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cupofteatoyou2 · 23 days ago

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What if she chose me pt5

The bruise isn’t new. It’s from the match. first match. The one where Alexia chewed through you at halftime and your lungs hadn’t felt full since.

You remember the moment, a poor step forward, a misread rotation. And then a sprint to recover that left your ribs wide open—and the opposing winger didn’t miss her chance.

She barreled through you like you were nothing. You hit the pitch hard. Elbow to turf. Chest to knee. All the air in your body gone in one sharp second.

No whistle. No card. No concern. Just pain.

You remember pushing up before the med staff could reach you. You remember Ingrid kneeling beside you and muttering, “Don’t lie,” and you did anyway.

You told her you were fine. You weren’t.

You played the second half on adrenaline and to keep your pride. And after the match, when you peeled your kit off and caught sight of your side in the mirror, it bloomed in color.

Purple first. Then blue. Then something somewhere between rage and surrender. You haven’t let anyone see it since.

And now, here you are—few weeks later , standing on the edge of training with that same bruise burning under your top. It’s almost faded but pain is not gone.

It pulls with every twist. Every reach. Every breath. But it’s not bad. Not enough to stop you. You could play.

And yet When you jog onto the pitch, boots biting the grass, breath fogging in the crisp air—your eyes find her first.

Jana. She’s already moving. Already working. Already throwing herself into drills with a sharpness you haven’t seen in weeks. She’s moving like someone trying to earn something back. And maybe she is.

You stop at the edge of the cone grid and watch her recover from a misstep, square her shoulders, and demand the ball again.

You can’t look away. Not when you remember her voice from few night ago.

“I wanted to hate her.”

“I’m tired.”

“They don’t need me anymore.”

You shouldn’t have heard it. But you did. And now it echoes in your blood.

You take your place in the drill, jaw tight, lungs already burning before you’ve started. Jonatan splits the group. You and Jana end up on opposite sides of the rotation.

The message is clear one of you will start this weekend. One of you will not.

The ache in your side spikes when you turn. You press a palm to the bruise through your kit. Just enough pressure to remind yourself that it’s still there. That you could use it. If you wanted to.

Because when you glance across the pitch—Jana is locked in. Laser-focused. Alive in a way you haven’t seen in weeks. You remember what she said. Not to you. But about you.

“She’s so solid.”

“And me? I’m still waiting to feel like I’m not temporary.”

You step into the next pass and let your timing be just a little off. Let the touch slip just slightly.

You twist too quickly. Then stop. Grab your side. Not dramatic. Just... enough.

Jonatan notices.

“Hey—what’s up?”

You hesitate. There it is. The moment. Say the truth? Fight for it? Or—

You exhale slowly. Shake your head.

“Don’t feel okay,” you say. “Ribs. It’s burning like hell. Probably shouldn’t push.” His eyes narrow. Not suspicious—just cautious. He knows you. You don’t back down easy.

“You sure?”

You nod. Bite the inside of your cheek. “Yeah.”

He nods. Waves his arm. “Jana. You are starting this weekend.”

She nodded. Small smile is noticeable on her lips. But tries to act cool. Like it wasn’t something she was craving for.

You sit down on the edge of the bench, stretching your legs out like it’s just another day. But your hands are shaking. She slides into the shape drill, shouting for the ball, hitting her marks.

And you watch. Every pass. Every tackle. Every look. And the bruise beneath your top pulses with something deeper than pain. Because now it’s not just physical.

It’s choice. It’s sacrifice. It’s a secret.

You look down at your hands, pressed to your thighs, trying not to unravel.

Then you feel it— Eyes on you. You glance up. Alexia.

She’s standing near the far goal, arms crossed. Watching. Not the drill. You.

You lock eyes. You don’t flinch. She doesn’t either. Her face is unreadable. No scowl. No smile. No pity.

But you know what she’s thinking. You see it in her stillness. In the way her gaze lingers half a second too long.

She knows. She knows what you did. And she doesn’t say a word. Just turns. And walks away.

You wait until the field clears before you move. Your bag is heavy on your shoulder. Not from weight, just… from everything else.

You don’t make it five steps toward the tunnel before someone falls in beside you. Quiet. Unassuming.

Ona.

You don’t look at her. She doesn’t look at you.

But she matches your pace.

You both walk in silence for a few seconds—long enough for it to be comfortable, but not long enough for you to ignore the fact that she came after you. Deliberately.

Finally, she says, voice quiet but not timid

“You didn’t limp this morning.”

You flinch. Just slightly.

Your hand curls a little tighter around the strap of your bag.

Ona doesn’t push. She just waits.

You sigh. “It’s not nothing,” you murmur. “It still hurts.”

“But not enough to stop you,” she says softly. Not accusing. Just… sure.

You glance at her, and she meets your eyes.

There’s no judgment in hers. Just understanding.

You look away. “She needed it.”

“I know,” Ona says.

Another beat of silence. Then “So did you.”

That hits harder than you expect. You swallow. Your throat is dry. “It felt right.”

“It was kind,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t cost you something.”

You stop walking. Ona stops too. You turn to her. “Please don’t say anything.”

She shakes her head. “I won’t.” She pauses, then adds, “But just so you know… it doesn’t make you weak.”

“I know that,” you say automatically.

She tilts her head. “Do you?”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Because you’re not sure anymore.

Ona doesn’t press further. She just reaches out and lightly taps your arm, the way someone might close a book after reading the final page.

“I’ll see you inside,” she says. And then she’s gone.

You stand there for a long moment, heart too loud and lungs too tight, staring after her. And maybe it’s the bruise. Maybe it’s the guilt.

Maybe it’s the look on Jana’s face during drills—focused, determined, herself again. But you don’t regret it. Not exactly. You just wish you didn’t have to lie to everyone else… To do something that finally felt like telling the truth.

The stadium hums with that particular kind of noise—matchday noise. The kind that isn't made of cheers or songs, but nerves. Boots clicking against tunnel floors. Velcro tightening. The muted thump of fists against shoulders. Breath warming hands.

You don’t feel part of it. Not today. You’re zipped into your tracksuit, sitting on the bench while your body screams to move, to be in it. But all you can do is watch.

Jana’s name is read over the speakers. Her number. Her position. The crowd cheers. The squad nods, claps backs, taps boots. She jogs onto the field like she never left it.

You watch her the way someone watches a closed door—knowing they can’t walk through it, but still waiting to see what’s on the other side.

You’ve been on this bench before. But not like this. Not after choosing it. Not after making yourself small so someone else could breathe.

The match begins fast—high energy, tight spaces, pressing from both sides. And Jana adjusts quickly. Efficient. Precise. She holds her line with the kind of quiet certainty that earns trust without demanding it.

You’re not surprised. You’ve always known she could do this. It’s the reason you lied.

Midway through the first half, she wins a hard challenge near the sideline. Slides clean, pops up faster than expected, and pushes the ball forward into space for Aitana to chase.

The bench erupts.

Ona slaps the railing and yells something in rapid Catalan that definitely includes a swear and possibly the phrase holy shit.

Aitana points back at Jana with a grin.

The coaches murmur, scribble something on their clipboards.

You sit still. You’re clapping, but not smiling. Not fully. Because watching it happen—watching her reclaim the space—you should feel proud. And you do. But under that? There’s a small, sharp ache. Not jealousy. Not exactly. Just the ache of not being missed.

Right before halftime, she locks down a dangerous switch with a perfect first touch and turns into space like it’s hers. And then, for a split second—she glances toward the bench.

Her eyes sweep across the sideline. You don’t think she’s looking for you. But maybe she is. Maybe she saw. You hold the gaze just long enough for your chest to tighten.

Then she’s gone again—back into the rhythm of the match, back into the center of the moment you gave her. The whistle blows for halftime. You exhale. And you don’t even realize you’d been holding your breath.

The locker room is full of noise again—boots kicked off, instructions muttered, hydration routines kicked in like religion.

Jana sits near the front, head down, unwrapping her tape. She’s calm. Focused. She doesn’t smile. But she feels different. Like she’s reinhabiting her own skin. Like the version of her who’s been folding inward for weeks is finally standing upright again.

You stay quiet in the back, near the extra kits, sipping from a bottle you barely remember grabbing. Mapi tosses a rolled-up sock across the room. Aitana hums something under her breath. Patri checks her ankle tape like it might explode. The team moves on. And you— You stay still.

The second half is more of the same. Not perfect. Not easy. But steady.

Jana plays with something that looks suspiciously like confidence now. She takes a risk with a high press. Holds her shape under pressure. She’s breathing in rhythm with the game, and for the first time, it looks like she trusts herself again.

The bench responds. They cheer. They shout. Ona leans forward with her elbows on her knees every time Jana goes one-on-one.

