it and cargo shorts.

"...'Annoyed Expression'?" Uzi quoted. It definitely was strange. But Uzi herself had scoured a 97% of of 100% for an autism test so she can't say shit.

"Mm. I heard that my, facial expressions are hard to, read." Cyn's voice was slightly deep, and her words were slowly spoken. Kinda like a robot. Neat.

"Therefore. Neutral Expression. I announce my, current expression." Cyn finished with a shrug.

"...Yeah, that's fair I guess. Still, does it get tiring?"

"Bemused Look. Does it not get hot, wearing black clothes?"

"Bite me." Uzi said by reflex. A habit she developed when she was younger that sticked with her even now.

"Fair."

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

From there, Uzi learnt three things:

Thing One: Cyn is highly autistic, yes, but underneath the 'tism was a pretty intelligent gal. Although most that knowledge was in robotics.

(I know you're reading this Archie, and I didn't say it at the time, but 'the 'tism' was the best thing I'd heard all day /gen --Ryuusei.)

Thing Two: 'Criss-Cross Applesauce' is now the funniest thing Uzi has ever heard.

Thing Three: Um.

...She was cute, okay??? Don't blame her! Bite her!

Which led to about a few months later. Wherein she was sitting down near some statue and N was looking at her patiently.

"...So I might be dating you sister." Uzi croaked out. She didn't look dead inside, but she has a feeling she will be dead on the outside sooner than later.

N, so far, took it well. "Oh! Um. Okay! I don't mind at all! Who is it? V? J?"

Uzi made a pained noise that sounded like that of a quiet banshee scream.

N then had his two braincells knock together.

At the same time Cyn leaned over Uzi, and waved, smiling.

N had a dial-up moment. "Wah???"

"Amused Expression. You look, surprised, Big Brother, N."

"Whajiah--YEAH???"

He gestured to Uzi. Uzi went near him, and he leaned next to her ear.

"Okay, I mean, I'm not mad, really! Just a little surprised! I mean, like. The claws???"

Uzi looked at Cyn. Her 'claws' are moreso just sharp nails.

"Spicy." Uzi replied with a smile.

N looked very confused.

Cyn went '^_^'

[sapphosdesires]

Jenny was CEO of a global company. She made no secret of her sexuality and frequently brought her latest companion to the posh parties she was invited to. Of course the girls she had were much younger than her... she liked to flaunt them.

[zilabee]

The Beatles, about India, during Get Back:

7 January

George: Yesterday Paul was saying something about the picture of us all with Maharishi. Did you hear him say that? Ringo: Hmmm George: I was just messing around, and I saw a big colour picture, and I just looked at it, and it's too much. Ringo: I'll have a look at it. George: [laughs] You look all right Ringo: The one where we're all sitting around? George: Oh, it's got Paul and Jane, and John and Cyn are on the right, and then there's Pattie and me, you and Jenny, I think. Ringo: Yeah. George: [laughs] And they just don't have a clue what it is they're sitting there holding the flowers for. It's too much. Cos I never thought about it until I looked at it. Especially Paul and Jane and Cyn: they just looked in agony. And he was smiling. Ringo: Who? Mahi? George: Yeah.

13 January (while George has left the band)

[flowers arrive for George and Ringo looks to see who they're from...] Ringo: Oh Hare Krishna, those people. Michael: Harry Who? Ringo: Hare Krishna. Michael: Do you like India? Ringo: No, not really.

14 January (while George has left the band)

John: [posh] Now we were going to discuss this afternoon, what religion meant to a pop star. And the pop star we've chosen is Ringo McCartney. Tell me, McCartney, does religion mean much to you in this present day, with all the trends and the swinging miniskirts that are about? Paul: [cockney(?)] Fuck all! Fuck all! John: Well, I can see that he's been disillusioned by the church in general in his remark of 'fuck all'. Paul: No, well, I went to, er, Brighton with the, er, Maharishi. Fuck all, it meant to me! John: Er, was it an important step for you? Paul: Nothing. Nothing. John: Er.. Paul: He didn't groove me. John: He didn't groove? Paul: No. John: I see. I don't suppose he smoked pot did he, by any..? Paul: No! John: I see, what about the Reverend Nipples? Paul: No, not a chance. John: Not a chance. Well, do you like X films? Paul: Yep, yeah! Lulu, Barry Ryan, and X films. But Maharishi? No!

(All taken from the Get Back book version of events, and not checked against audio.)

[the-antiapocalyptic-man]

Okay here is one I have been racking my brain over for a while, what do you think an earth 3 version of the Authority or Elite would be like? Because one was originally created as a parody of the other I've been thinking of just combining the teams, but I could never think of a good opposite to Manchester Black.

This sent me on a journey since the basic set up--a city in the UK and a color--was obvious, but the specifics eluded me. I wanted "White" as a last name originally, but after cursory research, Manchester Black's Earth-3 counterpart (to me) is probably named Oxford Blue and is an even more sociopathic posh psychic.

As for the Authority/Elite, there's Daylighter and Pluto in that one story for Apollo and Midnighter, and Jenny Fractal for Jenny Q, the others would be something like "The Machinist" and "The Apothecary" but idk on the name. The antonyms for Authority go pretty hard ("The Proletariat"? banger super group name) but idk what would fit an Anti-Authority...wait, yeah, that's the one.

So yeah Oxford Blue, Ultraman, and the Anti-Authority. Kil-Vex's personal Syndicate to levy against the Superwomen of Demon Island or Owlman's Insiders.

[randombush3]

ubi amor, ibi dolor

alexia putellas x reader

part one

words: 11455 (SORRY THERE WAS A LOT TO FIT IN)

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks part two x

content warnings: it’s gets a little sad but tbh the next part is the one you should be worried abt 🤘

notes: this one covers 2017-2019. i apologise if it’s a bit jumpy because if i covered EVERYTHING you’d be sat here reading for days. also, this part was so slow to be finished because i abandoned it for ages and only just decided i should probs get to finishing it. the next part is the last one!

It’s about three months later, and there is not a silence that can’t be filled with the sound of Alexia’s voice. You don’t know how to prove this, because you leave none to be filled, instead seeking to occupy every spare second granted by your tour schedule to call her, to text her; to talk to her. 

You spend your nights on balconies all over the continent. Your smoking habit is worsening but the excuse of getting some fresh air to do so is a perfect way to weasel yourself out of parties and clubs and late-night chats with your friends. You much prefer to spend your time finding out more about the woman you quickly become obsessed with. She often verbalises her disdain for your disregard for your lungs – something that transcends the language barrier with an overwhelming clarity – but she is glad that you are talking to her either way.

A few times, you go as far as to hop on a secretly booked flight. You never step outside the airport, leaving Barcelona very much stamped in your passport but not on your list of places you have explored, but Alexia is more than content to pursue your hooded figure as you lead her into hidden corners of the arrivals lounge she begins to associate with the racing feeling in her heart when she sees you. Kissing against walls and on hard airport seats is not what feeds most budding romances, but you don’t care. You happily fly to her whenever you have a spare five minutes, and she is more than content to make the time spent physically together worthwhile.

The tour is nearly over. Five shows in three weeks, and then you can traipse back to London to fight off the delayed hangover in the comfort of your own home with meals cooked by your parents to keep you going. One of the worst things about being on the road is the food (or lack thereof), and your athlete gi… Alexia, is unimpressed with your nutrition. You find that she does not agree with most of your lifestyle, yet she seems captivated by it; like she is discovering a different, scarier world, and she can’t close her eyes.

Alexia’s birthday is soon. 

She has enough dread for the event to have communicated it far more efficiently than usual, with most conversations needing to be doubled in length to get past the all-too-familiar grunts of unrecognition. The streets of Barcelona are filled with whispers of a women’s league, and she is unsure of the pressure that is starting to grow on her shoulders. A birthday is inconvenient, she claims, though you only laugh. 

