#London Hotel Deals

[blueorchidhotels]

Indulge in Culinary Delights at Taste of London Food Festival 2023

Discover the ultimate foodie experience at Taste of London Food Festival 2023. Explore an array of renowned restaurants, tantalizing menus, and interactive activities. Get your tickets now and satisfy your culinary cravings.

Overview:

1) Date - 14th to 18th June 2023

2) Time:

Wed 14 June 17:30-21:30

Thurs 15 June 12:00-16:00 & 17:30-21:30

Fri 16 June 12:00-16:00 & 17:30-21:30

Sat 17 June 12:00-16:00 & 17:30-21:30

Sun 18 June 12:00-17:00

3) Location - Regent’s Park London

4) Restaurants: https://london.tastefestivals.com/restaurants/

5) Menus - https://london.tastefestivals.com/menus/

6) Tickets - https://london.tastefestivals.com/tickets/

7) Things to do - https://london.tastefestivals.com/things-to-do/

8) For more info - https://london.tastefestivals.com/

Complete your Taste of London Food Festival experience with a luxurious stay at Rochester Hotel by Blue Orchid. Located conveniently near Regent’s Park, it offers comfortable accommodations and exceptional service. Unwind in style after indulging in the festival's culinary delights. Book your stay now and make the most of this extraordinary event.

[eflyto]

Planning to visit London? Book your stay at best hotels in London at guaranteed lowest price from www.travoline.com

[formula-fun]

au where charles is an architect and max is the structural engineer whos forced to deal with him and the target audience is me

[lbnhotelsandtours]

ABC Hyde Park Hotel in London: A Hidden Gem

Tucked away on a quiet tree-lined street just steps from the hustle and bustle of Marble Arch, you’ll find the ABC Hyde Park Hotel. This charming 4-star boutique hotel is a hidden gem providing luxury accommodations and an intimate atmosphere in the heart of London. 

Despite its small size with only 49 rooms, ABC Hyde Park punches above its weight when it comes to amenities, service, and location. This makes it one of the best hotel deals in Marble Arch for travelers looking for a relaxing home away from home during their London holiday.

A Boutique Feel

The ABC Hyde Park Hotel in London is housed in a traditional 19th century townhouse giving it a lovely boutique aesthetic. No two rooms are the same, with each featuring its own unique layout and décor. Expect a cozy living room atmosphere with tasteful furniture, calming color palettes, and high-end finishes throughout. 

Many rooms provide scenic views over Hyde Park and others face the quaint neighborhood street. The hotel has a variety of room types suitable for all travelers including classic doubles, family connecting rooms, and spacious suites.

5-Star Amenities 

What makes the ABC Hyde Park stand out from other Marble Arch hotels is its wide array of luxurious amenities more commonly found in 5-star hotels. Guests can enjoy 24-hour in-room dining, Molton Brown toiletries, free high-speed Wi-Fi, Nespresso machines, and smart TVs in every room. The hotel also provides conveniences like luggage storage and complimentary newspapers to make you feel at home.

The jewel in the ABC Hyde Park’s crown is its newly built wellness area featuring a 15-meter pool, steam room, sauna, and modern fitness center. This exceptional facility rivals many exclusive health clubs and allows guests to maintain their exercise routine while traveling. The hotel even offers poolside service so you can sip cocktails without leaving the water!

Excellent Service

From the minute you walk through the polished front doors of the ABC Hyde Park hotel the friendly staff give you their undivided attention. The knowledgeable concierge team can offer expert tips for experiencing London like a local. They can secure reservations at popular restaurants, recommend hidden gems and exciting day trips, and arrange any activity you desire, including theater tickets or a personal shopping guide.

The hotel’s exceptional service also shines through in their dining options. The upscale restaurant, The Hyde, provides European cuisine focusing on seasonal British ingredients. Guests love starting their day with the complimentary cooked-to-order breakfast. In-room dining is also available 24 hours per day.

At the bar you’ll find a frequently changing selection of boutique wines and unique cocktails. The hotel also hosts regular wine-tasting events and a daily manager’s reception where guests can mingle over drinks and canapés.  

Location

The best part about the ABC Hyde Park Hotel is its phenomenal location. The hotel enjoys a prestigious Marble Arch address on a quiet cul-de-sac adjacent to Hyde Park. It’s a short stroll to Marble Arch Station providing easy access to the London Underground. From here, you can quickly reach top attractions like Oxford Street Shopping, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, and more.

Guests staying at the ABC Hyde Park Hotel are also just steps from the green open spaces and famous landmarks of Hyde Park. Walk to the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain, Kensington Palace or snap photos in front of the Arch. The hotel provides bicycles, allowing active travelers to ride through the park and explore this iconic part of London. 

When you’re not sightseeing, the ABC Hyde Park Hotel’s neighborhood has fantastic high-end shopping, restaurants, bars, and entertainment on your doorstep. Indulge in retail therapy on Oxford Street, catch a show in the West End Theater District or find trendy cafes and eateries in nearby Marylebone.  

With its prime location near Paddington Station the ABC Hyde Park hotel is also conveniently situated for accessing London Heathrow Airport or making exciting day trips outside the city. Guests can easily visit Windsor Castle, Stonehenge, Bath and more.

Best Hotel Deals in Marrakech

Marrakech is an exotic imperial city and a major tourist destination in Morocco. The city oozes atmosphere with its ancient architecture, vibrant souks, fragrant gardens and lively Djemaa El Fna Square. Visitors flock here for cultural sights, desert adventures, luxury pampering, and unique accommodations. 

You’ll find riads are the most popular lodging choice in Marrakech. These traditional Moroccan mansions with interior courtyards offer an oasis of calm from the city’s hustle. Many riads have been transformed into gorgeous boutique hotels filled with ornate design details, lush greenery and refreshing pools.

Some of the best hotel deals in Marrakech are available at smaller riad-style hotels that provide personalized service at reasonable prices. For example, Riad Dar One offers beautiful, individually decorated rooms starting at around $100 per night.

Larger luxury hotels like La Mamounia and Royal Mansour Marrakech define extravagance with palatial grounds and world-class spas. While rates over $500 per night are common, you can sometimes snag last-minute deals on unused rooms. 

Hotel bargains are also available at popular chains like Hilton and Sofitel which cater to business travelers with reliable amenities. Though lacking in Moroccan charm, you’ll often find rooms for under $150 per night.

No matter your budget, visiting Marrakech is the perfect chance to experience unique riad living. Just wander the ancient Medina quarter to the soundtrack of melodic call to prayer and lose yourself in the magic of Morocco’s alluring Red City.

[musicalburrage]

i’m gonna go broke

[wellourgerdes]

Claridges London

Hotel Claridge London England This historic art deco luxury hotel, built in 1856, is located in the premium Mayfair neighborhood and is surrounded by high-end shops. Bond Street tube station and Oxford Street’s shopping are both within 3 minutes of the hotel. Flat-screen TVs and free Wi-Fi are featured in elegant rooms with courtyard or street views. A personal butler and spacious living spaces…

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 22] || [Chapter 23]

Rating: E Pairing: Ghost x Price || Price x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 500~ cw: angst, selfish john price, thinking of someone else while fucking (mental cheating? idk) Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: this is angsty. this is NOT gonna please some of you. john is a selfish man.

Chapter 22.5: Cardiff, London, Cairo, Cabo, Tel Aviv.

John doesn’t know how it happened.

One moment he’s leaving, the next he’s on top of you on the bed.

You’re whining needily as he slowly rolls his hips against yours like it’s the first time.

You’re lying on your back, your legs are spread on either side of him, your ass propped up on his thighs as he kneels on the mattress.

“You’re so beautiful on your back like this, fuckin’ ‘ell…” John murmurs as he pulls you up to him, one hand snug around the small of your back, the other around your shoulders.