You feel every second like a quiet pulse under your skin. No one says your name. And that’s the part that sticks. Not being benched. Not being bruised. Just… not being part of it. Not being needed.

Full time.

5–1.

The team wins. The pitch becomes a rush of high-fives, grins, and shouted congratulations. Players jog to the corner flag. Staff claps from the sideline.

Jana gets pulled into a half-hug by Ingrid. Aitana yells something triumphant and spins in a circle. You walk onto the field with the rest of the bench.

You smile. You nod. You say, “Good job,” to someone. Maybe to everyone. But not to her. Not yet. Because you’re not sure what you’d sound like if you opened your mouth.

Later, while the team heads toward the tunnel, you hang back for a second. Just long enough to watch her. Jana jogs past a photographer and waves a quick thank-you to a ball kid.

She looks calm again. Like something is no longer pressing on her chest. And maybe it’s that peace that hurts the most. Because you gave her that breath. And now, all you can do is wonder— Will she ever know?

You file into the tunnel with the rest of them—boots thudding on cement, laughter bouncing off walls, jerseys clinging damp to skin.

The energy is high. Not over-the-top, just bright. Victorious. You move with them, but not quite among them. You're behind the wave, not inside it.

Someone offers you a high five. You take it. Aitana slings an arm around your shoulder for a second, giddy from the win. You smile back, reflexively. But it’s muscle memory, not feeling. And then—Jana.

She walks past you with salma and Patri, expression calm, voice low, her fingers trailing across the sleeve of her jacket as she peels it off.

For a moment, you think she might stop. Say something. Look. Acknowledge you in some small way. She doesn’t. Not because she’s cold. But because she doesn’t know. No one does. To them, you sat this one out. To them, you're just a player with a sore rib and a spot on the bench.

Not the one who watched the moment she gave up a dozen times bloom beautifully in someone else’s hands. Not the one who chose that silence, and now has to live in it.

The locker room is loud again. Mapi’s already pulling off her socks, talking about the free kick no one remembers. Aitana’s trying to hijack the speaker. Marta is yelling about the playlist being cursed. Someone opens a bottle of sports drink and it explodes across the bench.

The chaos is comforting, in a weird way. It means things are okay. Normal. Alive. You move through it like a ghost with a smile on its face. You take off your boots. Tape your fingers. Sit on the edge of the bench and unwrap the compression sleeve around your ribs slowly, carefully, like removing armor you don’t get to wear again.

The bruise is Still there. Not dark,but noticeable. You stare at it for a long second. Then pull your hoodie on before anyone sees.

Across the room, Jana is laughing and it’s real. The soft kind of laugh that comes when something inside finally unclenches. She’s talking with Mapi now. Ingrid tosses her a water bottle. Patri claps her shoulder and says something that makes her roll her eyes and smile. You watch the team absorb her again. Welcome her back without hesitation.

They don’t know what it took. They don’t need to. That’s what you told yourself. That was the deal.

But the quiet part of you—the one still curled around your own bruised breath—wonders if there’ll be a moment where someone sees it. Where someone asks.

Not for credit. Not for thanks. Just… to be seen. Just once. By her.

Outside, the sky is starting to darken. The bus waits in the lot. The cold creeps under your sleeves. You step out with the others, hood pulled up, hands in your pockets. Behind you, you hear someone laugh—Mapi again, probably—and then a quiet voice you know too well.

Jana. You don’t turn. You don’t look back. You just walk onto the bus like it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t mean something. Like it didn’t cost something.

You take the window seat near the back and press your forehead to the glass. The outside world blurs. And in the reflection—you catch a glimpse of her boarding behind you. She doesn’t sit beside you. She doesn’t even pause. But her reflection glances in your direction once—and you don’t know if it was accident or instinct. But it lingers. And that, somehow, is worse than if she hadn’t looked at all.

Because it’s enough to keep you hoping. And not enough to make it stop hurting.

The bus pulls into the training ground, and as soon as it stops, the team scatters like water on concrete.

Everyone moves fast. Unspoken routines kick in. Car keys. Kit bags. Spare sliders. There’s laughter, back slaps, light swearing. The glow of a win still hangs over everything—but it’s fading now, giving way to fatigue.

You’re the last to stand. You grab your bag slow, not because you’re sore—but because you’re trying to delay that moment where it’s just you, alone in the cold, pretending to check your phone while you wait for your ride to show up.

You step off the bus. Half the parking lot’s already emptying out—cars reversing, headlights cutting through the dark.

You don’t notice her until she speaks.

“Need a lift?”

You turn, heart catching in your throat for reasons you don’t name. Alexia.

She’s not even looking at you. She’s already halfway to her car, keys loose in her hand like this whole thing is optional.

You hesitate. “I’m okay.”

“Didn’t ask if you were okay,” she replies. “Asked if you needed a ride.”

It’s not friendly. It’s not cold, either. It’s just direct. And that’s worse, somehow.

You sigh. “Yeah. Sure.”

She nods once. Doesn’t wait. Just unlocks the doors and slides in. You follow.

The car is quiet. Uncomfortably so.

No music. No small talk. Just the quiet squeak of the windshield wipers as they clear a few drops of late rain and the faint buzz of the engine under your feet.

She drives like she does everything—precise, measured, no frills.

You stare out the window, counting passing lights. Your bag’s in your lap. Your fingers haven’t stopped fidgeting with the edge of the zipper since you got in.

The silence stretches. Then—

“You didn’t have to sit out.” Her voice is calm. Flat. Not accusatory, but not warm either.

You blink. Look at your hands. “Yeah.”

“She would’ve been fine. Either way.”

You nod once. “Probably.”

“She’s not weak,” she adds.

You let out a quiet breath. “I know.”

Alexia shifts lanes, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping the indicator like she’s thinking through something harder than this conversation.

Then— “She’s better when she thinks no one’s watching.”

You glance at her. “That a compliment or a warning?”

Her lip twitches. Not a smile—more like a shrug in expression form.

“Just a fact.”

Another beat. Then“She looked at you.”

You freeze. Alexia doesn’t elaborate. You say nothing.

You didn’t think anyone noticed. Not during the match. Not that moment. The way Jana’s eyes found you for that breath of a second.

“She does that sometimes,” Alexia says, keeping her eyes on the road. “When she thinks it’s safe.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Because your chest hurts again, and it has nothing to do with your ribs.

“She doesn’t talk much about you,” Alexia continues. “But she doesn’t stop watching you either.”

You grip the edge of your bag tighter. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” she says. Cuts you off without heat.

You let that hang in the air between you. Neither of you fills it. You watch streetlights blur by outside the window.

She pulls into your street. Parks, engine still running.

She doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t ask if you’re getting out. Just sits there. One hand on the wheel. Still. You reach for the handle. But pause.

Your voice comes out too quiet. “Did it matter?”

Alexia doesn’t ask what you mean. She knows.

She says, “Not to everyone.” Then she adds—softer “But it mattered.” You nod. Stare straight ahead.

“See you Monday,” she says.

You open the door. Step out. Close it gently. She drives away without waiting for anything else.

And you stand there, on the curb, in the quiet night with the streetlight hitting just wrong—and for the first time all day, you let yourself feel it.

The pride. The ache. The silence. And the truth of it all

You didn’t disappear. But you did fade for a time. And somehow, Alexia saw it happen. Not with pity. Not with kindness. But with something that almost—almost—felt like respect.

Your phone is screaming when you wake up.

It’s vibrating nonstop, face-down on your nightstand like it’s trying to crawl off and escape the incoming apocalypse.

104 unread messages.

3 missed calls.

2 voice notes flagged by WhatsApp as “potentially unhinged.”

The group chat is on fire.

Mapi

EMERGENCY VIBES MEETING WAKE UP, COWARDS

Mapi i had a dream that we missed our only chance to go on a girls’ trip and i woke up sobbing

Mapi we deserve sun. and alcohol. and a pool where i can float and not think about defensive shape.

Aitana you were already floating in yesterday

Mapi I WAS MANIFESTING

Ingrid

Can we please pick somewhere with decent water pressure this time?

Marta I vote beach. And a grill. And at least one hammock.

Ona I’m not going if there’s a goat.

Patri

what kind of vacations do you think we’re planning???

Vicky someone find a house and post three options. democracy will decide.

Mapi democracy is a scam unless I win. i want a cliff house with ghosts and ocean views and a cursed mirror

Aitana you want Midsommar

Mapi i want freedom

You stay curled under your blanket, scrolling one-eyed through the chat, barely awake, already winded from the sheer volume of nonsense flying around.

Ona is shutting down every questionable idea with surgical precision.

Marta is spamming house listings—some nice, some deeply suspicious.

Patri is trying to get people to commit to a plan like a responsible adult.

Mapi is losing her mind in six languages.