You tell her about Virgil – she knows you love him, she knows you love most things to do with him – and his famous quote. “Labor omnia vincit,” you say, finding it ironic that you are only able to talk to her right now because you skipped out on soundcheck and a run-through with the backup dancers. “Work conquers all. It reminds me of you.” 

Her lilting Spanish laughter fades as she actually thinks about it. 

“Es verdad,” Alexia replies, and you are glad to understand. “Quiero ser la mejor del mundo así que ‘labor omnia vincit’.” 

“You’re speaking Latin with a Spanish accent.” 

“You love my accent.” 

You smile. It’s true. 

…

It hasn’t settled in Alexia’s mind that you, who calls her whenever you can because you miss her opinions and her jokes and the face that you can picture when she speaks, are the same person as the one she sees on Jenni’s phone as the team crowds round the screen to watch a viral video from your concert last night. 

“A birthday present for you, eh, Ale?” Jenni jests, clinging on to Alexia’s admission months ago about her crush on you. She doesn’t know about the reality of it all. No one does, as of yet. 

“Who puts them in these outfits?” asks Leila, mildly outraged at the bedazzled lingerie you’d been dressed in. “There’s nothing to them! They might as well go on stage naked.” 

“It’s fine. They get hot while they’re performing anyway,” Alexia dismisses, not wanting to delve into your issues with your stylist. Well. Her issues with your stylist, who seems to not care about dignity or have any faith in the world’s imagination. (That, and Alexia is not sure she likes this idea of sharing, though she is aware that nothing defines you as hers.)

“Oh, did they tell you that themselves?” She glares at Jenni, and shoulders her way out of the huddle. It’s not Jenni’s fault that her mood has been easily soured, because tomorrow is Alexia’s birthday and then, the next day, she has to get to Madrid for her national camp. The Euros later this year is going to be in the Netherlands, and her dreams for her country are currently far-fetched. It hurts, and you’re well aware of her misery.

In fact, you are so aware that you are on a flight from Oslo on the fourth of February. It’s too special a day to miss. You have once again abandoned soundcheck. 

Alexia receives a text as she slides into her mother’s old car, considering flinging the device out of the window at one of her teammates’ heads after they sang to her at training without the mercy of letting her forget that she is one year closer to the end of her career. At this rate, the career will be full of wasted potential. She is in a terrible mood about it. 

And then she looks at her phone. 

You have really tried to up your game with the Spanish of late, enlisting the help of a private tutor who Skypes you twice a week with new phrases and grammar that mildly resembles that of a dead language you carry more than a passion for. 

You: Estoy aquí!

The only thing she can think to do is slam her index finger on the call button of your contact, nail bending painfully on the glass of the screen. 

Your instructions are clear: “Airport. Now.” 

She drives. 

She drives at an embarrassingly desperate speed, because just over a week is too long a separation and her day has been awful and there is something so magnetic about your presence that she would be going against nature to do anything other than find you. Obviously, find you she does: right in the arrivals lounge, same black hoodie as always disguising your identity. It’s not any busier than usual, and you catch sight of her the minute she pushes her way to the front of the crowd of expectant faces. 

With a weary grin, you walk towards her, and she knows that this game is only temporary. There will be privacy close by, and you can speak then. 

She turns with a nod, and you follow as she takes the usual route, but suddenly there are fingers intertwined with her own and you are stopping her in front of everyone. 

“Feliz cumpleaños,” you say with a pronounced failure and a hilariously concentrated expression. Alexia giggles, and the storm cloud above her dissipates, but the kiss she wants to press to your lips will have to wait. There’s somewhere empty just around the corner, and she tugs your hand to get you to come with her – to match the same haste she has – but you don’t. “Al coche. So we can go to your casa.” 

Her eyebrows raise. 

“It’s your birthday,” you explain, stepping towards her so that the people around you see a couple instead of two women walking in a vague direction. Alexia swallows, body tingling at your proximity. Her body always tingles when you stand near her like this. “It’s your birthday, so I am here for the night. My flight is tomorrow.” 

She understands you entirely. 

She all but drags you to her car. 

Alexia does not even remember what it’s like to be miserable. She is set alight by your presence, by your lips, your hands, your soft greeting that you whisper in her ear when she pulls away to drive you to her flat. It’s a new place, and she is free from the fuss of her mother. 

You smile when she pulls you out, taking your bulging handbag in one hand and grasping yours with the other, and she kisses that smile as she presses you against the mirror in the lift. The bag hits the floor with a thud, your overnight things spilling out because of her carelessness, but you pay the rolling Dior lipstick no mind, too caught up in the way her tongue swirls in your mouth. How her hands grip your waist. 

She’s stronger than last time. She gets stronger every day: she is going to be the best footballer in the world. She is dedicated to her sport. 

Your palms travel up the back of her t-shirt, cold from the metal you’d previously had them pressed against. Alexia flinches as your fingers brush a particular spot, the skin there slightly raised. 

“¿Que pasó?” you ask, head tilted to the side as she draws back, panting. “Are you hurt?”

She examines your eyes. Deeply inquisitive. Full of something that may resemble love in the future. 

Alexia smiles – an expression that she wears mostly when she is thinking about you. You watch as she turns around, the lift jerking to a halt as if to hurry up her slow movements. As she lifts up her t-shirt, you eye the tattoos you are aware decorate her back. There are going to be more someday, she has always been clear about that. 

And, oh. 

You’re not usually so attached. Alexia, it’s apparent, is a complete exception.

She asks you if you like it. You lean forward, and kiss the four words (she must have researched the quote, because you excluded the last when you mentioned it), tongue running over the redness as if you are going to heal the irritation. She moans quietly, more surprised than anything else. 

“Do I get the credit for it?” She shakes her head, which you catch in the mirror opposite, and, before you can voice your protest, she is facing the right way again and kissing you as she leads you to her door. “You know, there’s another quote from him that I much prefer to that one. ‘Labor omnia vincit improbus’ is… Do you know the word workaholic?” Again, her head shakes. She backs you against the wall next to her door, lips attached to your neck as you keen under her touch. 

She slots her leg between yours, and you forget your next sentence. 

It’s a heated kiss. It promises tonight’s activities to you, and you cannot wait for her to unlock her door. 

Your lips run along her neck as she jams her key into the lock. You suck and bite, spurred on by the moans she bites back with a clenched jaw. You find it sexy: her determination to get you inside. And it’s her birthday, after all. She deserves it. You have another gift for her in your bag, but she is grateful for this anyway.

“Inside,” she gasps as you smooth your tongue over the newly-created hickey you just gave her, kicking her door wide open and hauling you through the gap. 

The flat is pitch black, but Alexia knows it well enough to chuck your bag towards the dining table and have you on your way to the bedroom without needing to switch any lights on. But your hands wander, and she gets distracted. She stops you in the middle of the flat, only half a second into your journey, and her life feels so full (especially when you moan like that). The room feels so full. 

The room is full. 

The room is…

“Moltes felicitats, moltes felici–” sings (and abruptly stops) a whole choir of Alexia’s friends and family, the lights switching to bathe the two of you in total mortification. 

Alba’s hand covers the eyes of her cousin’s six-year-old, whose mouth has formed a perfect circle.  

Silence washes over what looks to be a surprise birthday party. One which Alexia was assured yesterday was not going to happen. By multiple guilty attendees! 

Alexia looks helplessly between you, her mother, and the shit-eating grin on Jenni Hermoso’s face, remembering herself promptly when Eli’s eyes drop to the placement of her hands on your bum. She almost jumps away from you. 

“Fuck off,” you mutter under your breath, stewing in the terribly awkward silence as Alexia’s eyes only grow wider and wider. “Alexia.” 

She breaks from her frozen state, thawed by the husk of your voice. 

“Jo…” 

The crowd explodes, and you let the tsunami of Catalan wash over your ears. There is so much noise, and so many people, and you can only watch as Alexia tries to answer all of their questions. She shakes her head, nodding at the same time, switching between two different languages to cover the shrieks from Jenni and the absolute bollocking her mother is giving her in front of everyone about dignity and respect. You are famous, says Eli, and you do not need Alexia’s horny motives to embarass you like that. 