Your chest presses tight against him while your feet struggle to find a perch on the slippery edge of the mattress, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulder, hoping your weight doesn’t make him lose balance.

His lower arm rocks you back and forth on his cock, drawing more mewls of pleasure from your lips before he captures your mouth in his, your tongues blurring together.

For a moment he’s not in Hereford, in your flat.

For a moment, there’s a piercing poking his tongue, and another set of them rubbing against his lower belly, threatening to catch on his happy trail of hair.

For a moment he’s in Simon’s apartment in Cardiff.

For a moment he’s on a rainy rooftop in London, doing a stakeout on an armed militia leader.

For a moment he’s in Cairo, in a sandy warehouse, dead bodies around them, after stopping an arms deal.

For a moment he’s in Cabo, South Africa, sneaking back into a sex trafficking cell safehouse after it had been emptied, under the guise of ‘checking it over one last time’.

For a moment he’s in Tel Aviv, having prevented a missile launch that almost cost both their lives.

Cardiff, London, Cairo, Cabo, or Tel Aviv…

He’s always fucked Simon like this. His pants just barely undone, Simon perched up on his lap, rocking back and forth on his cock, his moans being quieted by a tongue down his throat.

The only difference is that they’re usually huddled together in a corner of a room, so that no one spots it…

And not in the middle of a bed, in a comfortable, cosy, homey flat, where the only thing keeping you from serving as a counterbalance and landing you both on the mattress again is John’s sheer strength.

Tossing you down onto the mattress again, he breaks the kiss and rubs his open mouth across your cheek, down your jawline, and onto your neck. “So good f’r me.” He whispers in your ear.

You’re not Simon…

But you definitely make Simon happy.

He saw it in his eyes.

You make Simon happy in a way John never quite could.

And he makes you happy too…

John knows he’s not exactly a selfless man. He’s quite selfish, in fact.

But you’ve just extended him an opportunity to join you in making Simon happy.

And he’s bloody taking it.

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[paddingtoncourt]

What goes on in the Tower of London?

Located on the banks of the river Thames, a short tube or taxi ride from the various types of accommodation in Paddington London, sits the Tower of London. Architecturally impressive, with a plethora of stories to tell and a diverse history which is both regal and full of gore, the Tower of London is now one of the most popular attractions in the whole of London.

But what is there to see and do when you get there, and is the Tower worth the trek from your Paddington London hotel?

The Tower of London as an attraction

With guided tours available and plenty of history to learn about, the Tower of London can offer anything from a stopping point for an hour or two, to a full day out for the whole family. Make sure that you take in specific points including the White Tower, Traitor’s Gate, and the execution green where Anne Boleyn was famously beheaded on the orders of King Henry VIII.

A guided tour will also tell you stories such as that of the Princes in the Tower, the history and use of the Tower as a fortress during the wars, and how prominent the Tower has been as a prison throughout its history.

The ravens

The ravens are said to protect both the crown and the tower itself, and as such there are now six ravens who live in captivity in and around the Tower of London’s site. Despite being built on superstition, the ravens are an aspect of the Tower’s history that many visitors find interesting.

The Crown jewels

The royal family and the plethora of royal connections across London drive many of the top and budget London hotels to offer deals and special offers all year round – celebrating anniversaries, weddings, births, and more.

The presence of the crown jewels inside the Tower of London combines the history of the site with the regal grandeur of the royal family – with visitors from all around the world booking tickets and queueing to file past and see the jewels for themselves from behind their thick glass case.

The outside space

We probably don’t need to tell you how glorious the setting of the Tower of London is – with its views over the river Thames and proximity to Tower Bridge making it one of the most centrally located, accessible attractions in the city. Beyond its location, the Tower of London plays host to an outside display of flowers which is referred to as the Superbloom display – with millions of flower seeds being sown in the dried moat which surrounds the attraction, budding and blooming throughout the spring and summer months.

Colourful and vibrant in its display, this floral attraction is enough to draw visitors from all walks of life – even those who don’t fancy a day of history, guts, and gore.

Whatever your itinerary, make sure you add the Tower of London to your plans for the day – researching the best form of transport from the Park Grand Paddington Court, whether on foot or by taxi or tube.

[nathaslosthershit]

Trips to See the In-Laws (LS2)

Summary: In order to save his teammate from an interviewer with not so innocent thoughts, Alex has to reveal that his thought-to-be-single friend, Logan, is actually in a long term relationship.

“Alex, Logan, so wonderful to have you both here with me today. Now that we are rapidly approaching the first race of the season, how are you both feeling? How was both your breaks?”

“Well firstly, thank you for having us. It has honestly been crazy. Break has gone by fast and with all the training we’ve been doing, I honestly feel ready to just jump in the car and start back up.” Logan replies.

It was no secret that Logan Sargeant had been training much more during the off season, everyone had seen how much he had changed. The way the interviewer was staring at him though, as if he was their next meal, was making him shift uncomfortably in the seat. 

Alex, being as perceptive as ever, immediately saw the change in Logan’s demeanor. He was confused by it until he saw how the interviewer shifted closer to Logan, eyeing him up and down in a very flirtatious manner. He then chimed in to try and alleviate the tension. “Yeah, busy break but we have been putting in the work and I think we are both ready for this upcoming season.”

“You both look very different from the start of last year. Alex with your hair and Logan has gotten very, very fit.” Dammit, this interviewer really wasn’t going to let it go, Alex thought.

“Um yeah, we are both pretty different looks wise.” Alex weakly responded. What was he supposed to say, the interviewer didn’t exactly ask a question.

“I was in a pretty bad state at the end of last season, both mentally and physically. I worked really hard this off season to improve both of those things and gained 5 kilos. I feel much better now that I am at a more healthy weight and I think it just cements how much more learning and growing I needed last year.” God, how can the interviewer continue to try and eye fuck Logan while he gives such a sincere and vulnerable answer, Alex wonders. He knew he needed to help his teammate and friend in some way, but the idea that came to mind might have some consequences. But surely it was better than the alternative of letting Logan get harassed.

“Well Logan, you took some time to travel a bit since being here in New York” Alex teased.

“Ohhh, where did you go Logan?” the interviewer asked, intrigued at the blush on Logan’s face that had appeared as he picked up on where Alex was trying to go with this.

“Well actually, my girlfriend is originally from New york and still has family that live outside the city so they very kindly invited me to visit them and watch the Superbowl. She wasn’t too happy that I got to see her family while she is stuck in London but also was ecstatic that they clearly like me enough to invite me to visit even when she isn’t with me. It was sweet and such a kind gesture, definitely beats spending that night watching the game in a hotel room alone.”

“Hey, I would have watched with you. You wouldn't have been alone” Alex said, offended.

“Mate, you did not have any actual interest in watching the game.” Logan responded.

“But I still would have kept you company.” 

Before the two could continue their fight, the interviewer bursted out a very aggressively asked “Girlfriend?”

The two were quiet then, not knowing what to say. The interviewer wasn’t looking at Logan like a piece of meat anymore, but now he had to deal with this sudden hard launch of his relationship.

“Uh yeah, I have been in a relationship for a while now. Met my girlfriend when I moved to London. We lived in the same apartment and had moved in around the same time. Insane luck, I guess.” Logan answered, still blushing.

“Leave it to Logan to find the one other American in his apartment complex and immediately start dating her.” Alex teased.

“Hey! It was a coincidence and she is from New York while I’m from Florida, they are practically two different countries.”

“Yeah whatever.” Alex rolled his eyes playfully.

The interviewer, now upset at practically getting rejected, stopped asking questions and just watched as the two Willaims drivers took over the interview, rambling, and teasing each other, till it was time to end it.