It’s chaos. Beautiful, feral chaos.

You scroll through another dozen messages until someone starts a new poll labeled

THE VIBE

Beach and Wine

Cliff and Fire

Chill and Healing

Feral and Possibly Illegal

Mapi votes twice. You laugh into your pillow.

Then, halfway through a new thread where Aitana suggests shared groceries and someone says “NO WE ARE FREEFROM SPREADSHEETS,” you pause.

Because something tugs at your memory.

Tamariu.

It’s quiet. Coastal. Tucked away. Not flashy. Just peaceful. You went once—years ago. And something about it still sits soft in your chest. You scroll back to the main thread. Type without thinking

Y/N Tamariu’s nice. Small. Chill. Sea’s good. Market coffee slaps.

You send it. No emoji. No tag. Just that. You toss your phone on the bed like it didn’t matter. Like your heart didn’t skip when you pressed send. You go brush your teeth. Come back. The chat has exploded.

Mapi i googled it. 10/10 would haunt someone there

Salam THE WATER LOOKS SO BLUE MY SOUL JUST GOT CLEANSED

Marta i think i found a house. it has a pool and a roof deck and like… eight beds?

Vicky send the link. please, god.

Patri does it have kitchen knives that won’t cut air?

Ingrid And beds not made of concrete?

Mapi DOES IT HAVE A VIBE??

Marta yes. a haunted-but-hot vibe. it’s perfect.

Aitana i’m packing already

Mapi dibs on the bathtub for morning regrets

Ona dibs on locking my door

You scroll back for a second to check your own message.Just curious. And there it is. Not in the replies. Not loud. Not direct.

Jana liked your message.

Just that. No follow-up. No words. Just one quiet, deliberate tap of acknowledgment.

Buried between Mapi yelling “I CALL THE LEFT SIDE OF THE MOON ROOM” and someone sending a playlist full of vibey synth music labeled “vacation moodboard.”

But it’s there. It’s her. And it lands hard. Because after everything— after all the silence. the side-eyes. the tension. the way she never said anything, even when you stepped off the pitch for her— this is the first thing she’s given back.

It’s not big. It’s not loud. But it’s real. And it’s hers.

The chat keeps spiraling. Someone suggests a packing theme. Someone else says they’ll bring tequila and healing crystals.

Mapi tries to form a carpool and offers to drive despite three unresolved parking tickets and a complete lack of GPS trustworthiness.

The whole thing is ridiculous. Loud. Messy. Alive. And you? You don’t type anything else. You just sit there on your bed, watching the chat burn, smile tucked under the edge of your blanket— And think

She saw it. She saw me. Even if she didn’t say anything. Even if no one else noticed. She did.

#fcbfemeni #fc barcelona femeni #ingrid engen #mapi leon #woso soccer #woso fic #barcelona femeni #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #jana fernandez x reader #jana fernandez #alexia putellas #fcb femeni #fcb femení #barca femini x reader #barca women #barca femeni

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greendalean · 11 months ago

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rip jeff winger, you would've loved dad rock and putting women in situationships

rip britta, you would've loved adhd cleaning hacks and shopping on etsy

rip abed, you would've loved 123 movies and being nonbinary

rip troy, you would've loved parallel play and mobile games

rip annie you would've loved lesbianism and colorful planners

rip shirley, you would've loved putting bible verses in your instagram bio and live laugh love signs

rip pierce, you would've loved spreading misinformation and being rude to wait staff

rip dean pelton, you would've loved gender fluidity and tumblr kink blogs

rip ben chang, you would've loved schizoposting and stalking your ex wife on facebook

#community #abed nadir #annie edison #troy barnes #britta perry #jeff winger #shirley bennet #shirley bennett #pierce hawthorne #ben chang #dean pelton #nbc community #community nbc #community show #community tv

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meazalykov · 3 months ago

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goodbye means forever

ingrid engen x f!reader

summary: you cannot stop the inevitable

warnings: angst, reader kinda abandoned ingrid due to a mistake in communication.

things haven’t been the same at barcelona for a while now.

it started with the coaching change. new tactics, new ideas, new rotations that never seemed to favor you or ingrid with it came to romeu.

no matter how hard you trained, how much you gave on the pitch, there was always something missing in the eyes of the staff. it was as if your star quality just dimmed, as if you were pushed into the background.

you were still starting most matches, but it was totally different than from the first season you came. you weren’t playing the full ninety like before, weren’t the first name on the teamsheet anymore.

for ingrid, it was even worse.

as a center back, she relied on consistency, on knowing who was beside her, what the system required from her. the constant shifting of defensive pairings, the coach’s indecision, the sudden preference for younger players…it was exhausting.

she never complained, not in front of the team, but you saw it at home.

the way she sank onto the couch after training, the way she lingered in the shower longer than usual, the frustration simmering just beneath her calm exterior.

at the same time, the drama started coming inside of the dressing room.

it started small. little things between teammates that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow became everything. disagreements in training, tension in the locker room. whispers about who should be playing more, who should be benched.

it was nothing new. competition at a club like barcelona was always fierce, but this time it felt toxic. it wasn’t pushing anyone to be better; it was just wearing everyone down.

the loss against levante proved that, the first league loss since 2023.

you and ingrid were supposed to be some of the best in the world. a left winger who could glide past defenders like they weren’t even there, a center back who could read the game better than anyone.

now, it felt like you were both taking steps backward. as if you were back in lyon and her in wolfsburg.

so you talked.

at home, away from the ears of your teammates, you and ingrid talked about transfers.

"lyon is interested," ingrid told you one night, sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone.

"they want me in the winter window."

"lyon?" you repeated, raising a brow.

"ingrid, that’s back home."

she shrugged, not looking up.

"for you.. not me... so?"

"so... are you really thinking about leaving?"

ingrid sighed, setting her phone down.

"i don’t know. i love barcelona, but this... this isn’t the same club we were promised.. if that is the right way to say it."

she wasn’t wrong.

"it’s just... lyon just has a different– a different level of competition i guess?," you murmured, unsure how to phrase it without sounding dismissive of your ex-club.

she nodded.

"y/n, it’s stability. it’s a chance for me to enjoy football again. isn’t that what we want?"

you hesitated.

"what do you think i should do?"

ingrid looked at you then, really looked at you.

"i don’t know, baby. i don’t think you’re happy here either."

you weren’t. you knew that.

going back to lyon? that wasn’t an option for you. ingrid has never played at lyon before, but you have. you don’t think that lyon is in your path again.

you already did that part of your career, and it never felt like home.

chelsea had been on your mind for a while. keira had an offer from them too, and lucy was already there. it made sense. it felt like the right step for you.

you didn’t say that. not yet.

the winter window dragged on, full of rumors, speculation, constant questions. neither of you spoke about transfers at the club.

you couldn’t. it was an unspoken rule…no distractions.

at home, it became everything. it's the only thing that you and your girlfriend could talk about.

"i think i’m taking it," ingrid told you one night, curling into your side on the couch.

you tensed, fingers pausing where they were tracing lazy circles on her back.

"taking what?"

"the lyon deal. but... not yet. i want to finish the season here."

you swallowed hard, not sure how to respond because it was already done for you. chelsea had sent the final paperwork. you had accepted.

"ingrid..."

she lifted her head slightly, sensing something in your tone.

"what?"

you took a deep breath.

"i’m leaving."

the scandi’s entire body stiffened.

"what?"

"i…i thought you were leaving in the winter, and i—"

you protest.

"when did you decide this?" she asked, sitting up fully now, looking at you with wide, betrayed eyes.

"last week."

she let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head.

"last week? you’ve known for a week, and you didn’t tell me?"

"i didn’t know how," you admitted.

"i thought you were leaving too. i didn’t think we’d.."

"i never said i was leaving in the winter, y/n."

silence.

she exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair.

"so... that’s it? you’re going to london?"

you nodded, stomach twisting.

"and you didn’t think we should talk about this? actually talk about it?"

"we did talk about it."

"not like this!"

your chest ached.

"i didn’t want to make you choose between me and barcelona."

"but you made the choice for me, didn’t you?"

you had no response to that.

the last night before you left was quiet. too quiet.

ingrid lay beside you, but there was a distance between you that felt impossible to close. you wanted to reach for her, to tell her that everything would be okay.

you didn’t because you didn’t know if that was true.

the morning came too fast.

you stood at the door, bags packed, heart heavy. ingrid was in front of you, arms crossed, looking like she was trying so hard not to fall apart.

"we’ll figure this out," you told her.

she swallowed.

"yeah."

"i love you."

she nodded, blinking rapidly.