“She’s a celebrity,” Eli chides with a glare at her daughter, eyes softening as you continue to stare at the sea of faces blankly. You are backed against a wall with nowhere to run. “Alexia, introduce us to your girlfriend. Now.” 

“You guys don’t need to be introduced to her!” Alexia replies like a petulant child, nearly crossing her arms and stamping her foot. “You know her name, and you’ve seen her. So you should all leave, really. Mami, I told you I didn’t want a party.” 

Eli’s hands fly from her body to halt the departure of the guests as they catch on to how unwanted they are. “No, we are still going to have this party,” she insists. It’s the final decision. “So, go on. Introduce us.” It’s definitely not a question. 

You clear your throat, wanting to save Alexia somehow. “Hola,” you begin, and every face breaks out into a beaming grin. “Um. Soy Y/n. Y… soy de Inglaterra?” 

“Sí,” Eli says with a swell of encouragement that you can feel from two metres away. 

 “Alexia,” you plead. 

“Guys, this is Y/n. She doesn’t speak Spanish, and she definitely does not speak Catalan, so either you practise your English or we cut the cake Mami has made and then you–”

“I am a big fan!” Jenni squeals, accented words loud and piercing as she surges towards you, sparking the movement of the entire body of people. No one listens to the rest of Alexia’s declaration. 

… 

There is a reason you are so well-liked, Alexia determines. She can see it as you interact with her family and closest friends. You smile and you listen and you remember things about people that they would deem insignificant. And it helps that you look breath-taking while doing it all.

Sitting at her dining table, Alba on one side, her mother on the other, she watches you flit around her flat with a talent for socialising, charming every person you speak to. 

“She doesn’t know how you feel, does she?” Eli comments, noticing the hesitation in her daughter’s expression. 

“I don’t know how she feels,” is what Alexia replies, because there is no way you can ignore the emotion she pours into your conversations. It exceeds that of a simple crush or hormone-fuelled desire. “She is incredible. I am me.” 

“You are Alexia Putellas.” 

“And she at least likes the way you kiss her,” Alba chimes in, her contribution unnecessary but making Alexia blush at the memory. The fact that her entire family saw that, most of them knowing where you were heading, is something she might be tossing and turning about at night for a while yet. 

“Your father would love her.” 

“I think so too,” Alexia says, chin resting on her palm as the world melts away, your eyes briefly meeting with hers as one of the children giggles at the face you have just pulled behind their mother’s back. A pang of disappointment reverberates in her chest as she grieves momentarily over the loss of her favourite person on Earth, wishing he could have shared the traumatic experience of today. He would’ve laughed so hard at her face when the lights went on.  

“She seems lovely, really. Very polite. Is it because she’s English?” 

“She is very…”

“I suppose the Latin came from her?” Alba asks with a smirk, prodding the fresh tattoo over the thin material of Alexia’s t-shirt, grinning as her sister hisses in pain. 

“Next time, we can go somewhere quieter and talk properly. I know that you’ll be busy when tonight is over.” 

Both Alexia and Alba shudder. “Mami!” her little sister groans, suppressing her gag. 

“Sex is nothing to be ashamed of, Alba.” 

“Never say ‘sex’ in front of me again,” Alexia tells her smug mother.

“Well, never get so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice the balloons taped to your flat number.” 

Alexia bolts outside to check, and hates herself when she sees them. 

…

“Dance with me!” 

You grab Alexia’s hand, pulling her towards you. The party has lasted longer than she’s happy with, and you have seemingly forgotten about what you could be doing. You love to dance. You love music. 

The little boy who’d been your partner up until now sticks his tongue out at Alexia, and she reciprocates the gesture. She is the birthday girl, after all. 

You don’t understand a word of the music, but the beat flows through your hips as you move them against her. She runs her hands up and down your sides, your tank top now the only layer between your skin and her impatient fingers, hoodie having been stripped off the minute the party became interesting. 

“My mother likes you,” Alexia whispers into your ear as you sway in time to the rhythm. Her lips brush your ear lobe, and you shiver despite the growing heat between you. 

“This was very much a surprise,” you giggle in response, possibly answering wrong because her Spanish didn’t quite catch.

“Mhm.”

“I can’t wait for them to leave.” 

Her eyebrows furrow. “You are not having fun?” 

“I am,” you reply with a nod, a smirk slowly creeping into your content expression. She holds her breath, reminding herself of the presence of her family as you grind into her. “But I also can’t wait to fuck you.” 

Alexia shudders.

“I will tell them to go.” 

They cut the cake. 

They sing again, completing the lyrics this time. You are even taught them before-hand, pushed out to the side of the crowd, very much silently told that you currently hold no place in Alexia’s life in comparison to these people. They all love her. You aren’t there yet. 

But, she values your presence. 

Alexia doesn’t care much about the people here tonight. She sees them almost every day, and she knows they are constants. What she does care about is you. 

You, in that tank top. You, with your hair down, face fresh even though your day must have been exhausting. You, with a red mark on your collarbone that no one knows how to point out to you in English. 

Soon, everyone is gone, and you are panting underneath her. Her lips capture yours, muffling the groan that comes with the movement of her fingers inside you. Your legs wrap around her body tighter, heels digging into her back. 

Her hair falls around you; encapsulating you, surrounding you with only her. Her smell, her taste, her fingers. 

You moan as her determination to destroy you becomes apparent. She hits every spot that has been neglected for the past few months, and though it is the first time the two of you are doing this, it’s as if Alexia has studied your body for years already.

She breaks apart from you as you come, your back arching off the mattress, chest pressing against hers. She wants to see your face for the first time. If she had a camera, she would have used it. You look beautiful. 

Nothing on Earth compares to the cliff you have just been pushed off, and it is as if you are falling for eternity. 

She goes again, and again, and again. She’s an athlete. 

She ruins you, but her strong arms hold you together afterwards. 

You fall asleep, for the first time in a while, with someone by your side. Whose hands find purchase on her favourite part of you, pulling you on top of her as she whines at your own tired attempt to make her feel good. Alexia whispers that she has been given enough, that she doesn’t need it, and she thinks you fall asleep to the sound of her incomprehensible, breathy Spanish. You cling to her. 

…

The tour ends. 

You couldn’t be happier. The final show is a blessing, and the tears in your eyes are of joy. You, Gio, and Anya are going home at last. 

However, the well-decorated flat you walk into lacks everything possible, because there is no Alexia standing in the middle of the living room. She can’t be here, though you wish things were different. The season has been successful for her so far, and she is busy. 

You really miss her. One night wasn’t enough. It will never be enough, and you are starting to realise the gravity of your blushes. 

You like Alexia, and you have fallen hard and fast.

“You’re not coming back with us,” your brother says knowingly, skiing beside you down the picturesque blue run in Les Gets. You have come here every year since you were eight. April is a little later than usual, and the snow often turns to slush towards the afternoon – though one could argue that is simply a cue to move onto apres-ski – but it is pleasant to be on holiday with your family. People try to bother you, but it is easier to pretend you don’t see their waves when you have your ski goggles pulled over your eyes. 

Your brother coughs, not pleased that you are ignoring him, reducing him to ‘everyone else’. (His ego, far too preened, far too large, cannot handle the idea of that.)

In front of the two of you, your father turns with precision and great technique. You can’t relate: you’re drunk. You have been since this morning. 

“Sorry?” Your innocence is pretence and he rolls his eyes behind his Oakleys. 

“Your flight. I saw it was booked to take you somewhere else. Somewhere you’ve been going a lot.” 

“You’re not subtle.” 

“You’re not subtle,” he replies, skis dangerously close to yours. You have to swerve, sending you onto the off-piste section of the run much to your irritation. With the excuse of tackling the jumps, however, you are lucky to evade further questioning, watching as he glides off into the distance, reaching the banner and skidding to a halt to wait for you and your mother. Your mother prefers to drink more than ski. She is always holding up the rear. 