The interview had immediately gained popularity once it had been posted. Not many drivers hard launch the way Logan did and while Logan hadn't anticipated that this was how his relationship was found out, he did have to thank Alex for getting him out of that situation.

logansargeant

liked by alex_albon, williamsracing, and 73,355 others

logansargeant My favorite New Yorker 💙

[montcalmhotel]

London’s Top 5 Christmas Shopping Destinations

London is an incredible place all year, but during the Christmas period it’s pretty much magical. 

Dazzling lights criss-cross above every street, stunning Christmas trees pop up on every square and the Christmas spirit well and truly comes alive. 

If you’re planning a trip to the city so you can finish off your Christmas shopping in style, then check out the luxury hotels in Hyde Park by the Hotel Montcalm London. You’ll be living in luxury in the heart of the city, mere minutes away from some of the best shopping districts in the world. 

Whatsmore, you’ll be able to take full advantage of the best spa deals London has to offer, and pamper yourself silly whilst you stay. 

Let’s take a look at the absolute best places to shop in Christmas style.

Oxford Street & Regent Street

Shoppers head here all year round for a bit of retail therapy- but at Christmas these two iconic streets take on a whole new nature. 

With some of the city’s best Christmas lights dazzling shoppers from above and well over a hundred of the world’s most iconic stores and brands available, you’ll be in a pretty good spot. 

Shop ‘til you drop in this amazing area, and once you’ve dropped you’ll only be a short walk from some of the best bars and restaurants in the world. Sounds like a pretty perfect day out to me.  

Covent Gardens & 7 Dials

7 Dials is a stunning area of the city. The gorgeous cobbled streets, the kaleidoscope of boutique shops and the fantastic Christmas lights really make this a unique and awesome area during the holiday period. 

From here you can cross the road and head to Covent Garden, where you’ll find a stunning Christmas market and one of the city’s biggest and most beautiful Christmas trees.

Covent Garden also offers everything a shopper could possibly want. Little boutique stalls offering locally handmade goods are sandwiched between the biggest and best brands in the world. 

You’ll also discover the amazing Piazza, where the world’s finest street performers fight for your attention!  

Carnaby

Carnaby is made up of 14 pedestrianised streets containing some of the world’s finest brands, and some of the city’s best boutique shops. 

The Christmas lights are with the visit on their own, with millions of dazzling bulbs lighting the street with a cacophony of colour.

Chelsea & Belgravia

Knock boots with London’s elite in one of the swankiest shopping areas in the city. 

International fashion brands have found their home here, as well as some amazing cafes and incredible restaurants. 

Explore the busy streets and maybe even see a famous face or two.  

Knightsbridge

Once the sun has set, head straight for Knitesbridge- or more specifically, Harrods. 

During the Christmas period the exterior of the building is lit with over 12,000 lightbulbs. It rivals the likes of Westminster Palace, and the inside is even better. 

The entire store undergoes a festive makeover, and you’ll be able to find pretty much anything you desire in this one building.

London’s Calling

So there you have it, the absolute best places to Christmas shop in the city. 

You’ll have no trouble getting into the Christmas Spirit in these amazing spots, and at the end of it all you can return to luxury to one of the best hotels in Park Lane, the Montcalm.

[signaturetownhouse]

Our Favourite Parks and Green Spaces in West London

People don’t often come to London specifically for the parks and green spaces. They secure themselves a hotel deal near Hyde Park in London but don’t consider the incredible views that will greet them every morning; or they book themselves a ticket to Winter Wonderland or another central London festival and forget that the venue is a vast expanse of greenery and nature in the city.

The London parks, particularly those in West London, are part and parcel of the city scape. Boutique hotels near Hyde Park London only add to the elegant aesthetic of the parks, with Hyde Park accommodation like the Signature Townhouse Hyde Park oozing traditional British glamour in the perfect London snapshot.  

And while Hyde Park is very much at the centre of London’s affinity for and love of its green sparks and royal parks, it is not the only outside area that visitors and residents alike can enjoy.

Ealing Common

With an agricultural history, once upon a time Ealing Common was home to grazing and free ranging cattle and fowl, with commoners owning the rights to graze the land. Now, the park is vast and broken into sections by the rows of trees which give it a regal air not unlike the royal Parks located in the centre of the city.

Regents Park

So much more than just a park, Regents Park borders ZSL London Zoo and a plethora of coveted streets with their traditional townhouses and grand exteriors – making it one of the most picturesque and well situated parks in the whole city. It houses a lake with small pedalo boats, endless footpaths, a running track, and sports pitches and fields perfect for family days out.

Kensington Gardens

Kensington Gardens forms a part of Hyde Park – however, it has now become known as a separate park in its own right thanks to the assortment of things to see and enjoy within the borders of this regal green space. The allotment and vegetable patch is quite a sight to see, while Kensington Palace and the Serpentine Gallery are both focal points within the park. The Diana Playground is another must-see, as are the various statues and features dotted around the space.

Bishops Park

If you’re looking for a park which is far enough away from central London to enjoy a little peace, but still boasting plenty to see and do all year round, then this is it. Bishops Park is situated on the edge of the river Thames between Hammersmith and Fulham, and offers the river walk, a dedicated rose garden, an ornamental lake, an urban beach, and a skate park and bowl all within its borders. A great destination for family groups with plenty to do!

London’s love of green spaces

While this blog mentions just four of the popular parks in East London (plus Hyde Park, of course), every corner and street in London conceals new green spaces and natural influences – from the tree lined streets to the small residential squares dotted throughout the city.

[blueorchidhotels]

Long Stay Hotels in Westminster: Experience Luxury and Comfort at Blue Orchid Hotels

Westminster, one of London's most iconic and historically rich districts, is a prime location for extended stays in the city. Whether you are visiting for business, leisure, or a bit of both, Westminster offers a unique blend of cultural landmarks, vibrant neighbourhoods, and excellent connectivity. When it comes to finding the perfect long stay hotel, Blue Orchid Hotels stand out for their commitment to providing luxury, comfort, and personalized services tailored to long-term guests. Among their esteemed properties, Wellington by Blue Orchid and The Rochester by Blue Orchid are celebrated as the best boutique hotels in Westminster, suitable for couples, families, business trips, and leisure stays.

History of Westminster

Westminster has a rich history dating back to the medieval period, playing a central role in British politics, religion, and culture. Originally, an island on the River Thames, the area became significant when Edward the Confessor built Westminster Abbey in the 11th century. The Abbey has been the site of coronations since William the Conqueror in 1066. The Palace of Westminster, now home to the UK Parliament, has roots going back to the early medieval era as well. Over the centuries, Westminster has evolved into a bustling district that houses not only the political heart of the nation but also numerous historical landmarks, making it a vibrant area steeped in heritage and culture.

Why Choose Westminster for Long Stay Accommodation

Westminster is at the heart of London, making it an ideal base for extended stays. Here are some reasons why:

Proximity to Major Attractions: Stay within walking distance of world-famous landmarks like Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, and the Houses of Parliament.

Excellent Transport Links: Benefit from easy access to multiple Tube stations, bus routes, and walking paths, ensuring you can explore all of London and nearby locations with ease.

Day Trips from Central London:

Check these day trips that promise for an unforgettable experience.

Vibrant Local Amenities: Enjoy a plethora of restaurants, shops, and parks, offering everything you need for daily living and leisure.

Must-See Attractions in Westminster, London

Westminster is one of London's most iconic districts, home to some of the most famous landmarks and cultural sites in the city. Whether you are visiting for a short trip or an extended stay, Westminster offers a wealth of attractions that cater to all interests. Here are some must-see attractions in Westminster, London:

1. The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben

Description: The Palace of Westminster, also known as the Houses of Parliament, is a stunning Gothic building that houses the UK Parliament. Big Ben, the iconic clock tower, is part of this complex.