"i love you too."

you kissed her. soft, lingering. desperate.

then you walked away.

london was different.

chelsea felt strange at first, like you didn’t belong. the rivalry you had with them back in barcelona still lingered in your mind.

keira was here and came along with you, and lucy had been here a season already. they welcomed you with open arms, helped you adjust.

surprisingly, the team? they made it easy.

there was no drama. no tension. no toxic environment.

you could just... play.

it wasn’t perfect, not yet. you still missed ingrid.

you still hated the way the spanish media twisted your transfer into some betrayal, still saw the comments, the hate.

ingrid is receiving hate for the lyon rumors too.. how dare she try and transfer to another club but demand a starting spot once the window has closed? according to the media.

for you, you hoped that you’ll be loved in london. you hope that ingrid can continue to be the best with barcelona until she can transfer clubs.

however, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

london is a breath of fresh air.

masterlist

#ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #norwnt

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adascore · 1 year ago

Text

Sweet Dream Was Over

pairings: lionesses x young!arsenal!reader / beth mead x arsenal!reader / vivianne miedema x arsenal!reader

warnings: swearing. reader acts hostile with viv after being knocked out of the nations league by the netherlands.

author's note: wrote this right after the match to deal with the heartbreak :(( but proud of all of them anyway!

masterlist

•••••••

December, 2023

''They scored a last-minute winner- we're out.'' The staff member read out loud, the scoresheet open on his phone.

The huddle, once filled with echoes of celebration, now hung heavy with disappointment. Their Olympic dreams were over, even after winning the match 6-0. Their win at Wembley had given them hope that they could do it, but the Dutch team pulled through, winning their fixture against Belgium 4-0.

One goal.

One goal is what it took for Y/N's world to fall apart.

Teammates exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the shared sense of loss. The collective effort and triumphs all seemed to dissipate into the air, leaving behind a bitter taste of what could have been.

She could feel Lucy next to her falling to the ground, her older teammate groaning as she took in the news. Y/N patted her shoulder, a lame attempt at comfort.

Sarina started speaking, but she wasn't listening. Her head replayed each moment in their six matches where the young player could have made a difference, but didn't. Y/N knew deep inside that she was not solely to blame for their early exit, football is a team sport and they all had the carry the burden of ''what if”.

As the team dispersed, players walked toward the section where the dedicated fans had stood, expressing their gratitude for the unwavering support they had given them throughout their UWNL journey.

Y/N could feel an arm wrapping around her shoulders, suddenly feeling the warmth of another individual.

As she glanced aside, she smiled at who she found next to her. ''Hey, Beffy.'' The youngster mumbled.

''Hi, darling,'' The Arsenal star sounded just as dejected as she did, ''how you feeling?''

“Not good.” Y/N's usually monotone voice lacked its usual humor, a reflection of the heavy atmosphere.

The winger nodded in understanding. “I know, me too.” She pouted, sharing in the collective disappointment. ''At least we'll get a break next summer.''

''I don't want a break, I wanna play.'' Y/N immediately objected, her tone almost sounding like how a toddler would whine.

Beth remained quiet, knowing that nothing she would say could cure the current heartbreak going through her teammate at the moment. Sometimes, silence spoke louder than words.

In the midst of said silence, Beth gently squeezed Y/N's shoulder, offering a supportive presence.

The next day, the car ride back to North London wasn't the traditional gossip session it normally was. Beth carried the conversation, her younger housemate nodding or muttering a single word once in a while. As they drove through the familiar streets, Beth tried to lighten the mood with a subtle joke or two, attempting to elicit a smile from Y/N. The atmosphere in the car, however, remained heavy with the weight of the recent defeat.

The ringing of Beth's phone interrupted her thoughts on the upcoming Chelsea game, however, a soft smile appeared on her face once she saw who was calling her.

''It's Viv,'' She announced, briefly glancing at her teammate, ''hey, sweetheart.''

Y/N turned her head, attempting to admire the view, but the English weather was making it hard for her. She sighed loudly, the name of the Dutchwoman bringing her back to the group huddle of the day before.

''She's sitting next to me,'' Beth's words pulled her out of her trance, ''sure.''

The blonde tapped her arm, making Y/N turn back around. ''Hmm?'' She confusedly hummed.

''You wanna say something to Viv?'' Beth asked, sweetly.

The teenager simply shook her head, shifting in her seat so she could look out the window again.

The older one frowned at the action, expecting her to want to talk to Vivianne. ''Uh, Viv, she's sleeping, sorry.'' Beth lied, coming up with the quickest excuse she could find.

''Oh, that's okay, I'll see her soon.'' The Dutch striker answered, slight dejection audible in her voice.

They talked for a couple more minutes, but Y/N drowned their conversation out- daydreaming about the day she actually gets to play for Team GB, and winning the gold medal with them.

It was again Beth who took her out of her haze she was in. ''Hey, you okay?''

''Yeah, just tired. Don't feel like talking.'' It had been the longest sentence she had said all day.

Beth nodded understandingly, deciding not to push further, occasionally glancing at Y/N, who seemed lost in her own thoughts.

Eventually, they made it home and their chauffeur helped them with their suitcases.

As soon as they stepped into the house, Y/N swiftly retreated to her room without much interaction. Beth, sensing the weight of the recent disappointment, decided to give her space.

The house felt unusually quiet without the usual banter and laughter. Beth, while sympathizing with her need for solitude, couldn't shake off the somber atmosphere. She figured she would wait for her partner, who wouldn't arrive home for at least another hour.

Beth settled on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television absentmindedly. The sound of a key turning in the front door signaled Vivianne's arrival.

The Brit immediately got up, greeting her girlfriend with a warm embrace.

Vivianne reciprocated, sensing Beth's need for comfort. They held each other for a moment, finding solace in one another's arms.

They moved to the couch, catching up with one another and either offering each other consolation or congratulations. Vivianne noticed the lack of noise in their home- their teenage teammate usually filling the space up with whatever had happened to her that day, and if it wasn't her voice, it was the music from her speakers.

''Is Y/N taking a nap? She must have barely slept if she was already sleeping in the car.'' She asked Beth, frowning.

Her partner sighed at the question. ''Uh, no, she's just… she's having a hard time with it. She really thought we'd gone through to the final four,'' she explained, resulting in a sullen look on Vivianne's face, ''she was actually awake in the car, but she wasn't in the mood to talk.''

Vivianne's expression shifted to one of understanding, but also concern. “I get it, it's tough for her right now.”

''Maybe you can go check on her? We've been home for a while now, maybe that's helped.'' Beth suggested, believing the youngster to have come to terms with it by now, or at least more than in the car.

The striker gently knocked on Y/N's bedroom door, but there was no response. She cautiously pushed it open, finding Y/N laying sideways on her bed, scrolling on her phone.

''Hey,” Vivianne spoke softly, ''can I come in?''

Y/N didn't take her eyes off of her phone, not a single acknowledgement. ''Don't feel like talking.''

''I understand, just wanted to check how you were doing.'' The Dutchwoman sighed.

''Hmm.''

It's like pulling teeth, Vivianne thought to herself.

She hesitated for a moment before deciding to sit on the edge of Y/N's bed. Her eyes stayed fixated on the teenager, hoping to find a sign of openness or willingness to share her feelings.

''Football is cruel. We all wanted to win, and have a chance to qualify. It hurts when it doesn't happen.'' Vivianne tried her best to convey understanding, her voice gentle. ''I wish all of us could go next year.''

It was quiet for a few seconds, the uneasy tension growing. ''Yeah, but we can't.'' Y/N responded, an uncharacteristic harsh tone in her voice.

Vivianne was taken aback by the sudden change, never having heard that tone come out of the girl's mouth. ''I get it, it hurts.''

''You already got to go to the Olympics. It's not fair.''

The older woman sighed at the frustration steaming off of her younger teammate. ''I know it doesn't feel fair, but you have to keep pushing forward. There will be more tournaments, more chances.''

''I wanted to go with Beth. She didn't get to go last time.'' Y/N wasn't directly answering to what Vivianne was telling her, still present in her own world of disappointment.

The older one could sense the resentment. ''Y/N, I get it, I really do. It's not the end, though. You'll have more opportunities, and you'll get to share those moments with Beth.'' She spoke softly.

''Who even says that? The next one is in 2028, Beth might not even play by then anymore.'' The teenager retorted.

''2028 is still a possibility. She has a lot more football left in her, and I'm sure you'll get to experience all of it together.''

Y/N rolled her eyes, dismissing Vivianne's attempt at reassurance. “Just save it. Your team already ruined our chances. Don't pretend like you care about my opportunities.”

“Come on, don-“

Y/N seemed stuck in her moment of frustration. It was hard to think about the future, when the present had become such a huge letdown. ''Viv, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but can you please leave? You're just making me more upset.''

It felt equal to being slapped in the face, in Vivianne's opinion. However, she nodded and gave Y/N's foot a little pat before quietly leaving the room.