When you return to the chalet, bought by your parents a decade ago to solidify their roots in Les Gets, your brother seems to have remembered your conversation from earlier. Your parents have gone out for dinner, leaving the two of you to make something for yourselves. He is glad to have you alone. 

“You don’t like lads, do you?” And, in truth, it’s an insightful question by his standards. He cares; he just does not know how to show it. 

Pausing the construction of your sandwich for a moment, you allow him to see you for who you are. He’s your brother, after all. “Not at all,” comes your response. 

He hums. “Thought so. You’d have gone out with half of England’s football team otherwise. God knows that they don’t mind.” 

“England has a women’s team.” 

“Gross.” His lips purse as he thinks about his little sister’s love life, and he decides that he would like to know more about Barcelona. “Are you buying a villa?” 

“What?” 

“Well, you go to Barcelona a lot. Are you buying a villa with the girls? Is that what celebrities do?” 

You roll your eyes. “Mum and Dad buy villas. It isn’t just celebrities who splurge on property.” 

“You’re not answering my question.” 

“I wish you’d never become a lawyer.” 

He laughs – hearty and deep. His laugh reminds you of dark forests for some reason; tall trees that dwarf your body, but keep you safe nonetheless. “I wish you’d never gotten famous. My life would be so much quieter if half my mates weren’t trying to squeeze something or other out of my connections.” His pride is profound in his misery, and you smile, blushing. “You’re not buying a villa.” 

“Well done, genius,” you taunt, assembling your sandwich once again in hopes that the baguette will kill the buzz in your mind. You can’t really think when you’re drunk, and, recently, when there is nothing else to occupy you, your mind wanders to Alexia. What is she doing now? Does she miss you? Is she excited to see you in three days? 

It dawns upon his face with an amusing animation. “You’re seeing someone,” he accuses. 

“Maybe,” you shrug. “She’d be one lucky girl.” 

“One unlucky girl, you mean. I’d better find out who she is and tell her to run for the hills. You’re about two decades overdue for an exorcism, and it shows.” He swiftly appears behind you, despite his lumbering limbs, and flicks your ear as your teeth sink into your dinner. You squeal, pushing backwards to get him away from you. “What’s her name? Who is she? What does she do?”

“She is… classified.” 

He reaches for his phone. “I’m going to find a list of Spanish names and see which one turns you into a tomato.” 

“She’s still classified.” You prod your index finger into his shoulder.

“Hey.” You retract your finger, surprised by the tenderness of his tone. “You can tell me, you know. You’re my little sister. I really don’t give enough of a fuck to spread it.” 

With great shame, you absolutely do not need to be told twice to talk about your favourite Spanish woman on the planet at the moment. He actually has to beg you to stop. 

…

Things with Alexia are good. 

Not just in terms of your relationship, but in general, too. Walks are more enjoyable, and so are mornings, afternoons, evenings. She likes that you feel comfortable to chill in her flat while she goes to training. She likes that she comes home to you. She likes that you spend your days with a pencil between your teeth, a blank page set out in front of you. 

Now that the tour is over, it is clear what comes next. The new album will be the best ever made, you have decided, because you might finally understand the lyrics that you sing. They could resonate. 

They will resonate. 

Alexia asks you to be her girlfriend when she drops you off at the airport. Your plane is private and she can kiss you goodbye when you agree. 

You love being Alexia’s girlfriend. You repeat your new identity over and over as you fly back to London, and it is a mantra that plays on loop in your mind as you get on with life back home. 

The girls tease you mercilessly when you spill it. All three of you are on the balcony, though this time there is a joint placed between your fingers rather than a cigarette. Slightly high, more so giddy about Alexia, you confess. They’re happy for you, but Gio can’t help but text Anya later that night. 

Gio: Have you seen the new plan? 

Anya: What plan? 

Gio is sitting upright in her bed, ensuring that her panic is quiet so her new boyfriend does not wake up. Her fingers hover over the keys shamefully, but she has to tell someone and it can’t be you.

Gio: The publicity plan. 

It’s at your studio session the next day when all comes to light. Your manager/publicist appears, which is honestly quite rare. She’s not fond of the claustrophobia of the small room, nor the darkness it becomes shrouded in when you, Gio, and Anya are trying not to murder each other. 

Dave swivels around on his chair, bored with the bickering. You aren’t sure about a lyric, but they disagree, even if Anya knows you have a better point than the third member of your group. 

Your manager clears her throat. “Y/n, may I speak with you? It’s quite important.” 

“Do this lyric without me,” you grit out to Gio. 

“It’s your solo.” 

“I don’t care.” 

With that, you follow your manager into the corridor. 

They hear your protests from the studio, the shout of frustration piercing through the small gap underneath the door, overcoming the supposedly impregnable sound-proofing. 

There are tears streaming down your face upon your return. Fuck her, and fuck him. 

Anya and Gio can’t look at you. Their chins dip to their chest as they slump in place, succumbing to the predetermined guilt they discovered last night. 

“It’s not fair,” you cry to them as they refuse to turn around, throwing yourself onto the sofa with a heaving sob. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair. She’s going to hate me — she’s not going to love me anymore, and I… I love her.”

Anya’s mouth opens with a sob of her own. She had thought Alexia was a dalliance. She hadn’t realised. 

It’s fun to have someone, she knows, but it is painful to love them. 

You are clearly not enjoying yourself now. 

“You love her?” she asks, though she is sure of the answer as another gasp leaves your body with a chilling desperation. 

“Yes, I fucking love her. It was obvious.” 

“But you—”

“Because I’m not out!” 

“So what did she tell you?” 

“They want it to last a few months. Enough to draw the attention away from my aversion to men and his relationship with some blogger.” 

Anya gulps. A few months is a lot to endure, especially for the footballer whose heart you’ll be breaking. “You’ve said no, right?” she tries, paling as she grips onto the mic stand, trying in vain to remember the harmony she is supposed to sing. “You’ve told them… You’re you, of course you’ve said no!”

“Of course,” Gio adds, equally in denial. 

You can only shake your head. 

You were not given a choice. 

Telling Alexia is hard, and not just because of the tears running through your words as you try to get them out over the phone. 

In Barcelona, her head hangs in disappointment. She is never going to be good enough for you, she tells herself. The world will soon slot you by the side of another celebrity, and you will be pictured together as many times as humanly possible. No one will know that she is the one you call when you need to talk to someone, or that it is her rose that is pressed between your favourite copy of Little Women, saved from Sant Jordi. No one will be any the wiser to the girlfriend you keep in Spain, nor assume that you are visiting the country for a reason other than tourism and partying with your favourite foreign men’s football team. 

It goes like this for months. 

It sours the second- place finish in the league even more; makes the Champions League semi-final exit soul-destroying; and completely ruins her joy about winning the Copa de la Reina (worsened by a picture of you and him released the morning of the final). 

She is still your girlfriend, but she is always one step behind you. She is in the shadows of the crowd when you sell out Wembley for the first time, and is just out of frame in the picture captured backstage of you and your lover embracing. His muscles do not feel the same as Alexia’s, but he becomes a friend, you guess. He isn’t fond of the arrangement either. 

Then, when Alexia feels as though she might explode from the jealousy she harbours, she is tested once more as you go radio silent for a day. It’s unbearable. You usually text her every hour. 

She misses hearing you greet her with ‘I took a smoke break’. She misses the taste of your lips, and the heat of your breath, and the swell of emotion you cause inside of her when you show her that you really care. 

It’s a hard day. The Euros have started, and Spain has won their first two group stage matches. Vilda is terrible as usual, but it is nothing in comparison to the cavity left in her chest where you have carved out your notifications. Alexia has never wished to be distracted from football before, but today is clearly Judgement Day. 

“Is this about your girlfriend?” Jenni pesters, mocking Alexia’s frown by exaggerating it on her own face. “She’s not pinging your phone every five minutes and now you’re inconsolable.” 

“I have many things to be upset about,” Alexia replies moodily, though Vilda’s earlier berating has had no effect on her mood because it simply cannot get worse. “Our coach is shit, and we don’t get treated like England or Holland does.”