Highlights: Guided tours of the Parliament buildings, including the House of Commons and House of Lords; witnessing the Changing of the Guard ceremony; hearing Big Ben chime.

2. Westminster Abbey

Description: A UNESCO World Heritage site, Westminster Abbey is a magnificent Gothic church with over a thousand years of history. It is the traditional venue for coronations and royal weddings.

Highlights: The Coronation Chair, Poets' Corner, the resting places of monarchs and notable figures, and stunning stained glass windows.

3. Buckingham Palace

Description: The official residence of the British monarch, Buckingham Palace is an iconic symbol of the British monarchy.

Highlights: The Changing of the Guard ceremony, tours of the State Rooms (open to the public during the summer), the beautiful palace gardens.

4. St. James's Park

Description: One of London’s oldest and most picturesque parks, St. James’s Park offers a serene escape in the heart of the city.

Highlights: Scenic walks, views of Buckingham Palace, pelican feeding time, the Blue Bridge for excellent photo opportunities.

5. The Churchill War Rooms

Description: Part of the Imperial War Museum, the Churchill War Rooms offer a fascinating glimpse into Winston Churchill's wartime bunker and the secret underground headquarters used during WWII.

Highlights: The Map Room, Churchill’s office and living quarters, interactive exhibits on Churchill's life and legacy.

6. The National Gallery

Description: Located in Trafalgar Square, the National Gallery houses an extensive collection of Western European paintings from the 13th to the 19th centuries.

Highlights: Works by masters such as Van Gogh, Da Vinci, Rembrandt, and Turner; free admission; special exhibitions and events.

7. The Victoria and Albert Museum

Description: Known as the V&A, this museum is the world's largest museum of decorative arts and design, with a vast collection spanning 5,000 years.

Highlights: Fashion and textiles, ceramics, jewelry, and the renowned Cast Courts.

8. The Tate Britain

Description: Tate Britain is home to the national collection of British art from the 16th century to the present day.

Highlights: Works by J.M.W. Turner, John Constable, and modern British artists; special exhibitions and events.

9. The Westminster Cathedral

Description: Not to be confused with Westminster Abbey, Westminster Cathedral is the mother church of the Catholic Church in England and Wales.

Highlights: Stunning Byzantine architecture, the cathedral’s mosaics, and the tower offering panoramic views of London.

10. Trafalgar Square

Description: A bustling public square in Westminster, Trafalgar Square is a central point for tourists and locals alike.

Highlights: Nelson's Column, the National Gallery, fountains, and frequent cultural events and demonstrations.

Benefits of Staying at Blue Orchid Hotels for Long-Term Guests

Blue Orchid Hotels are renowned for their exceptional hospitality and quality services. Here’s why they’re perfect for long-term stays, suitable for couples, families, business trips, and leisure stays:

Discounted Rates: Enjoy special rates for extended stays, making your visit more affordable without compromising on luxury.

Enhanced Amenities: Long-term guests receive enhanced amenities, including spacious suites, in-room kitchen facilities, and dedicated workspaces.

Personalized Services: Experience personalized service tailored to your needs, ensuring your stay is comfortable and enjoyable.

Detailed Look at Blue Orchid Hotels' Long Stay Options

Blue Orchid Hotels in Westminster offer a range of features and services designed to cater to long-term guests. Among the best options are Wellington by Blue Orchid and The Rochester by Blue Orchid, known for their boutique charm and exceptional service, suitable for couples, families, business trips, and leisure stays.

Wellington by Blue Orchid:

Hotel Features:

Fully Equipped Kitchens: Prepare your own meals with ease using fully equipped kitchens available in our long stay suites.

Spacious Living Areas: Enjoy the luxury of space with separate living areas and bedrooms, perfect for relaxing after a busy day.

In-Room Laundry Facilities: Benefit from the convenience of in-room laundry facilities, making it easy to manage your wardrobe during an extended stay.

High-Speed Internet: Stay connected with high-speed internet and dedicated workspaces, ideal for remote work or keeping in touch with loved ones.

Exclusive Services:

Housekeeping Services: Enjoy regular housekeeping services to keep your space clean and comfortable.

Concierge Services: Our concierge team is always available to assist with your needs, from booking tickets to recommending local attractions.

Access to Facilities: Long-term guests have full access to hotel facilities, including fitness centres, business centres, and dining options.

The Rochester by Blue Orchid:

Hotel Features:

Elegant and Spacious Rooms: Experience the charm of boutique luxury with rooms that are both elegant and spacious, providing a comfortable home away from home.

In-Room Dining Options: Take advantage of in-room dining services, offering convenience and variety for extended stays.

Luxurious Bedding: Enjoy a restful night's sleep with high-quality bedding and linens, ensuring maximum comfort.

Work and Leisure Balance: The Rochester provides spaces designed for both work and relaxation, perfect for long-term guests.

Exclusive Services:

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[alexia11luvr]

I Put My Hand On A Star, To See If I Still Bleed

-Part Two-

several months late, it's finally here :)

CW: same as part one

"Ale, wake up."

You stroked her face to wake her, and she nestled into you as she opened her eyes slightly.

"Hey." you whispered, smiling.

She covered her face, not wanting to wake up yet. Last night had been exhausting, to say the least.

"We have to get going, I've got to be at the airport by twelve."

"Stay."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"You know why, c'mon. I've gotta go back with the team."

Alexia moved to get up, but stopped suddenly, wincing in pain. She'd momentarily forgotten what you'd done to her the night before, and you saw the realisation cross her face, the memory of it flashing through her mind.

"Take it slow, it's gonna hurt." you said softly, stroking her back as she sat up.

"I should've stopped you." she whispered.

"Did you want me to stop?" you asked, looking into her eyes.

"No." she admitted, running a hand through her hair.

A moment of silence passed before she looked into your eyes.

"Did it feel good for you?" she asked, placing a hand on your thigh.

"It felt amazing. You were perfect for me. You are perfect for me."

Thoughts of an actual relationship between the two of you had begun racing through your mind, and you knew Alexia was thinking the same things. The way she was looking at you lips, your eyes- you just knew. Last night it felt like lust, this morning it felt like love.

"Please stay." she said, quietly, brushing her finger gently over your hand.

"Ale, don't do this." you said, standing up.

"No please, you can stay, just make up an excuse, you don't have to get back for another game or training or anything do you?" she said, a tinge of desperation now present in her voice.

"No, but-"

"So stay, please. You want to stay- I know you do." her voice dropped a little, and her eyes weren't so wide now, darkening slightly too.

and she was right, you did want to stay, you really did.

"Alexia, I have to go, they're gonna ask questions if I don't, and there's no believable excuse I could give, you know that. The only way they'd understand is if I told them the truth."

You saw Alexia hesitate- she was considering it. Considering letting people know about the two of you. That was a big deal for her- she was intensely private, especially about things like this. She must really need you.

"When's our next fixture?" she asked.

"What?"

"The next match, between Barça and Arsenal?"

"In a few weeks." you replied, still unsure of where she was going with this.

"I'll fly out to London early, I'll stay with you the night before and you can come to the hotel the night after, okay?" she said, almost like she was telling you instead of asking you.

"Ale-"

"C'mon, it'll be fun, you and me." she said, using your shoulders to pull herself up.

"Okay." you agreed, you couldn't say no to her.

There was something very practical about this arrangement you had. The two of you were incredibly dedicated athletes, you trained alone whenever you weren't with your squads, you didn't really have much time for romance- so this thing that the pair of you had going on, it worked.

-

Those few weeks passed quicker than you expected, you thought about her time to time but your focus was on training and matches.

The fixture was to be played at the Emirates, over 60,000 tickets had been sold, you would be lying if you said you weren't nervous- but the thought of Alexia in your bed the nights before and after the game comforted you.