Beth noticed Vivianne emerging from Y/N's room with a weary expression. “I think I made it worse.” Vivianne admitted, sitting next to Beth on the couch.

“Why? What did you say?” Beth asked, concerned.

“That it's tough, and that I wished that all of us could go. She just thinks it's really unfair that I already went to the Olympics, meanwhile she and you have never been.” Vivianne explained, her tone dejected.

Beth furrowed her brows, a mixture of frustration and empathy in her eyes. “She's not in the mood to listen, huh?”

Vivianne nodded, “Yeah, she's being a bit… resentful, I don't know.”

The Brit wrapped her arm around her partner, pulling her in as she caressed her arms. “Just give her a bit time. She'll come around. Losing hits her hard. I think it's been a bit much with the World Cup and the Champions League.”

Vivianne agreed. “Yeah, you're right.”

As dinner time approached, the Dutchie decided to prepare a meal, hoping it might lift the heavy atmosphere in the house. She opted for Y/N's favorite dish, a small attempt to lighten her mood. However, the teenager remained in her room, showing no interest in joining them.

Beth decided to bring the plate to the youngster's room, figuring she still wasn't ready to be in other people's presence.

A soft knock on Y/N's door preceded Beth's gentle voice, “Hey, I brought you some dinner.”

Y/N, still upset but hungry, mumbled an acknowledgment.

Beth smiled, and put the tray of food on her desk. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said, trying to break the tension. “It's your favorite.”

Y/N glanced at the food, her expression softening slightly. “Thanks, Beth.”

“Viv made it.” She revealed.

The younger one chuckled. “Yeah, I figured that out pretty quickly.”

“How come?”

“It looks and smells nice.”

“Hey!” Beth jokingly slapped her arm, offended. “You liked that omelet I made you a few weeks ago.”

“I was being polite, Beffy.” Y/N said, a small grin on her face.

The offended woman rolled her eyes. “Whatever, enjoy your nice-smelling food.”

Beth lingered by the doorway, wanting to see her younger companion eat the food with her own eyes.

“You know, Viv spent quite some time making sure it's perfect.“ She spoke up once she noticed Y/N just picking at the food.

Her gaze shifted from the plate to Beth, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “That's very sweet. I'll thank her later.”

Beth smiled, appreciating the subtle shift in her youngster's demeanor. “I'm sure she'd like that. She put a lot of care into it.”

As Y/N began to eat, Beth hesitated before speaking again. “You know, it's okay to be upset about the game. We all are. But you don't have to take it out on her.”

The teenager looked up, meeting Beth's gaze. There was a moment of vulnerability in her eyes, a silent admission that the disappointment weighed heavier than she let on. “I know,” she whispered, “it's just too much at the moment.”

“I understand, lovey,” Beth stepped away from the door, walking over to Y/N, “we're here for you, okay? You can come talk to us when you feel ready.” She pinched her cheek, hoping her affection showed her genuineness.

Y/N couldn't help but crack a small smile. “I know, Beffy. Thanks.” She mumbled between bites, grateful for the comforting presence of her older teammate.

“You can come and put your plate in the dishwasher once you're done, and maybe apologize to someone…” Her eyebrow was raised.

The Arsenal prodigy chuckled, knowing exactly who Beth was referring to. “Yeah, I will.”

“She doesn't like when people are upset with her, especially you.” Beth admitted.

“I'm not upset with her. I just wasn't ready to be told that everything would be fine and that there would be more chances to go.”

Beth smiled at Y/N's words. “She cares about you a lot, you know? I understand it was a little too early- I'm also still upset. But she meant well, she hates it when you're sad. She wasn't trying to tell dismiss your feelings or anything, she just wants to be here for you.”

Y/N sighed, appreciating her perspective. “Yeah, I know. I'll talk to her later.”

“Good. Now, enjoy your meal, and take your time.” Beth said, leaving Y/N to her dinner and thoughts.

“Does she like it?” Vivianne asked as soon as her girlfriend walked back into the dining room, eager to know the answer.

Beth nodded. “She's eating from it, and said she would thank you later.”

Her partner smiled, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing her features. “I'm glad. It's hard seeing her upset.”

“She's still young. You know how these young players get when they lose.” Beth noted.

“Yeah, but still. She also deserves a chance to go to the Olympics, I'm sad for her.” Vivianne knew how much the teenager worked each day, one and off the pitch.

“I know, but we knew from the start that it was only gonna be one team.”

Vivianne nodded. “I just hope she'll understand that it's not about her abilities or efforts. Sometimes, it's just the way things go in this sport.”

Beth squeezed her hand in reassurance. “She knows deep down.”

The couple started their own dinner, taking their minds off the last couple of days and just focus on one another.

It was about two hours later that the Arsenal homegrown came out of her room to go put her plate in the dishwasher- most of that time was spend trying to find the right words to apologize to her Dutch housemate.

As she walked into the living room, she could see that the tv was running, but neither half of the pair was there. Y/N hesitated for a moment, debating whether to disappear into her room again. However, she resumed her walk to the kitchen, not wanting a dirty plate in her room.

In the kitchen, she was met with Vivianne, who had her back turned while being busy trying to make tea.

The teenager awkwardly moved to the dishwasher, and put her plate in, closing it afterwards. The noise startled her teammate.

Vivianne turned around to where Y/N was standing, her hand on her heart. ''Jezus, you scared me.'' She sighed, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

''Sorry.'' Y/N nervously smiled.

The older woman simply shook her head. ''Don't worry, you just caught me off guard.'' She chuckled.

''Oh, okay.'' The youngster cringed internally at her tense answer. Vivianne offered a smile at the kid's obvious distress, but went back to focusing on her tea-making.

The kitchen atmosphere felt slightly awkward, although it might just have been all in the youngest's mind. Y/N cleared her throat, attempting to break the silence. “Uh, thanks for the food. It was really nice.”

Vivianne turned to face Y/N, her expression softening. “You're welcome. I'm glad you liked it.”

''Uhm, Viv,'' she started fiddling with her hands, ''I'm sorry for earlier. I was upset about the outcome of the matches, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You and your team really deserve to go to the Olympics. I'm really sorry.''

The Dutchwoman appreciated the apology, relieved Y/N recognized her behavior. ''Thank you for saying that. I understand it's a tough situation, and I would have had a hard time with it as well, so don't worry about it.'' She told her with a warm smile.

''Thanks, Viv.'' Y/N moved from where she was standing, approaching Vivianne and wrapping her arms around the striker's waist. ''And congratulations, by the way. I'm really happy for you. You worked really hard.''

Vivianne welcomed her hug, reciprocating with a gentle squeeze. ''Thank you, that means a lot to me.''

The tension from earlier had disappeared, and Y/N could feel all the anxiety from earlier, leaving her body.

''Oh, mijn meisjes!'' (''My girls!'') Beth broke the silence, running over and joining the embrace, relieved to see Y/N having followed up on her words. ''I'm so happy to see this. Only smiley faces!'' She exclaimed, her infectious enthusiasm spreading through the room.

''Beth, we were having a moment.'' Vivianne said in a monotone voice, but with a smile on her face.

The Brit jokingly rolled her eyes. ''I'm joining your moment.''

Y/N and Vivianne gave each other a glance before speaking. ''No!''

ideas are always welcome for this series!

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal x reader #engwnt

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gunnerfc · 1 year ago

Text

First Time | Hayley Raso x Matildas!Reader (18+) [Wednesday]

Summary: You and Hayley finally take the next step in your relationship when you are roomed together during a Matildas’ camp [r plays in the NWSL]

Warnings: bottom hayley, top reader, oral (hayley receiving), she’s a tease lol

WC: 3.2k

AN: Ignore that I've used the same title for a different fic with the same plot, I could not for the life of me come up with something different 💀

Night After Night masterlist

You huffed as you opened the hotel door that led to the room you’d be staying in for the next few days in Sydney, dropping to the bed the moment you sat your things by the unclaimed bed. Ever since you got called up to the Matildas, the traveling had yet to get easier given you had to fly in from America. You got in later than most of your teammates minus those who also played in the NWSL so you had the room to yourself at the moment, though you could tell whoever your roommate was was already in camp.

You didn’t look too hard at the belongings on the other side of the room, though if you had you would have realized you were rooming with your girlfriend. You and Hayley had been dating since the start of the World Cup last year and with the long distance between Spain and America, Tillies camp offered you a short time together.

Because of the long distance, you two have yet to take the next step in your relationship. You two had made small comments about it happening at the next camp if you were roomed together but it seemed the staff were out to get you as you were never paired together. But now, everything was falling into place for you and your girlfriend to finally have sex.