“And your girlfriend hasn’t texted you.” 

“Yes, Jenni. She hasn’t texted me.” 

She sighs. 

Jenni is repulsed by the fire in Alexia’s belly seemingly having been put out. Her grimace is noticeable as she bends down to unlace her boots, glancing around the shoddy locker room, imagining what Alexia claims a few of the other teams have. 

“Maybe she’s busy. She is, like, famous. She could be out for lunch with Shakira!” 

“No, that was last month.” 

Jenni pauses for a moment, awestruck at her friend's seriousness, before collecting herself and trying another approach. “Why don’t we do some shooting practice while you wait for her to call? That way, Spain gets more goals, and you’re…” 

She doesn’t get to finish, cut off by the alarming brrrp of Alexia’s phone. Her friend saddens at the volume, pitying Alexia for how loud she has turned her ringer up just in case she had been missing your notification all along. 

Alexia swipes her phone up from the bench, and hurries into the toilets. 

Throughout the five months you have been dating, Alexia has become increasingly more aware of your intense reactions to emotional situations. You feel when you feel. She admires you for your work ethic, as you do her, because you fly from Barcelona to London and back again, all while writing songs, humming melodies, and holding together your high-profile life. Unfortunately, your determination and tendency to give everything and more has bled into every aspect of your life. And you are a wreck when she finally gets a word out of you. 

“Tranquila, cariño,” she tries as you suck in a pathetically shallow breath. She knows exactly how many kilometres away from her you are, and she wishes she could sprint the distance. “Tranquila. What has happened?” 

“I… I fired her.” 

“Who?” 

“My manager.” Alexia’s hand balls into a fist and she quietly celebrates. Well, until you sob again. “I mean, we all fired her. But now we have no manager and Dave is concerned about the structure of our group and the album sucks and it’s shit and HE tried to kiss me yesterday, even though he’s got a girlfriend too!” 

“Búa, más slower, por favor. I’m not inglesa!” 

Life, even if you are upset right now, starts to look up. You even get to spend a month with her, practising your Spanish (mejor-ing your nivel de español), meeting her family in a more appropriate context, and even watching the first match of the 2017-2018 season. Which Alexia is adamant they will win. 

…

She proposes in November; a year after you kissed. 

It’s not a hard decision to make. Not when you have built IKEA furniture together, and spent a week in Menorca with her, her mother, and her sister. Not when her English is littered with your vocabulary and references to Virgil and the like, and your family can all shout at you in Spanish because they’ve heard her do it so many times. Not when ‘I love you’ is the easiest sentence she’s ever said. Every minute of her life that she gives you is like exchanging part of her soul for pure, complete bliss. 

You’re fucking freezing, and befuddled at the fact that Alexia has requested to take a walk in the park near your flat. Your Spanish girlfriend, the same woman who finds summer too temperate in England, has somehow turned into a snow-lover, even if there is only damp grass and a biting wind. Alexia wishes England had white Christmases, but it’s a myth, she has discovered. 

The ring sits in her coat pocket. She chose it with Alba before she left the warmer climate of Barcelona, and her sister did not ask her whether she was rushing into things. It’s not too soon; if anything, she should’ve asked a year ago. 

“Fuck me, it’s cold,” you groan as you shiver. She takes your hand, her woollen gloves itchy against your bare skin, but it warms you up. “We could be inside, in bed. There’s a new series we could start, or, I don’t know, don’t you have some football game to watch?” 

“I hate watching football with you.” 

You part your lips to respond, but she is not lying and she has said it before. Some bullshit about you supporting all the wrong teams. 

“Well, I hate it when you drag me out into the freezing cold for no reason. If you want a dog to bring on walks, just say so. We can go to Battersea before you leave tomorrow.” 

“Don’t,” she murmurs, halting you both near the inky water of the lake you have been circling for the past five minutes. It sucks that her visits are temporary, even if you are technically moved into each other’s homes (she has your keys, you have hers). With the remaining time left before her flight tomorrow at noon, she has worked up the courage to do it now. 

It’s like scoring a goal: receive the pass; dribble; gear up for it; shoot. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Her free hand reaches into her pocket. “Nada.” 

“No, you’re acting weird…” You blink a few times as if to adjust better to the dim light coming from the distant lampposts. A plop sounds from the water, and she jumps. She’s on edge.

“No.” 

“Yes. Jesus, you haven’t decided to break up with me in the middle of a park at night, have you?” Your question packs an unnerved insecurity, and she feels a little guilty about the suspense. She fiddles with the ring in her pocket, and then she takes a deep breath. “Hey,” you try tenderly. “Seriously, Ale, what’s wrong?” 

“Te lo dije. Nothing.” 

“So what’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

She sighs, “here,” and she grabs your hand to press it into the soft warmth inside. And there’s a piece of metal, heated by her fingers. With a chunk of rock on top of it. It feels like an engagement ring. You’re probably not getting broken up with tonight. 

“Are you proposing?” 

“Are you saying yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hòstia.” She frowns, and you consider pushing her into the lake. “I am going to say it now.”

“But you already—”

A quick display of her athleticism, for the muscles exist despite being buried underneath all those layers, and she is down on one knee. Her joggers will have wet patches, and she hates the squelch of the mud beneath her, but she has a perfect view of your surprise. Your tears. 

“Bueno. Your brother helped me to… write the speech,” she starts, and her rehearsal is adorable. Although, honestly, you don’t hear what she has to say because you have already made up your mind. 

You tell her yes in as many languages as you can. 

And she thanks you with breathy moans into your mouth as you guide her towards a bench, and then your flat, and finally your bed. 

When you are finished, well into the early hours of the morning she will have to leave, you climb out of bed, missing the firm grip of her toned arms the minute you’re out of it. There is a burning, overwhelming sureness inside of you that you can’t escape. You know it is soon – probably too soon for most – but there is a person out there for everyone, and yours is right in your bed. 

Your guitar, slightly dusty from the neglect because of your frequent visits to Barcelona, rumbles when you pluck it from its stand, collapsing into the armchair beside your bed with a groan, feeling the ache of your muscles that only affirm just how good a time you’ve had with your fiancée. 

You don’t play anything interesting, but the noise is enough to rouse Alexia from her heavy slumber. She lifts her head from where it has been buried within the silk pillows of your bed, and watches as your fingers pluck the nylon strings with vague allusion to one of your older songs. The weight of her ring – your engagement ring – does not seem to affect your playing: in fact, Alexia realises your hand was naked without it. You hum, fingers beginning to itch for a cigarette the minute the guitar starts to bore you, and she clears her throat. 

Her grin is self-satisfied and certain. “Me voy a casar contigo,” she says into the dark stillness of your bedroom.

“I love you,” you reply.

…

Being engaged is fun. 

Like, really fun. 

You stay in Barcelona in December, hiding from the bitter chill of England. No one questions it, and the absence of a manager grants you so much freedom. The girls pop to the city one weekend to brainstorm a song, but, other than that, you are content to forget your own identity and become Alexia’s fiancée, one of the regulars at the increasingly more popular Barça Femení games (only the team know you’re there, able to see through the caps and sunglasses). 

There are still rumours circulating about you and him, though their credibility has lessened ever since he revealed himself to have been in LA for a while. To the world, you’re sort of MIA. They catch you occasionally when you return to London for photoshoots or just to chat with your friends and family, but they get nothing more. Your Instagram posts are few and far between, and the most recent paparazzi picture is of you leaving Gio’s house to buy her a pregnancy test. 

When the test is positive, something is tweaked inside of you, and you return to Barcelona – a place that is now your home too – carrying a lead-ish guilt. 

Alexia loves her football, and Alexia is obsessed with her career. You are too, but you have done what you can, really. The BRIT nominees will be announced tomorrow, and you know that you and the girls are on that list. You have your fame, you have your money. But Alexia has neither, and she should. Especially when her male counterparts are raised high and mighty on large, golden platforms. 