You were waiting at the airport for her that afternoon, the day before the match, baseball cap and sunglasses on in an attempt to disguise yourself. She'd told her coaches and the other players that she had to go see her family but would meet them in London the day of the match.

She sent you a text to let you know she was at the gate. You would be lying if you said you weren't paranoid- you knew fans would be flying in from Spain to see the match as well, and Alexia, even with sunglasses and a hat on herself, was very recognisable, as were you being the star winger at Arsenal.

You spotted her at the gate, she walked quickly towards you, nearly running into your arms. She slung her hands around your shoulders and you picked her up slightly as you hugged.

"I missed you." you said, quietly.

"I missed you too." she said, breaking the hug but keeping one hand on the back of your neck.

She let go of you a moment later, looking around subtly, and you realised the paranoia had got her too.

"C'mon let's get out of here." you said.

You wanted to take her hand but were aware that you shouldn't, just in case.

You got a taxi back to your place, you knew people would recognise your car.

As soon as you got through the front door she grabbed you by the waist from behind and pulled you into her, placing kisses on your neck and nuzzling into you. You leaned back into her, feeling her body firmly against yours.

"That desperate, huh?" you teased.

She laughed slightly as she tugged your coat off and tossed it aside before doing the same with her own. Her hands roamed up your back and the sides of your torso, tracing your toned muscles. You heard her heavy breathing as she did so and knew how desperately she wanted you.

"So what do you wanna do?" you asked.

"I'll have you first, then you can have me." she said quickly, lowly, a strong tone of desire in her voice.

As she pressed into your back you could feel what she was packing, and how big it was.

"Get undressed, get on the bed." she whispered, her hand squeezing your hip slightly.

You pulled of your shirt and trousers, then your underwear. You saw Alexia do the same behind you through the reflection in the bedroom mirror as you walked in.

You lay down on the bed, enjoying the soft cotton sheets on your bare skin. Alexia climbed on top of you and you placed your hands on her hips as she did, stroking her skin gently with your thumbs.

"How many times do you want me to make you come, baby?" she asked softly, a smile appearing on her face.

"Just once. We can't be up all night with the game tomorrow, and I've still got to fuck you too." you smiled back.

"Just once? I better make it a good one then, hm?"

"Shouldn't be too hard for you, Ale." you teased.

Just as the words left your mouth, she slipped her cock inside you. You let out a loud moan that was almost a scream at her suddenly filling you up.

"Oh my God, Ale-" you stuttered, losing the words as they were coming out of your mouth, trying to deal with the intense feeling inside of you- her inside of you.

"You like that?" she cooed.

You could only nod, overwhelmed with the feeling in your core and the sensation that her words sent through you.

She lowered her top half onto you, slowly placing a soft kiss on your lips. You moaned quietly into it, and she parted her lips slightly, urging you to do the same. The next kiss was open-mouthed and hot, animalistic. Her tongue tangled with yours as her hips continued grinding into you. Your grip on her waist tightened, your fingers digging into her, eliciting a moan from her mouth.

She broke your kiss and held herself up by her hands either side of your head, now focused entirely on how she was fucking you and the pleasure she was getting from it. She opened her eyes for a moment and looked down at where she was fucking into you, then placed a hand on your lower stomach and pressed down, feeling where she was inside you. You moaned at the pressure.

"That feel good, baby?"

Again, you just nodded, in no state to produce words.

You loved how focused she was, how fixated she was on the pure feeling of what she was doing. Soft sighs were falling out of her mouth, her pleasure increasing. You knew she was close, but you were closer.

You felt the pleasure and heat building inside you rapidly, becoming nearly too much to handle.

"Ale, don't stop."

Your core clenched around her cock as you came, and your back arched off the bed as her arms slipped underneath to hold you.

After your last wave of pleasure, you grab hold of her hips, stopping her movements.

"What are you doing? I'm about to finish." she said, breathless.

"No. Not yet." you say, brushing your thumb over her cheek.

You sat up slightly with her still above you, and you tilted your head back a little to kiss her.

"Please, I'm so close." she begged.

You felt her hips try to shift desperately against you but you kept a tight hold on them.

"Pull out, Ale."

"No, please-" she whimpered quietly.

"Pull out."

She did as she was told and shifted backwards onto her knees, allowing you to sit up fully.

She had a desperate look on her face, biting her lip and waiting for your next words. You noticed her moving her thighs together slightly, clearly trying to seek some pleasure and relief from the built-up tension in her core.

"Oh honey, are you that desperate?" you teased, pulling the strapless cock out of her. She whined as you did, gripping the sheets.

You slipped it inside yourself slowly as you got up onto your knees.

"Lay down." you instructed.

"Please, it hurts-" she whimpered, her brow furrowed.

"I know baby, I know." you smiled, loving what she became when you edged her.

She lay down slowly, a look of pain, frustration, and desperation painted across her face. You slipped it in her gradually, your hands grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the bed.

She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering.

"Feel better now?" you smiled.

You knew she didn't though, she wouldn't feel better until she came. She writhed around on the bed, unable to move much under your grip.

"Harder, fuck me harder." she begged.

You looked down at her, the desperate look in her eyes drove you wild.

"God you're such a whore, asking for it like that."

She was gasping for breath between moans and was practically seizing under you as she finally came. You slowed down as she finished, placing kisses on her neck as you did.

"No, don't stop- fuck me like you did last time, fuck me there." she sighed.

"Are you sure?"

"Please."

"Get on your hands and knees for me then slut."

She quickly got up and into that position. You grabbed her hips and slowly put it in her, she practically screamed as you did, dropping her head and panting as she adjusted to the size of it. She looked so pretty like this.

"What would everyone say if they knew you liked taking it in the ass like this?" you teased, slowly pushing in and out of her.

"Please, harder." she whispered, barely able to catch her breath.

"You'll bleed." you said, stroking her platinum-blonde hair.

"Just do it, I need it." she begged desperately.

You did as she asked, not holding back anymore and pounding into her ass with no reservations.

You heard her as she started crying.

"Too much for you baby?"

"No no, keep going." she cried, her voice broken and shaky.

It was clear now that Alexia had some kind of deep, unrelenting masochistic desire, and a desire for you to fulfill it.

You were getting tired now, she could take a lot, more than you thought she could.

"You had enough yet darling?"

"Nearly."

She brought her hand into her cunt and began to pleasure herself there. You loved the sight of it, the way she couldn't help herself.

She came quickly again after that, her body now dripping with sweat and shaking.

"Go to the living room." you ordered, as you pulled your cock out of her ass.

"Why?" she whispered, a note of fear in her voice.

"Just go," you said "and don't get dressed."

You followed her into the living room after discarding the strap.

You sat down on the sofa as she stood infront of you, her hands together.

"There's a match on, I wanna watch it, and I want you on your knees in front of me so I can play with you while I watch it." you smiled.

She got down on her knees for you and looked up at you with a piece of innocence still in her eyes- you were going to get rid of that.

You brushed your fingers over her lips and they quivered slightly under your touch.

"Open your mouth for me."

She did so, and you slid two fingers inside.

She began to suck them without instruction, and you immediately smiled at that.

"Good girl."

She never said a word, and her eyes never left yours even when your eyes were on the television watching the match. The feeling of her tongue gliding across your fingers was amazing, and seeing her like this, that was even better.

Eventually, you looked back at her, pulling your fingers out past her lips, and she instinctively leant forward, trying to get them back in her mouth.

"So needy." you smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear.

She started rubbing her thighs together a little again, letting you know she wanted some friction.

"Get on top." you instructed, lying down on the sofa.