You sat up on the bed and sighed as you stretched your arms, the long flight was starting to catch up to you. You took some time to make yourself a little more comfortable in the room and put some clothes away before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed. You opted out of the small team bonding session since you got in so late and needed to sleep enough for training the next morning.

Just as you exited the bathroom, the hotel door opened, making you jump slightly at the unexpectedness. You recognized Hayley immediately despite her having her back facing you as she carried on the conversation she was having with Ellie and Teagan. An idea popped into your head when she remained in the doorway and had yet to notice you were so close.

You caught Ellie’s eye and quickly raised a finger to your lips to ‘shh’ her which earned you a small smirk from the blonde. You stuck your hands out to grab her waist, yelling slightly as your hands touched her. A yell left her lips as she quickly turned, catching you with a bright smile on your face.

“What was that for,” the winger groaned, earning loud laughter from your teammates in the hallway. “Dickhead,” she mumbled as she hit your arm before turning to tell Ellie and Teagan goodnight.

You laughed as she passed you but followed her toward the beds. Before you could process it, Hayley’s arms were around your neck as she pulled you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around her body, holding her close to you as you rested your forehead on her shoulder. You lifted your head slightly until your eyes were locked with her before they dropped slightly to land on her lips.

Hayley moved her hands to rest on the sides of your neck before pulling you in for a long kiss. You hated playing in different leagues in two different counties, being long-distance sucked but you two made it work. You cherished the time you got to spend together during camps and wouldn't take it for granted.

Your lips moved against hers slowly as you pulled her as close as you could to your body. Your lips fought each other before Hayley pulled back when air became an issue. You leaned forward in an attempt to chase her, wide eyes and your chest heaving slightly as you did so.

“I didn’t know you were here already,” she mumbled as she moved a hand to rest on your chest, her eyes still lingering on your lips.

“I got in not that long ago and came straight here to get ready for bed,” you explained, your thumbs rubbing circles against her clothes where they rested around her waist.

“Give me a minute and I’ll join you,” she cooed as her hands ran down your arms to rest on your wrists. You reluctantly let go and moved to let her get her things to change. You jokingly rolled your eyes and laughed softly when she made her way to the bathroom to change, knowing you’d seen her change countless times before and after games.

You returned to the bed you first sat on, this time moving to get under the cover as you waited for Hayley. You quickly set an alarm for the next morning before placing your phone on the charge on the nightstand between both beds. The forward joined you a few moments later, quickly tossing her clothes into her suitcase before joining you in bed.

You opened your arm to let her rest her head on your chest, your arm wrapping around her once she was comfortable. Your eyes fought to stay open, knowing you didn’t get much time to spend with your girlfriend. “We have all camp, y/n/n,” Hayley whispered softly as if she could read your thoughts.

You placed a quick kiss on the top of her head before your eyes closed, muttering a small ‘I love you’ before sleep took over. Hayley whispered it back even though she knew you were out and she wasn’t far behind you.

You moaned softly when your alarm blared in the morning, light peeking in from the curtains, helping to wake you up. Sometime in the middle of the night, the two of you moved around and ended up in a spooning position, your arm resting softly on Hayley's waist. You were the first to wake up, turning slightly to snooze your alarm before it could wake the forward.

You turned back around and moved her hair slightly away from her neck and the side of her face. You leaned forward before placing soft kisses along her cheek before dropping a few to her jaw on your way to her neck. “Baby,” you murmured against her neck in an effort to wake her up.

Hayley whined softly as she woke up, but that didn’t stop your light kisses. Her soft whine turned into a low moan when you sucked a bit harder on her neck, a small hickey to form in its place later. She rolled onto her back, forcing you to pull away from her neck before she was moving to straddle your hips.

The forward pulled you by the front of your shirt into a sitting position as her lips locked with yours. This kiss was different than any other make-out you two had, it felt needier as her hands tilted your head slightly to make the angle better for her. Hayley pulled back slightly, lifting her shirt in the process and tossing it to the unoccupied bed, leaving her top half completely bare.

Her lips were back on yours before you realized and you moved your hands to her bare waist, earning a small gasp from her at the feeling of your cool hands on her body. You two were too in your own world, lips fighting for dominance though neither of you really winning. Her hips rolled softly against you as you held her tightly.

You were rudely interrupted when your alarm went off again after the short snooze, both of you pulled back in surprise at the loud noise. You fumbled with your phone as you turned the alarm off completely this time before dropping it back to the nightstand. You refocused your attention on your girlfriend as you forced your eyes away from her bare chest. You licked your lips as you locked eyes with Hayley, both of you slightly out of breath from the kiss.

She smirked slightly as she watched you catch yourself looking down, doing your best to avoid looking any lower. “We should probably get ready, baby,” she teased, earning a fast nod from you which made her smirk grow. She was going to have so much teasing you today.

She moved off of you and reached for her shirt that she tossed, taking her time to put it back on. Just as she turned to face you, you quickly jerked your head to the front, your face heating up knowing you’d been caught. Hayley kept her reaction to herself but leaned in to give you a quick kiss before grabbing her training kit and heading to the bathroom.

When you hear the door close, you fall back to the pillow with a quiet groan. You weren’t sure how you would function being in the same room with her for the entire camp. After a quick breather, you got up to change as well, taking your time to calm yourself down. Just as you finish slipping your shoes on, Hayley exits the bathroom and joins you at the edge of the bed to put her shoes on as well.

You lean back on your hands as you watch her, your eyes subconsciously dropping to shamelessly scan her body. Hayley turned her head in your direction, raising an eyebrow as she sat up fully. “Y’know, if you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she teased as she stood up, offering her hand to pull you from the bed.

You laugh softly at her comment but opt to give her a quick kiss as a response. You both moved to grab your bags and phones before heading out into the hallway and down the hall toward the conference room being used by the team for breakfast. You two walked hand-in-hand, swinging your interlocked hands between with bright smiles on your face. As you enter the conference room, teasing comments fly your way from your teammates earning an eye roll from Hayley and a middle finger from you.

Breakfast was uneventful aside from Kyra pranking Steph and Caitlin, both of who are used to the young midfielder’s jokes. The bus ride was filled with laughter from most of the team as Alanna made everyone use a TikTok filter to pass the time. You kept to yourself as you laced your boots in the locker room, more focused on doing your best to prove you should start in the upcoming match against England.

You looked up as you finished tying your boots, catching Hayley’s eye who was sitting right across from you. The forward winked at you before she stood up, you quickly hid your face from her so she wouldn’t see your reaction but she didn’t need to see your face to know she affected you. The team quickly finished getting ready and slowly started filtering out of the locker room and you made an effort to be one of the first ones out to avoid any more teasing from your girlfriend.

Once everyone was on the pitch, the training staff handed out warm-up instructions and sent everyone on a jog around the pitch to get everyone's legs moving. You did your best to stay away from Hayley but she seemed to be everywhere you were. After warm-ups, everyone was divided into small groups, and at first, you were thankful you weren't in the same group as Hayley. That is until one of the trainers said you’d be playing a small scrimmage and your group would be against Hayley’s first.

You knew as a defender you had to do everything you could to keep her from scoring and she was going to do anything she could to get past you. For the most part, your team kept possession and you didn’t have to deal with Hayley but that was until her side won possession and she had taken off down your side. You kept up with her the whole time but when she smirked and sent another wink your way, you misread her step and she managed to get around you. You sighed thankfully when Teagan saved her shot but that didn’t make you feel any better.

“Better luck next time, yeah,” the forward teased when she walked past you, despite not scoring she was still proud of herself for distracting you.

You sent her a glare that had no malice behind it and moved to the sidelines as the next two groups took the pitch. You took a seat to catch your breath and a water bottle came into your vision, your girlfriend standing above you. “Thanks,” you huffed as you took the bottle and turned the bottle to pour water into your mouth.

Hayley chuckled to herself as she took a seat next to you, practically invading your personal space. Her hand moved to rest on your thigh and you had to fight from flexing the muscle under her touch. She was making it her mission to tease you as much as she could during training and she was succeeding. You needed training to go by faster than it was but to your dismay, it seemed to drag on for eternity.

When Tony finally called it a day hours later, you were thankful. You could only handle so much teasing from Hayley mixed with the demanding training. You spent little time changing your shoes and were back on the bus before anyone could realize you had left the locker room. You sat in your seat by the window with your head tilted back against the seat as you took deep breaths. Mainly from how much running you just did but also because of how turned on you were by your girlfriend.

Your teammates started filling the bus and you could see Hayley’s teasing smirk as she walked down the aisle. You didn’t meet her eye when she dropped to the seat next to you despite her waiting for you to look at her. She laughed to herself when you didn’t budge and gave your thigh a light squeeze before joining in a conversation with Steph and Mary.