You know just how ambitious she is, and that is why you lack surprise when you enter her flat to find her hunched over her iPad at the dining table, replaying the same twenty-second clip over and over until she has identified every single fault and created a plan to correct them. 

She barely registers your presence, but you don’t mind how absorbed she is in her footage. It is nice to make the ever-composed Alexia jump when you slink up behind her, pressing your lips against her neck. She dissolves herself in the fuzzy feeling you give her.

“Hola,” she says, regaining control when she spots another mistake, grasping her pen tightly as she scribbles down Spanish words you can’t be bothered to read. 

“Hola,” you reciprocate, though you are a lot more enthusiastic about it. “Tengo una pregunta.” 

“Oh no.” You wrap your arms around her shoulders, and she relaxes. Your ring reflects the light from her screen as if to remind her that you are hers, and that softens her previous sternness slightly. Another kiss to the skin behind her ear, and she is more open to talk. 

Clicking your tongue, you think of where to start. “Okay, first, I have news.”

“About Gio? Is she okay?” 

“She’s… pregnant.” The emergency you were recalled to London for was actually a pleasant surprise for her and her boyfriend. You’re unsure about how committed they are to each other, and whether a baby is a great idea, but you held your tongue when Anya shook her head at you. 

“Uf. Pobrecita, ¿no? She loves tequila.” 

“She does love tequila,” you agree with a chuckle. You extend your hand slightly and press pause on the footage. Alexia pushes back against you. Her chair scrapes against the wooden floorboards, but there is a gap between her and the table now. She motions for you to sit in her lap. 

She tilts your chin up and kisses you gently: a welcome home kiss. “¿Qué pasa, mi amor?”

“What would you do if I told you that I was pregnant tomorrow?” 

“I would ask you if you have been cheating on me with a man,” she replies instantly. You laugh, head falling forwards, resting on her shoulder. She runs her hands up your sides, fingers firm, thighs tensing underneath you. 

“But hypothetically. If it were possible,” you continue, a smirk working its way onto your lips, guilt forgotten. You may have spent your plane journey scrolling through pictures of Alexia with the various babies in your life. It was a self-indulgent act, and it has very much led you to now. 

Her eyebrows furrow with the adorable crinkle in between them, and she is seriously trying to work out if she is missing something. You go to London, you come back, you want a baby? 

But she loves you. And she is very intrigued. 

“Is it mine?” 

“Yes, it’s yours.” 

She watches the smirk on your face blossom into a smile, and she feels a matching one tug her lips upwards. “Is it going to support España or England?” The latter is pronounced in your accent, and you make a mental note to ask Jenni if she has been doing impressions of you to her teammates. 

“It can choose when it’s older,” you say, waving off her stupid football question. Since dating her, your interest in football has decreased. She has sort of put you off. You only really watch it to watch her now, or when United are playing an interesting game and your father is antsy enough to text you every minute. 

“No, it can’t.” You blink. She pulls you into her. “It chooses now. Spain or England, and Manchester United or Barcelona. There are right answers.” 

“Manches–”

“Wrong! I think I will have to make sure the baby is not brainwashed.” 

You panic for a moment. “Wait, you do know I’m not really pregnant, right?!” 

Alexia is not the most ready for children, but she is always prepared to give you everything you want. “If you want a baby, mi amor, let’s make a baby. Sin chicos.” You giggle coyly as she hoists you up – the display of strength exuding an unbearably sexy cockiness. “And after,” she says in between kisses as she stands, “we can look on the Internet for options.” 

“¡Vamos!”

…

The Barcelona women’s team congas its way back into the Home team changing room of the Joan Gamper, following a 7-0 win. Alexia kicked off the goal-laden game in the sixth minute, and she is on cloud nine. Victory is the sweetest taste in her mouth, and one where she knows you are watching is even better. 

Mapi flicks her shoulder as they dance to the music bursting from someone or other’s speaker. “You’re so happy,” she says, her grin wide and eyes shining. They dance topless, most of them, but Alexia has subtly been rushing to get dressed and find you. Barcelona is a beautiful city, and she has promised that you can take her to dinner somewhere now that your morning sickness has subsided and only started to affect you when it is supposed to. 

“We just won,” she explains over the shouts of joy from her teammates. 

María León joined from Atleti this season, but she has known Alexia longer than that, and she can tell when there is something more to football in her emotions. Though it is a well-kept secret, Alexia has two obsessions, and you are one of them. 

“Yo sé. But you have been very happy recently, in general. Except, you don’t come out for team nights or hang back to practise more after training, so it is definitely to do with Y/n.” Alexia’s absence in her teammates’ lives is actually unusual, seeing as you are very encouraging and a firm believer in the ‘work hard, play hard’ mentality. Your urging is what sends Alexia to bars and clubs with the girls, though she has neglected all of these outings ever since you showed her your positive pregnancy test (best belated birthday present ever). “So… what’s going on?” 

“You’re so nosy.” 

“I’m interested. I love her, and I want to know how she has made it so that you haven’t had a bad day for the last three months, even when we lost to Bilbao. Is it sex? Does she suffer through–”

“No!” Alexia interjects, cheeks reddening. Mapi smirks at the twenty-four-year-old, proud to have embarrassed her. She still claims that she is not a prude. Her phone buzzes on the bench – you’re asking how long she is going to take.

Mapi swipes Alexia’s clean clothes from her grip, holding them behind her back as she giggles at her friend’s exasperation. “Tell me, or go outside like that.” 

“Good thing it’s May,” Alexia shrugs, grabbing her phone and bag, knowing you won’t at all mind spending time with her in just her sports bra. She is pulled back by Mapi, who has hooked her finger into the waistband of Alexia’s shorts and yanked hard enough for them to have stretched. 

“Ale, tell me.” 

“No. You’re a gossip.” 

“I’m not a gossip.” 

“You so are.” 

“Am not.” 

“So it wasn’t you who told Leila about Patri’s crush when I made it clear that we weren’t even supposed to know?” Mapi shifts uncomfortably, letting go of the shorts. “And it definitely wasn’t you who let everyone find out about my engagement because you don’t know what an inside voice is?” 

“Hey, you never specified that you were going to be sneaky about it!” she defends, as she has done ever since the entire canteen went silent in shock and then, two seconds later, broke out into a clamour of pleas to be bridesmaids and to get Bad Bunny invited to the wedding. 

“It was implied,” Alexia shoots back with a glare. 

“Fine. Be annoying. I’ll just ask Y/n.” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. She’s got better things to do.” 

“Ouch,” Leila says, patting Mapi on the back as she shoves her way into the conversation. The two are partners in crime, and Alexia hates that she is now outnumbered. “But tell us. Please, Ale.” 

“We’ll even not nutmeg you for a week.” They love to try. It’s their highest priority mission.

“A month,” Alexia negotiates. 

“Yes! Just tell us.” 

“Y/n is pregnant.” Three months down the line is not necessarily when she wants to announce her personal business to the entirety of Spain, but you both know that it’s safe to tell people now.

Mapi laughs. “Ay, Alexia, you don’t have to lie to us.”

She looks at her friends blankly, having not expected this reaction. When she told her mother, the woman at least had it in her to take it seriously (albeit with quite the cautious ‘are you sure?’). “I’m not lying,” she then says, more to Leila than the giggling Mapi in front of her.

“You’re not…?” Leila tries, grappling with it. Two pairs of eyes drift down to Alexia’s crotch, squinting at the material as though some previously concealed appendage is going to jump out at them.  

Alexia clears her throat. 

“I’m sorry. How?!” 

“The normal way most lesbians–”

“She’s, like, actually pregnant? Like, de verdad, she is pregnant?” 

“Or she’s smuggling a lime under her shirt.” Her nod is small and she has the glimmer of a smile on her face despite Leila and Mapi’s gobsmacked expressions. Her phone buzzes: it’s you again. “And, if you two don’t mind, I don’t want to leave her waiting for me outside.” 

“Because she’s…” 

“Exactly.” 