She got on top slowly, carefully, wincing from the pain caused by your roughness earlier, and she straddled you, her hands on her knees and her legs either side of your torso. You felt her warm cunt settle on your stomach, and you loved feeling her weight on top of you.

"You're soaked Ale, you need to cum again? hm?" you teased.

She nodded, still not in the headspace to speak.

"Can't talk baby? You're just a dumb little girl when you've been fucked y'know." you smiled up at her.

She moved her hands to your stomach, keeping herself steady.

"Go on, don't hold back." you said, your hands finding her thighs and holding them still for her.

She started to grind slowly, her eyes squeezed shut, whimpering. You were completely still until you took hold of her hips and her head fell back, a breathy sigh falling from her lips. You brushed your thumbs back and forth over her soft skin.

"That's it, you look so pretty like this Ale."

Her eyes remained shut and her hands moved on top of yours, her grip tight.

She was in pain, a lot of it, but her desperation for another orgasm outweighed that. She needed it.

Tears started falling from her eyes, and her breaths became deep and controlled, like she was focusing on that instead of the pain.

As she neared release though, she lost control of it and her breathing became ragged, her movements desperate.

As she finally came, she moaned in pain, and then she became still. She didn't open her eyes or move her hands from you.

"You okay Ale?"

She let out a sigh and nodded, then finally opened her eyes.

"We can go to sleep here, if it hurts too much to move." you said, stroking her cheek.

"No I wanna go to bed, can you carry me?" she asked, quietly.

"Of course."

You helped her slowly move off of you, and she winced in pain.

"It's okay, you'll be in bed soon."

You picked her up and she wrapped her arms around your neck and nuzzled into you as you carried her to bed. As you placed her on the mattress, she didn't let go of you.

"Are you okay, Ale?"

"More than okay." she smiled.

[scribblesofagoonerr]

— Where's dumb and dumber?

here's pt. 4 of chaos fc, this is honestly so much fun to write and its' a nice break from the angsty stuff as well, cos' I really can't be dealing with any of it right now!

thanks to @alotofpockets as always for helping me out with ideas along the way and giving me the confidence to post!

pairings: kim little x reader, kyra cooney cross x reader, awfc x reader

summary: reader and kyra continue to try and cause trouble down under, however, some of the girls are quick to realise before its' too late.

also, reader is a protective guarddog when it comes to her best friend getting hurt.

"Come on Kimmy, it was harmless fun!" You exclaim, trailing through the hotel after the long bus ride back from the open traning session and it was safe to say that your Captain was still pretty miffed about what had happened in the changing rooms.

Well, if the looks from the Scots' women were anything to go by then, yeah, you were definitely still in trouble.

"Harlmess or not, I told you to not cause anymore trouble!" Kim states in a firm tone of voice, stopping in her step to turn and look at you, "I feel like I can't even leave you alone for 5 minutes without you gettin' into trouble!"

"I don't see what the big deal is," You can't help but huff and wonder if your Captain is being slightly dramatic.

That was definitely the wrong answer to say, if the look that the older Scots' was anything to go by.

"The big deal?" Kim scoffs and shakes her head, "The big deal is that I'm really gettin' fed up with the constant immature behaviour-- When are you going to grow up, Y/N!?" She snaps.

This is probably the point in which you should say something sensible...

"Where's the fun in that though?"

Or not then.

You watch as your Captains' eyes widen in disbelief before shes' shaking her head, "Thank God we're going back to London in a few days!" She mutters before she pinches the bridge of her nose, "Enough of the pranks, now! I mean it, Y/N. You so much as pull another prank and I'm phoning Leah again to let her know of the recent trouble you've gotten yourself into!"

Without so much as another word, Kim storms off in another direction and your left dumbfound, feeling more than guilty for causing your skipper a near nervous breakdown from the trouble you've been causing.

"Leprachauns' out for revenge," Your partner in crime leans in and whispers, careful to not get caught as shes' under the watchful eye of Steph still, so you can guess that she got a grilling about things as well.

Plus, Caitlin as well most likely, after all it was her girlfriend that got the brunt of the prank that backfired on the wrong victim.

"Yeah, I'd say we're toast whenever she catches up to us," You tell her in a hushed whisper as she wince when your eye catches the Irish defender, who your certain is definitely still holding a grudge about what happened.

"How much trouble did you get in with Kim this time?" Kyra wonders, curiously.

"Eh its' nothin' I can't handle, but she did threaten to call Leah again," Your face pales at the thought of the blonde hearing what else you had been up to. "What did Steph say to you?" You ask.

"Pretty much to not do it again, you know? Blah, blah, blah," Kyra relays what said back as she rolls her eyes. "Caitlin wasn't too happy either about things, considering its' her misses." She states, amusedly.

"Oops," You can't help but surpress the giggle that slips out of your mouth. "Guess we've gotta tone it down on the pranks for a bit." You murmer in realisation.

No way did you want to deal with an angry blonde yelling at you down the phone again, needless to say you were going to try and keep a low profile for now at least.

"Where's the fun in that though?" Kyra jokes as she slides her phone out of her pocket and starts to scroll through her Instagram feed, "Hey, Y/N-- Have you seen these?" With that being said, she not so politely shoves her phone in your face.

"Wha-- No way, seriously?" You can't help but crack up laughing as you watch the fan edit replay over fans' speculating that you and Kyra being together as more than just friends, "There's no way that people are believing this!" You exclaim.

Kyra can't stifle her laughter as she nods, "I know, right? We're just friends!" She finds humour in the situation; Your used to fans freaking out about things, but seeing the interaction between you both and immediately labelling it as a relationship was just hilarious to even see.

"We're nothing but chaotic, platonic little shit best friends," You grin as you playfully throw your arm around the older girl and lock her in a head lock. "Hey! I have an idea, let's just give the fans what they want!" You exclaim as an idea pops into your head.

Kyra manages to wrangle herself out of your grasp and scrunches her face up, "Ew. No offence, Y/N/N, but I don't see you that way. I'm not kissing you." She states.

"Wha-- No, not like that you idiot. Lets' just wind them up!" You roll your eyes as you pull your phone out of your pocket, tapping on your Instagram and hold it in front of you both as you playfully plant a kiss on the older girls' cheek, "Ere', smile!"

"Right, so when we get to the stadium we'll-- Oh hold on a second!" Kyra's quick to get distracted in the middle of her explanation, leaving the piece of paper with varies scribbles out in plain sight for anyone else to walk past and see it.

Definitely not careful enough to hide it.

A certain blonde is able to find them easy enough.

"What're they up to now?" Alessia furrows her eyebrow as she lifts up the piece of paper, skeptical of being caught victim to another one of your pranks after watching the latest mayhem unfold with the Irish being the one to pay the price, "Vic, have you seen this?" She motions to the Dutch player.

"Seen what?" Vic asks, confused.

"This," Alessia mumers, gesturing to the paper that she holds up in her hand. "I can't really understand it-- Butterfingers and pancake? Are they, like, yeah I'm confused." The blondes' at a loss, trying to wrap her head around the explanation of the writing on the paper.

Vic isn't able to understand it either by her puzzled facial expression, "What the-- Are they baking a cake?" She questions, confused.

"I... I don't know," Alessia is clearly stumped over what it means as she looks around for someone who might understand it clearly, "Katie! Come look at this a second, please?" She gestures in the direction for the Irish girl to join the conversation.

"What's up?" Katie wonders, walking over to the two girls. "What you got there?" She asks, confused as she glances at the paper in her hands that Vic hands to her.

"We don't know. We can't understand it," Vic admits, confused.

"Butterfingers and pancake," Katie repeats, bewildered. "What... Whos' is this?" She asks, at a loss of what to even make of this right now.

"Kyra left it on the bench," Alessia answers.