You were quiet the whole ride back to the bus, your thoughts racing with different images that had your skin on fire. You swallowed lightly when the bus pulled up to the hotel and you were pulled from your thoughts when Hayley grabbed your hand. You let her pull you off the bus and to the elevator, her squeezing your hand every so often.

You needed the two of you to be behind closed doors as soon as possible but of course, the elevator was taking its sweet time. You sighed softly when you were finally headed up to the team’s floor, your hand still tightly interlocked with Hayley's. You had to hold back a groan when she purposely missed the electronic lock with the hotel key, knowing she was doing it to get a reaction out of you.

As soon as the door was opened, you were pushing both of you through the threshold, and all but slammed the door shut behind you. You threw your kit bag to the floor and pulled her’s off her shoulder to join yours. Before she could realize what was happening, her back was pressed to the wall next to the bathroom door, your lips locked with hers in a heated kiss. Your hands pulled at her clothes as your lips easily won their fight for dominance.

Hayley moaned into the kiss and you picked her up, her legs wrapping around your waist as you moved into the room. You lightly dropped her on the bed that had since been made by housekeeping, hovering your body over hers as you moved your lips to her neck. This time you left harsher kisses, leaving deep marks along her skin as you did so.

Her head fell back against the pillows as you pushed her shirt up her body, pulling back slightly to lift it over her head. With her shirt out of the way, you had more access to her bare body to leave more bruise-like marks. You moved your lips back to hers as you ran a finger under the waistband of her sports bra, a sign that you wanted it off her.

You sat back some to give her room to take it off which she quickly did and you back in a similar situation to the one you were in this morning. This time though, you didn’t hide your eyes as you stared at her naked torso. You placed a few kisses in between her breasts as you kissed down her body, pushing the remaining articles of clothing to her ankles, which she kicked to the floor.

You left deep kisses along her hip before placing a few on the inside of her thigh, earning a low moan as one of her hands tangled in your hair. You could tell how turned on she was from her teasing as well once you moved your head slightly, now face to face with her wet cunt. You placed small kisses on her sensitive clit, and a loud gasp fell from Hayley’s lips as her back arched off the bed.

You ran your tongue through her dripping folds, her grip on your hair tightening as she pushed you closer to her. You hooked one hand around her thigh, the other trailing upwards to grope her breast, pulling her hardened nipple slightly.

“F-fuck,” Hayley stuttered as you sped up your movements, your nose hitting her clit each time you licked up. You looked up between her legs, meeting her eye just as she looked down at you. A loud moan escaped her lips when you locked eyes, her hips bucking slightly as you pleasure her.

“Please,” she begged, her hips bucking ever more as she was brought closer to her release. “I’m so-,” a loud moan interrupted her as you sucked her clit, pulling back with a small ‘pop.’

You kept your movements consistent as you fucked her, your grip on her thigh tightening as her back arched even higher. With a few more rough thrusts of your tongue, Hayley moaned loudly as she came all over your mouth. You kept going, helping her through her orgasm before she pulled slightly on your hair.

You pulled away from her before moving back up to give her a long kiss. You both moaned at the taste of her on your lips, your tongue slipping past her lips. You pulled back to let you both breathe, it was your turn to wear the teasing smirk.

“Next time, don’t trip me up like that, baby,” you taunted, leaning down to give her one more kiss.

Before you could process, she had the two of you flip, in the same position from this morning. “If this is how you react, I should do it more often,” she smirked as she pulled your shirt over your head.

You let her have her way with you, happy to finally have taken the next step with her. Though you both seemingly forgot you were still in camp for a bit until you joined the team for dinner later on in the evening, necks covered in hickies. You two heard more teasing from your teammates at dinner than you could have ever imagined.

#woso x reader #auswnt x reader #matildas x reader #real madrid women x reader #hayley raso x reader #hayley raso

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sydnikov · 1 year ago

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Carry Me Home || S. Aho

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Sebastian Aho/fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Sebastian Aho is frustrated with his team’s loss against the New York Islanders. He takes it out on you in a rather primitive way.

Warnings: 18+ smut smut smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kiddos!), oral (f receiving), bits of dom!Sepe, breeding kink if you squint, cursing, angst, not much fluff in this one

A/N: Surprise! My first smut fic. I hate myself. I blame the Hurricanes playing like shit for making me write this. As usual, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!! I certainly didn’t (kidding) P.S. Title is from “All The Small Things” by Blink 182

*Minors, you are responsible for your own media consumption. That being said, I will not block you for interacting with this fic or my blog, but always be aware of the content you choose to consume and the consequences it can have.

Sebastian Aho feels fire in his veins. His skin is flushed, hot to the touch, with his hair smoking from sweat-soaked strands boiling into steam. He is a steadily growing inferno, biding his time before unleashing his wrath.

There was no other time in his life he could think of where he had ever felt so frustrated, so angry.

Painful grunts and the sounds of sticks hitting the ice so hard they break echo in his ears, just as the sound of the puck hitting the goal post every time he shot it did, too. In the back of his mind, Sebastian knows that winning takes more than just one player, but yet all he can think is my fault my fault my fault.

He is an alternate captain, after all. It’s his job to help lead his team, to get them the wins they deserve. So ever since the start of this season, why had he been failing to do so?

Sebastian couldn’t dominate the Islanders on his own no matter how much he wanted to… But there is one person he knows he can.

As the Fin aggressively unties his skates, he imagines the strands of your hair tangled in his fingers as the laces get stuck on his glove. As he rips off his undershirt, he imagines doing the same to your bra.

When the reporters ask the same question they do after every game, “What could you have done better?” and pretend not to flinch when he shoots them a glare, he imagines your wide-eyed gaze as he tells you, c’mon, you can take it, yeah?

He kind of wishes he could say the same thing to these fucking reporters as he imagines giving one or two or preferably all of them a black eye—in a different scenario, of course.

Oh, but you are so good to him. He doesn’t deserve you. There is absolutely nothing in this world that can take you away from him, not now and not ever.

The winger speaks to no one except for the coaching staff as he eventually storms out of the locker room, exchanging a few words about practice and something about more line changes before he is finally let go.

Sebastian doesn’t want to think about hockey anymore. He wants to think about you.

Meanwhile, you were planted outside said locker room with a few of the wives and girlfriends, leaning against the wall while you all tried to talk about anything other than the disaster of a game you’d just watched.

It was hard watching the person you love get so upset and disappointed, especially when knowing how much pressure he puts on himself to be a leader of his team. There were many nights laying in bed, his head resting on your chest, that he revealed the bits and pieces of his carefully shielded heart how responsible he feels for his team’s performance.

How every loss chips away at his self-respect, leaving him feeling broken and lost as he struggles to find a way to get his team back on top. He was only one man, yet felt the weight of a thousand suns bearing down on his shoulders, relying on him to score.

And score he tries. Everything he could do he does; he racks up the points, he makes assists, but all his efforts still couldn’t bring them out on top.

You know Sebastian feels worthless, and you aren’t sure how he’s going to express it as you spot him marching up to you.

“Hey,” is your first word to him, spoken softly and carefully before he pulls you into his chest. The first thing you notice is that he feels like a human furnace; the chill you’d become used to after sitting next to an ice rink for over two hours is immediately replaced with warmth, and you can’t help but bury your head into his chest at the feel of it. “I’m sorry, Sepe.”

The pressure he so often feels immediately dissipates at the sound of your voice. Sebastian releases a strained sigh and curls over your body in a protective embrace, his mind racing with millions of words at a million miles per hour but the only ones he can hear are mine mine mine as you look up at him with unbridled affection.

“Kulta,” My honey, he murmurs, wet strands of hair falling over his eyes as he looks down at you. “You’re still here,” he can’t help but say, almost as if he were expecting you to be gone because he didn’t win.

You soften even more if that were possible. “I would never leave you,” you say with conviction, your words meant to be taken innocently yet all Sebastian could think of is the image of you under him as he thrusts into you, making you say the same words over and over again.

“What was that?”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. C’mon, pretty girl, say it for me again,”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He needs to get you home, immediately.

Lacing his fingers through yours, the Finn presses a heated kiss to your lips, groaning so deep in his chest it has your face flushing a beautiful shade of red which has him thinking truly awful things before the two of you leave the arena.

Sebastian wants nothing more than to take care of you, and thinks briefly that maybe this is a developing unhealthy coping mechanism in the works, but as he opens the car door for you and locks eyes on the way your lips flash him a sweet smile, he can’t find it in himself to care.

You’re just so innocent; it’s in your nature to see the good in everything, to see the good in him despite his less-than holy thoughts. While he doesn’t consider his sex life with you vanilla by any means, he almost feels guilty for all the degrading ways he was thinking of you.

Sebastian was not on top of his game tonight, but he was determined, now, to be on top of you.