When she finally escapes the changing room, she climbs into her car. With heartbreak from both you and your dad, you have sold your i8 in favour of getting Alexia a Land Rover. Most of your money is in savings. You earn loads, but it is hard to find things you want to spend it on, and a lot of it goes towards private jets to get you to and from Alexia. 

You are sitting in the passenger seat. “Jugaste bien,” you say as her hand moves up from its instinctive resting place on your thigh, settling on the growing swell of your stomach. “I’m so hungry. I could eat a horse.” 

“A horse?” 

“Or a house. Or, I don’t know, an entire cavalry. Feed me.” Her alarm — a mistranslation — causes her to almost run over the steward directing her out of the car park. “Tengo mucha hambre, Ale.” She nods with a roll of her eyes. She’s been warned about pregnant women. 

…

In the bustling excitement of Estadi Johan Cruyff, which has slowly filled with more and more fans in the time you have known the plastic seats and improving pitch, you find yourself in the midst of an unexpected turn of events. With your due date approaching and Alexia’s insistence that you are surely made of glass, you have been forced to part from your sisters (Gio and Anya) and live in Barcelona. She wants the baby to be born here. You’ve negotiated that the next one will be had in London. 

Alexia’s mother notices the deep breath you take in, well-acquainted with the horror on your face having worn that same expression twice before. ¿Estás bien?” she asks you, the steadiness of her voice comforting to the flurry inside your head. 

The whistle blows and the game kicks off. This can’t be happening now. 

It’s too early. There’s a… What are they called? Braxton-hicks? 

“Sí,” you affirm with a curt nod. The not-contraction doesn’t hurt that much, you tell yourself. You settle in the seat and focus on the match in front of you, using the rhythm of the crowd’s cheers (it can now be called a crowd!) to keep you grounded. With a reassuring smile, Eli offers you her hand. You take it and try not to crush her metacarpals. 

It’s definitely possible that you are in actual labour, considering the increasing intensity of your contractions, but you are not about to leave the match. Alexia would notice your absence. This game is important for her team – it’s the last before the Christmas break. 

At halftime, Eli quietly reassesses you, tricking you into seeing the team’s medic when guiding you to the ‘toilet’. Already briefed on the situation, the medic asks you a few questions in accented English, much like that of your newly trilingual fiancée. “Don’t tell her,” you beg quietly through a huffed sigh, gladly taking the seat offered to you. “I’ll wait until it’s finished.” 

“There is another hour left.” 

Your ears burn and another contraction shoots through you. You shake your head, fending off the pain while you do so. “He can’t be a Barcelona fan,” you insist. Eli grins at the knowledge that her first grandchild will be a boy, but you do not see it, too focused on convincing the medic to keep the child’s other mother in the dark about what is currently happening in the Barcelona medical room. “I’ll wait.” 

Eli hands you your phone per your request. You call Gio, whose daughter is only two months old. “Don’t tell me,” she starts when you fail to greet her. The sound of her voice, her accent, her tone is relieving, though you are incredibly grateful for the woman who continues to hold your hand as though you are her own daughter. “Nah, nah. Where are you? I’m gonna jump on a flight, alright? I’ll call Anya and we’ll be there soon.” 

“Don’t… rush,” you groan. 

“Babe, we are going to rush. Where are you?!” 

“A match!” You try to remember the breathing exercises you learnt for this exact moment. “Her match. Second half’s only just started. She… She doesn’t know.” 

Gio’s loud, boisterous laugh rings out, and you can tell that she is not at home. No one with a newborn baby can afford to make noise at that volume. “Fucking hell. Ever heard of sense?” You don’t respond, embarrassed that you are in too much pain to think of a comeback. “I’ve left Mia at my mum’s, so don’t you worry. Want me to bring anything from home? Cadbury’s, maybe?” 

“One of those massive bars?” 

“Yep, done deal.” She pauses. “Hey, babe, I’m gonna ring Anya now, alright? Call your mum – or your dad, if you two haven’t yet made up. I’ll see you soon. Tell Alexia her baby’s on the way!” 

Your protests are cut off by the final beep of her hanging up, and your head drops back as another contraction, your body squeezed as though some giant rubber band has just snapped back into place. Eli stands up, worried now. 

Before you can tell her that you are alright, a gush of water hits the sterile floor with an unnerving splatter. The prospect of having to care for another life suddenly becomes very real. “Tenemos que ir al hospital.” 

“No.” 

“Soy la abuela. Yo sé que hacer.” Even the medic, who has nervously stayed by your side, much more experienced with ACLs than broken waters (and stubborn pregnant women), looks intimidated by the firmness of Eli’s words. “Por favor”: she softens her blow. 

You glance around the room, slowly descending into agony and helpless against the wrath of rationality from your fiancée’s mother. “How long’s left of the match? ¿Cuántos minutos quedan?” 

The medic holds up all ten fingers. You grapple with your body, begging the baby to sit tight for a moment. “Let her finish. We can go when the whistle blows.”

Your contractions get closer together. 

Eli’s frustration leads her to ask God for the baby to not have inherited your stubbornness. She also loves you more for it; admiring your insistence to keep Alexia from missing everything. 

You don’t call your own mother. You simply type out a shaky text to the family group chat; blunt and to the point. ‘Baby. Now.’

Half of your universe storms the web, booking flights to Barcelona. Anya and Gio are almost at the airport already — a few steps ahead of your panicking parents and your brother, who has been enjoying dinner at the Savoy with his clients. Those who serve as your planets, revolving around you like you are the sun, do you a favour, letting Dave know that you probably won’t make it to the Skype call scheduled for tomorrow morning. Dave, in turn, now expanding into management, informs your newly-hired publicist (good riddance to the old one). The world has expected a pregnancy announcement ever since you failed to appear at your most recent awards show, despite winning in your category. 

It's almost an eternity later that Alexia, football boots clacking against the floor, flings open the door of the medical room. Eli calls out, warning her daughter about slipping on the sizable puddle that has spread out beneath you. 

Your fiancée is valiant in her attempt to mask her sheer panic. 

“Have you called an ambulance?” she asks her mother, stepping over your amniotic fluid and placing her hand on your shoulder. You squint, trying to open your eyes though this contraction has been the most excruciating so far. 

“We were waiting for you. She was adamant that you finished your match.” 

“No football match is more important than her!” If you understood Catalan (and weren’t in labour), you’d have teased her for being a sap. “Call an ambulance, Jesus Christ. Look at her — she needs a doctor.” Her composure revisits her fleetingly, and she turns to the medic. “Thank you for looking after her.” There is no answer because it is drowned out by her barking more orders her mother’s way. 

“No ambulance,” you declare before your mouth opens in a silent sob. “Drive me. Not an ambulance.” 

The last glimpse the Estadi Johan Cruyff gets of Alexia Putellas in 2018 is her carrying you to her mother’s car, your face buried in her team-issued jacket in case anyone is waiting outside to take pictures of the players. 

Eli drives; something she doesn’t like doing often but feels is necessary with the nervous bounce of her daughter’s legs in the backseat enough to convince her that they’d speed like the Flash if anyone else ended up behind the wheel. She knows Barcelona, can navigate it with her eyes closed, and you are at the hospital before you can begin to tell Alexia how much you think you can’t do this. 

“I really fucking can’t do this!” you cry out, situated in the delivery room. Sweat rolls down the side of your face, already dampening your hair. Alexia thinks you look beautiful, and she has been made proud of the last two hours. You’ve also helped her a lot with English swearwords. 

“You can.” 

“I can’t.” You’re told to push again. “Alexia, you are having the… next… fucking… beach ball.” Each word is punctuated by a guttural moan. 

Waves of intense pain contort your face in agony, and the midwife continues to talk you through your task as though instructing you how to park a car. “Estás haciendo muy bien, mi amor,” she tells you, ignoring the possibility that you may have rendered her left hand boneless. 

“There’s a baby coming out of my vagina,” you shout, “don’t even try to test my Spanish, you twat.” 

The midwife shoots your fiancée a pitiful look. “She’ll take it back,” she says in Catalan. 

“She’s getting quite inventive.” 

“There’s been worse.”