Katies' eyes widen in realisation, "It's another prank." She mutters, searching round the room for the two culprits, who are strangely quiet right now. "Caitlin! Have you seen dumb and dumber?" She questions.

"Who're we talkin' about, right now?" Caitlin questions, laughing in amusement.

"Y/N and Kyra," Katie states, motioning to the paper that she holds in her hand. "I think they're up to something again." She adds.

"Oh you mean the English and Aussie pest," Caitlin jokes, walking over to join the three of them as she eyes' the paper in her girlfriends hands, "Seriously? Not again." She grumbles, shaking her head.

"I say that we let Kim know what's going on," Katie declares, looking around for the older Scots' women. "Kim!" She got the attention of the captain.

"Ye', what's up?" Kim looks over in the Irish girls' direction.

Katie wordessly hands the paper over to the Scottish women with an amused expression plastered on her face, "Thought I'd give you the heads up, Cap." She jokes.

Taking in the notes on the paper, Kims' left looking bewildered and lost for words, "Just one day," She mutters to herself, at her wits' end the troublemaker duo.

"What'd they do?" Steph chimes in, being near to the Scots' women.

"Take a look yourself," Katie jokes, glancing to the paper.

"Oh boy," Steph exhales a sigh as she reads over it, "What the hell does butterfingers and pancake mean?" She asks, confused.

"I don't know, but I know it means they're up to no good," Kim mutters, exhaling a sigh.

"Steph and I will have a word with Kyra and we'll leave Y/N to you," Caitlin reassures the older Scots' woman as she pats her on the shoulder before trying to spot out the Australian girl, "Kyra, over here!" She speaks aloud to get her attention.

"Wha-- I didn't do out!" Kyra exclaims in protest, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Not yet you haven't, we're putting a stop to it before it happens," Steph chimes in, shaking her head as she slings her arm around the girl.

"Y/N, come here!" Kim shouts aloud to get your attention from across the room.

"Busted," You mutter to yourself and slump over to meet the stern look of your captain, suddenly having a sense of dejavu about this certain situation. "Whatever you think I did, I didn't do." You state.

"What's this?" Kim holds up the paper note in her hand.

"Er, well its' a piece of paper. Was that supposed to be a trick question?" You question, sarcastically.

By the look on the older womens' face, you should know that she is not messing around and you should most definitely refrain from any further sarcastic comment.

However, you just can't help yourself sometimes.

"You know what I mean," Kim deadpans, pursing her lips. "Whatever this is, it stops right now!" Your captain is promptly wagging her finger in front of your face.

"I don't know what your on about," You mumble, trying to play innocent. "I don't even know what that is." You add, continuing to play dumb about it all.

"Yes you do, Y/N-- The girls found it, I know its' a prank and I'm telling you to pack it in right now!" Kim lectures; You have to admit that she really can be scary sometimes, and its' nothing to do with her height.

"Snitches," You murmer under your breath as you can't help but glare at the girls around the room.

"You should be gettin' ready for the match, not planning any of this dumb pranks-- Carry on and I'll have you benched!" Kim continues to scold you, mentioning about the upcoming match you're currently supposed to be getting ready for to play against the All Stars. "Stop muckin' around and get ready right now, do you understand?"

You swallow the lump in your throat and shuffle in your spot, "Yes Kim, I understand." You mumble, although you can't help but stare down at the floor.

Sure enough the lecture is enough to scare you to try and not cause any more chaos, besides that can wait for after the match at least for now.

"So, Tiny threatened to have me benched if I pull another prank," You murmer to your best friend after you finish getting ready for the match.

"I just got a right earful from Floof and Veggie," Kyra huffs in agreement as she finishes tying up the laces on the boots. "They found the papers." She adds in realisation.

"No shit, only cos' you left them aside for anyone to see!" You exclaim, glaring at the older Aussie girl.

"It weren't my fault I got distracted!" Kyras' quick to protest as she throws her hands up in mock surrender.

"Well either way, I have to keep on her good side now or shes' gonna call Malfoy!" You tell her, huffing and slumping your shoulders; You really didn't want to endure a certain blonde defender lecturing you down the phone at all.

"Malfoy?" Kyra questions, confused.

You nod in agreement, already reaching for your phone to explain the reason behind the newfound nickname for the centre back, "Yep, new nickname for the English skip, cos' I seen the comments about her new haircut and they're hilarious comparing her to a draco malfoy wannabee," You tap on the former picture that the girls had taken back in London and show the older girl. "See?" You smirk in amusement.

"That's brilliant!" Kyra can't help but burst out laughing, "Your right, suits' her well!" She adds in agreement with your name for the stern english captain.

"Come on, lets' go girls. We need to line up!" Kim motions the pair of them out of the changing rooms with the rest of the girls.

"Comin'!" You shout in response, the two of you both dwadling to join the rest of the girls.

Kim spins around and eyes you both skeptically, "Remember what I said? No trouble!" She warns.

"You got it, Cap. No trouble whatsoever!" You grin in agreement, eager to stay on the Scot womens' good side for the time being.

"I mean it," Kim states.

"I know, I know. I'll be on my best behaviour, don't yer' worry!" You agree, signalling a mock salute as you join the end of the line, ready to head on to the pitch to face the All Stars.

"Agh!" You know you should be focusing on the game, however, its' impossible with what is currently going on right now.

Seagulls, feral birds that you're terrified off.

"God damn this ball-- They keep deflating!" Katie exclaims, motioning to the ref for the need to change the ball again, meanwhile you're still trying to not have a complete meltdown about the severe amount of seagulls flying around the pitch.

"Kimmy, help me! Somebody, anybody, help me!" You dart around the pitch like a maniac, to try and avoid them.

"Y/N, calm down! You're fine!" Kim tries to reassure you, all while trying to keep her focus on the game that you're currently playing on the pitch.

You shake your head and your not afraid to admit you were deeply scared of this birds, "I'm not fine! There's... Theres' birds, everywhere!" You exclaim.

"Y/N, they're harlmess..." Steph chimes in, mostly amused with your freak out on the pitch.

"No, no, they're fuckin' not!" You shout aloud in fear, doing your best to try and duck down as one flies in your direction. "Why the heck are they flying so low?" You question in horror.

"Y/N, focus on the game!" Caitlin chuckles, shaking her head.

"I... I can't! There everywhere, Caitlin!" Your downright petrified of these birds, however, your team all seem to find the situation amusing.

Kim pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head, "Good lord," She mutters to herself as she moves to gain possession of the ball. "Ere' Y/N!" She shouts in your direction to pass you the ball seeing as your stood in a spot that's open.

Dodging the pesky seagulls, you swoop in towards the direction of the ball and kick it towards Mini Viv who then is able to knock it to Alessia, whos' remaining unmarked and shes' able to head it in the back of the net to give your team to advantage to take the lead and be 1 nil up.

"G'wan, Lessi!" You exclaim, running towards the blonde to dive on her in celebration for the wonderful goal she had scored. "Lessi Russo with the stunning header!"

"Shut up you idiot," Alessia chuckles and swats the back of your head.

Taking the opportunity to enjoy the moment, your focus is switched back to the game in hand, wanting to at least have the chance to score another goal before the end of the game.

However, your fear for the certain birds turned into anger at the very minute that you watched your counter partner be involved in a particulary nasty foul and land on the ground.

"What the-- Nah seriously, ref? What the actual fuck!" Your throwing your hands in air in protest, outraged how the player on the opposite team was able to get away with it. "Are you blind!? Your an absolute idiot to not see that!"

You can admit that you might have been a slight bit more angrier with your words than you should have been.

Thank God it is just a friendly and no yellow cards can be given out.

"Kyra!" You are quick to rush to her side, the fear for the older Aussie girl whos' now being seen by the medical team. "Are you okay?" You question, concerned.

"Ow," Kyra murmers, wincing in pain.