You can imagine the conversation taking place in the middle of you delivering her literal child. “No, I won’t! It’s breaking me in half.” You grip her hand harder. “Never. Again.” 

But, with a final, visceral (and heavily encouraged) push, the room is filled with the sound of life. Nico comes into the world screaming at the top of his lungs. All Alexia can think to say is, “definitely yours.” 

…

Life is a lot more tiring trying to juggle being a mother and a pop star. 

The press have a field day when you announce the birth of your son with a simple Instagram post, your engagement ring second only to the swaddled lump on your chest. The caption (‘ours’) sparks debate on who exactly is the other parent. Well, father. Alexia’s teammates, while waiting to finally be allowed to meet your bundle, spend a good two months teasing her mercilessly about it. Most notably, Alexia almost loses La Reina to Papi. 

2019 comes with change — a lot of it. 

You hire a new manager so that Dave can focus fully on the last album 2sday will produce. The group has been together for six years, and you have made your millions.You seek neither money nor fame, but it comes knocking on the door of your quaint apartment in Barcelona anyway, along with a record deal only for you. A solo act.

Between Nico crying, Alexia playing football, and you trying to write songs that don’t end up criminally depressing, the contract on your dining table slowly becomes forgotten about. Alexia is too stressed about the impending World Cup to grant you a moment to breathe. You spend your days in Barcelona with a baby attached to your hip, the question of his parenthood still a mystery to the public, and, ever so slowly, you begin to resent your life. 

It could be postpartum depression, but you have no time to really investigate the symptoms. 

Alexia, two weeks before she needs to leave for her national camp and then the World Cup in France, comes home to an eerily silent apartment. 

She calls out your name, wondering if you have perhaps gone to her mother’s house. The terrible sinking feeling comes with your reply. “Can we talk?” you ask. 

She finds you perched on the Egyptian cotton sheets that cover your double bed. The sheets are out of place here, greatly exceeding the original budget of the decor, and, where Alexia sees this as you adding to her life, you feel you are somewhere you don’t belong. It is fine when she is next to you, holding your hand, claiming the other half of the now six-month-old baby boy gurgling in his carseat. When she isn’t there, though, the vacant space taunts you. 

“I have no friends here,” you tell her quietly. The gravity of the mood settling over you pulls her onto the mattress, not caring if the sheen of sweat she wears as her outermost layer of clothing dirties the expensive creamy white beneath her. “I have no friends, I don’t speak the language, and I think that I have played at being a normal person for long enough. I mean, it’s great to watch you and to be there for you, but, darling, that’s not who I am. This,” you gesture to the loungewear you have on, stained with dribble, “is not who I am.” 

Alexia hears what you are saying. She understands; she remembers the nights where you’d call her, a cigarette rasping your voice, sparkles shining in the valley between your breasts. She has seen this coming. It would be impossible not to notice the dimming of such a strong love between you: still present, yet slowly fading away. 

“They want me to sign a new deal. Alone.” The suitcases lined up in the corner of the bedroom become glaringly obvious. Nico is in his carseat for a reason. “I think it would be good for me to go back to London. I need to feel like myself again, and my parents are willing to watch him. I sold my flat – I’ve bought a house in Highgate.” Tears sting your eyes as you speak, and you know where Alexia’s shoulder is without having to look, resting your head against it. “I love you. I love you so much, but I just can’t do this anymore.” 

It’s as if the ground crumbles away beneath her. Your words hang above Alexia’s neck like an axe, waiting to execute her, waiting to end everything. She can’t look at Nico, whose face crumples at his mother’s clear heartbreak. 

The world, once vibrant, lays in ruins. Her funny story from training dies on her tongue, and her question of whether you wanted to visit her mother before she left for camp disintegrates, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. 

“Do you still want to marry me?” she asks, and you hate the way her voice cracks with uncertainty. “Are you moving permanently?” 

“I haven’t called anything off. It’s still going ahead as planned.” She senses the but. “But I… I can’t think here. I can’t be here. I want – I need – to go home.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

She is going to be at the World Cup anyway. You and her will always find your way back to each other. She is going to be busy. 

She is going to be busy. 

She is going to be busy. 

“Yeah. It’s okay. Take all the time you need.” 

She is going to fall apart without you. 

[haenxn]

ASSORTEDㅤ ── MBS

(..)

AESPA winter🌷spring pink/blue/green

ZB1 hao pink/grey

ATZ mingi🪵nostalgic brown/teal

TXT beomgyu vintage reddish-brown

SVT mingyu beachy🐕sandy nature + fig

EN- jungwon fresh salmon/grey

LSRFM sakura📸city lights purple/yellow

EN- jake nature green/blue

WEEEKLY (former) jiyoon yoshi primaries/grn

XDNRYHR jun han faded gothic purple/grey

RIIZE wonbin indie red/blue/green

NWJNS hanni elegant white/purple/gold

TXT beomgyu indie brown/b+w

LSRFM eunchae sleepover white/pink/orng

RIIZE sungchan & shotaro corocorokuririn🌱 + keroppi🎪

LSRFM chaewon nostalgic peachy blue

BP jennie 2000s pink/blue/random

TXT soobin homey random/orange/blue/red

IVE rei cottagecore🍄green/brown/white

ITZY yuna indie⛰️b+w/green/blue/beige

LSRFM chaewon soft'n'cute🍰beige/grn/wht

TXT beomgyu & taehyun faded cottagecore

LOONA yves indie frutiger aero red/blue/neu

TXT soobin indie lilac/brown/white

NWJNS haerin soft romance neutrls/teal/red

SOLO yena 🍡🗒🐌pink/green/light brown

ILLIT yunah alt🚱🛌red/light blue/darks

EN- sunghoon posh alt🏑📽darks/ornge/red

BND ot6 🐙🍵📽beige/pink/green/black

AESPA winter happy warm rd/brwn/yllw/blu

LSRFM sakura festival red/seafoam green

SKZ seungmin silly🎉 random/black/orange

LSRFM chaewon 🗻🍜 orange/black/light

IVE rei coquette beige/pink/white 🐇💮

NWJNS hanni soft beige/blue/green+pink .?

EN- heeseung 🕰blue/beige/green

NWJNS haerin indie🐶🧢red/blck/brown/grn

RIIZE sungchan oddge green/beige/white

ZB1 jiwoong grungy🎉 mgnta/darks/random

SOLO iu soft🐇🍏📢🪪🪒beige+red/gray

NOMAD doy soft🐶🚭🌰💬🌫brown+red/blu

JYJ jaejoong faded reminiscing prpl/grn/rnd

AESPA ningning ocean breeze🪸blue/warms

[taskmastersource]

Not sure if you've already done so, but can you rank the 15 UK series so far? Maybe based on your enjoyment if not overall quality? Or alternatively favourite 15 contestants? Or tell me to sod off 😊

my asks are always open to messages, i'm so sorry i just suck at replying to them and i wish i wasn't so busy bc somehow this has been stuck in my asks half written since june

i never really rank things like this, bc i love them all for their very different ways and moments. whenever i get asked for a favourite series i end up listing like half of them, bc you can't just choose! and what series im (re)watching becomes my current obsession

though, i will say s15 has been such a joy to watch with a great mix of contestants - frankie not giving a shit but still staying part of the silliness of the show, delivering many great lines as well. ivo, an aboslute disaster of a posh boy, eton mess. and pairing them together for the team tasks was just brilliant. jenny being our favourite crazy aunt who was just having so much fun and being a delight during tasks. kiell, just being so invested to win the the game and the times it doesn't pay off. i love the energy he brings. and mae, i knew from the very first episode that they were going to win, so calm and focused, yet awkward in a good way and wry in their humour. i've loved this series so much

[rejenny]

jenny will use mum and dad interchangeably for the doctor, unless one incarnation favors one over the other. other nicknames include : old man, pops, papa ( said in a mocking, posh accent ), mummy ( also said very posh ), popsicle, bud. and a half million other ones she used exactly once and never again.

she only calls them doctor if she’s angry with them.