Breathing a sigh of relief that she seems to be fine, given the cheeky grin she gave to the camera when she was being seen by the medical team, you stood up and turned to look at the player in anger.

"What the actual fuck-- Are you that stupid to hurt her like that?" You just see red, getting up in their face and pushing them back roughly. "You'rea fuckin' idiot!" You seeth.

"Y/N, cool it!" Kims' quick to try and reign in your outburst on the pitch,  trying to grab a hold of your upper bicep and drag you away from the situation before you make it worse for yourself. "What the hell are you playing at? Are you purposely looking for a way to cause trouble-- Control your anger!" She states, firmly.

"They hurt Kyra," You murmer, looking over to check in on your best friend. "They didn't even care about it either!" You motion to the player, who seemed completely unphased about the foul.

"Relax, Y/N. Kyra's fine, you need to control your temper," Kim states, sternly as she shook her head. "Your lucky this is just a friendly, or you'd have been sent off already!"

"They... They hurt Kyra," You repeat, not entirely happy that the player got away with it like she did.

It seems like your outburst on the pitch was more of a reason for Jonas, or as you'd kindly labelled him, Thanos to sub you off in replacement from one of the young guns; Initially, you were annoyed about it, however, you were soon joined by Kyra, so at least the two of you could chat on the bench.

"Are you alright?" You try and see if Kyra's actually okay, depsite the fact the medical team had seen to her on the pitch and even went to so much trouble as bring a stretcher on.

"I'm fine, relax, guard dog," Kyra jokes, plonking herself down in a seat beside you. "You know, fans' seeing your outburst like that is just gonna give them more reason to speculate them rumours." She jokes.

"Let them speculate all they want. I'm just a protective best friend," You grumble in response, not liking the fact of seeing the Aussie girl go down on the pitch at all.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[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. 

[starks-hero]

what a lovely inconvenience

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock Holmes pushes your buttons like no one else. So when a case leaves you stranded in a hotel room with only one bed you worry that Scotland Yard might have a new murder case on their hands.

Word Count: 1.0k

authors note: Writing a different dynamic between Sherlock and the Reader for a change to acknowledge the fact that irl I wouldn't be able to spend more than ten minutes with him before attempting murder.

“Would you please just go to sleep.”

“If you quit taking up half of the bloody mattress maybe I would,” you bit back, pulling at the covers defiantly.

It wasn't often Sherlock left London for a case but when he did he rarely went alone. And given how you were currently sharing a bed with said detective in an oh-so-unflattering hotel in rural Scotland it would seem apparent that you were the unfortunate soul he'd chosen as a sidekick for this particular outing.

The hotel was dull, exceedingly so. The wallpaper seemed ancient, peeling away at the corners and the aged furniture was placed in such a way that it swallowed up the dismal amount of space the room already offered. The entire setup was worsened further by the hotel's location; unpleasantly sandwiched between a bar and a flat complex whose tenants were... vocal, to say the least.

Not to mention the fact that Sherlock wouldn't. stop. moving.

He pulled the cover back harshly, leaving you defenseless against the cold. “Bold words coming from the one that hasn't gifted me with so much as an inch of blanket. Not to mention you've hogged all the pillows.”

“Hogged all the–” you swiveled to face him. “How many pillows do you need?”

“Another one.”

You blinked twice, already calculating how long you'd spend behind bars if you resorted to murder. “Why? Can't fit your ego on the one you've already got?”

At that, Sherlock turned so you were face to face. His glower contended with your own.

“If you must know I need another to block out the sound of your insufferable talking.”

“I can't deal with this.” You tossed back the covers, begrudgingly snatching up a pillow and thin bed sheet, and strode across the room. Sherlock watched as you sprawled out on the sofa, sinking so far into the poorly made furniture it was almost comedic.

There was a beat of quiet. Then another.

“If you're waiting for me to apologize or rush to trade places you'll be waiting all night.”

"I'm sure I'll survive.” you quipped bitterly.

Sherlock, as he'd promised, didn't argue. He grabbed the spare pillow somewhat victoriously, bundled the covers around him, and turned on his side.

Meanwhile, you were already struggling not to admit defeat. Metal springs dug into your back in three separate places, the fabric caused your skin to itch and it was beyond freezing without the bed cover. You would never have described yourself as a particularly proud person, you could admit when you were wrong. But when it came to Sherlock, you'd rather stay on the couch.

Time crawled by agonizingly slow. The red italic numbers of the alarm clock across the room shone through the dark almost mockingly. You'd given up on sleep, the moment the first light of morning seeped through the poorly hung curtains you were out of there. You'd take sitting in the dingey hotel reception alone and tired over watching Sherlock waking up satisfied with his extra cushions and soft mattress as his spoils of war.

“You look ridiculously uncomfortable,” the detective's voice cut through the quiet of the room.

You pulled your excuse of a blanket over your head. “I'm fine.”

You heard Sherlock sigh, followed by the shifting of the mattress. “I can see you trembling from here.”

“I'm sure I'll soldier on through.”

“If it was a point you were trying to get across then consider it made. Now, will you please just get over here and get some sleep before the sun comes up.”

At the offer, you reemerged from your makeshift cocoon like an easily bribed butterfly. “Relax Holmes, if you wanted me in bed that bad you should have just said so.” You spoke the words into your pillow, slurred from exhaustion and dripping with sarcasm.

Regardless, Sherlock was thankful of how well the darkened room hid his blush. He cleared his throat and turned back on his side. He'd been doing an admirable job at keeping whatever it was he felt about you to himself and he wasn't about to undergo the embarrassment of having you find out simply because he spent more than twelve hours in your vicinity.

Briefly noting to never be the bigger person again, Sherlock closed his eyes and prepared to leave you to your self-inflicted misery. Then he heard feet padding across the floor.

The covers pulled back and the mattress dipped as you silently joined him. You stretched out and sighed in relief when the mattress pressed softly against your aching muscles rather than biting into your back. You pulled experimentally at the covers and Sherlock let you gain an inch. But only that.

“Was that so hard?” He asked.

“Extremely.”

Turning over as quietly as he could, Sherlock noted how your back was to him, how the plane of spare mattress between you was so wide you could easily fit another couple there. How you almost hung from the side of the bed. Sherlock wouldn't have called what he felt in that moment guilt, but it was very similar.

“You know, if it truly makes you uncomfortable I can sleep on the sofa for the night.” His offer was genuine and he hoped you picked up on it.

There was a long moment of quiet, Sherlock giving in to the fact that you'd probably fallen into sleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

“I was kidding, you know.” Your voice came as a surprise. “It's more of a hindrance than anything, sharing a bed with someone that kicks in their sleep."

Sherlock smiled in the dark. “Not as much a hindrance as sharing one with a degenerate blanket stealer.”

There was an unfamiliar tone to his voice, one that, had you not been two blinks from sleep, you would have mistaken for humourous.

“You know, you're kind of endearing when you're sleep deprived,” you thought, too tired to have realized you'd said the words aloud.

“Funny,” Sherlock watched as you turned on your side and rolled towards the middle of the bed. Your nose twitched adorably and with the security the dark offered, Sherlock let himself smile over it. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”

He was certain you were gone now, chest falling rhythmically and lips parting to make way for quiet snores. He didn't blame you, your alarm had woken you early this morning.

You didn't know he'd noticed, of course, just as you didn't know how he noticed many little things about you. Not things of importance, nothing essential he would have to file away in his mind palace. Just simple everyday things that were unmistakably you. Things he recalled not because he needed to but because he wanted to.

There was something about you, Sherlock simply couldn't shake it. But that was a dilemma he needed at least a good night's rest to solve.

He closed his eyes, not so much as complaining when you stole the covers in your sleep.

thank you for reading!

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