Your mind, however, is running rampant in all of the ways you think this night could go, and with Sebastian’s large hand splayed across your thigh as he drives the two of you home, you’re fairly positive in your understanding of what your role is going to be.

It’s funny because you’ve been with him for several years now and he still never fails to get your heart racing. Everything about him has you feeling a certain type of way, especially now as you catch shy peeks of his side profile; clenched jaw, ruffled hair, and blazing eyes…

You can’t help but rub your thighs together, a pleasurable tingle starting low in your belly and spreading warmth throughout the rest of your body as Sebastian gives you a look that spells trouble.

He adjusts the hold he has on your thigh, gripping the flesh just a little bit tighter. “Gonna get you home soon, don’t worry,” he says, almost to himself. It has your eyes widening and your heart beating faster because the tone of his voice is almost feral.

Sebastian is not what you would consider rough in bed. He has his moments, where he uses his strength to flip you over or manhandle you into whatever position he wants, but he’s never been the type to fuck you against a wall or anything of the sorts.

And as dominating as he could sometimes be, his softer side more than made up for it. Sweet but deep kisses to your lips, teeth lovingly nipping marks onto the sides of your breasts, hands roaming all over your body with gentle squeezes and caresses, and a body that seldom ran out of stamina making sure your pleasure always comes before his.

His mouth, however… Sebastian’s mouth is the word ‘dirty’ personified. Sinful lips creating words you’d never want your mother to hear, and a tongue that knew every weak spot on your body to leave you shivering in its wake.

In fact, you couldn’t help but remember the last time his mouth was put to use. Twas the night before, actually, where his body was restless and his solution to getting his energy out was sliding down the length of your body with whispered praises, slipping your panties to the side with his pointer finger, and attaching his lips first thing to your clit—

The sound of your name from the very voice of the man you were just fantasizing about interrupts your thoughts. You quickly turn to find that Sebastian already powered off and exited the vehicle and is holding your door open for you, looking at you with slight concern.

He says your name again when you fail to respond, suddenly starstruck.

Sebastian is just and his arms are so and his lips so full and kissable and him—

The next thing you know, the Finn has wrapped his large hands around your waist and is yanking you out of the car, mouth swooping down to meet your eager lips.

He kisses the life out of you, simultaneously slamming the car door shut so he can press you hard against it. The thought that you have any semblance of control right now slips through your rattled brain not unlike the slickness you can feel dripping down your legs.

He was the epitome of domineering, in no mood to let you think you had any say in what he is going to do to you. Tonight is about him needing a release, and the only way he is going to get it is through you.

Or, rather, by him burying himself so deep inside you you wouldn’t be able to walk for days. The thought has his cock throbbing, unable to resist pressing his hips into the heat between your thighs.

The feeling of his dick against your most sensitive spot has you releasing a breathless whine, and then your kisses become harder against his lips, more desperate.

Sebastian bites at your bottom lip, his own rising into a smirk once he feels rather than hears the resulting gasp catch in your throat. He lets one of his hands rise from the grip he has on your ass to slide carefully around your neck, firmly grasping the front of your throat to bring you closer.

The action has you flat-out whimpering, your hands sinking into the winger’s hair, tugging at the strands so hard he hisses. Now, the Finn is no submissive by any means, but never have you seen him so, so… Dominant.

You decide right then and there that you rather like this side of him.

“Sepe,” you try to speak, but the words catch in your throat again as his kisses move from your lips, past his hand still gripping your throat, and down to the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “—I can’t,”

He hums, your pleas merely background noise as he sucks red marks into your skin. “Can’t what? Gonna have to be more specific, nappula,”

Button. Oh, you are so fucked. Literally. His button. He called you his button. His his his.

Unable to take his slow teasing, you tear him away from your neck to bring him back to your eager lips, a desperate sound crawling up your throat as his hands move to bury themselves in your hair.

“Take me to bed, please,”

Sebastian practically melts at your words. Knowing your desperation, he moves his hands back from your hair down to your thighs, tapping once and then twice where you finally got the memo to jump. He curls your legs over his hips, sliding one hand under your ass with the other pressing supportively against the small of your back.

The five-second walk to the front door has the hand previously holding your back trembling as he fumbles with his keys. Finally opening the door after forcing himself to focus, despite the feeling of your mouth leaving teasing nips and kisses, Sebastian mutters a long string of curses as he hurriedly steps into the house, swiftly kicking the door shut behind him.

“Such a fucking tease,” he rasps into your ear, his free hand grasping onto the back of your neck to bring you back to his lips. He kisses you sensually, reveling in the softness of your body molding perfectly against his. “Bet you’ve been waiting for me all night.”

You nod rapidly in agreement, hands trying to find purchase on the smooth lines of his suit so you could begin tearing it off of him. “I’m always wanting you, Sepe,”

Sebastian hisses another curse, and the next thing you know your back is landing softly on the large mattress that is his bed. He gives you no time to gather your thoughts before he’s climbing on top of you. His calloused hands slip under your shirt to remove it, granting him full access to knead at your tits.

The forward kisses you again, tongue tracing lines across your bottom lip before forcefully pushing his way in. You can feel him everywhere and nowhere all at once, a strangled sound escaping your throat as his hips start grinding into the throbbing heat between your legs.

“Seb,” you try, back arching as his hands skillfully move to unclasp your bra. “Oh fuck, Seb, please,”

The sound of your cries has Sebastian grinning wolfishly, your desperation filling him with a sick sense of pride. “Please what?”

Suddenly, you understand his teammates just a little bit more when they would call him a little shit and other various, foul nicknames in front of you.

Clumsily grabbing one of his hands from where it was still massaging your tit, your legs fall open as you press his palm directly over the material of your pants, almost positive they were wet. “Please just touch me, please—”

Your babbling is interrupted when he begins peppering your face with soothing kisses, apologetically rubbing his thumb over your nipple while the other makes its way under your pants and down to your slit, thoroughly soaked with your arousal.

“This all for me?” he coos as two fingers run through your lips, taking the natural lubricant to rub tight circles over your clit. “You’re soaked, kisu.”

The resulting mewl that escapes you afterwards lives up to the name he just called you. Kitty.

Sebastian watches your reactions with hooded eyes, taking note of the way your breath hitches when he rubs your clit a certain way; he knows the ins and outs of your body by now, but every time you have sex there is still something new to learn, and there is nothing Sebastian is if not eager to learn. He’s particularly fond of the way you arch into him as he sinks two fingers inside you, grinning as you cry out while the calloused pads of his fingertips curl against the spongy wall of nerves nestled near the front of your walls.

With panting breaths and strangled moans, your thighs shake as his thumb finds its way back to your clit and rubs it in circles the same way his fingers are doing inside you. Your stomach feels as if it’s in knots, hands gripping the sheets beneath you so hard they’ve gone numb, and your mind is blissfully blank except for the repetitive thought of more more more.

You echo this sentiment to him, to which he merely picks up the pace in response. It’s almost too much but a good too much, like the peak of your pleasure is just climbing higher and higher, almost impossible to reach but you can feel it right there—

Suddenly, all pleasurable movements stop. You snap your head up, aghast, cheeks flushed with arousal and now irritation because were were so fucking close and now all you’re left with is a disappointed burn between your legs. “Sebastian, what the actual fuck,”

The very man himself licks his lips, looking all too pleased with the way you’re relying on him to help you finish. “Patience,” is all he says, flashing you a shiny smile before skilled hands are sliding the rest of your pants and underwear down your legs. Instinctively your legs try to close at the feel of cold air hitting your pussy, but Sebastian is having none of it as he swiftly pries your thighs back apart.

“Shy?” He teases, stroking your inner thigh before pulling his shirt off his head. You have a reply prepared, but quickly lose your train of thought as his torso is revealed; Sebastian is all hard planes of muscle, golden skin with a light dusting of body hair, and so distinctly male he has you practically drooling as you reach out to trail your hands down his chest.

“You’re beautiful,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his waist to bring his body down on top of yours. You want, no, need him close to you. While your veins were still full of liquid fire, your nerves so hot that every brush of his skin against yours left you quaking, there is still a certain amount of intimacy that could always be found within your actions towards each other.

A certain intimacy that leads to whispered praises like these; Sebastian flushes, momentarily forgetting the role he vowed to take after the agony that had been wreaking havoc in his mind since his team’s loss. “Kulta,” he says, breath hitching as he presses his lips to your neck to taste the light sheen of sweat covering your skin. He kisses your body like you are his shrine, sworn to you in utter devotion. “Kaunis tyttöni.”

My beautiful girl. Every word from that point onward tumbles past his lips in Finnish, because in what other way can he describe the beauty you encapsulate? You are an angel, after all, his angel, in fact, and his only. With his hands settling on the curves of your waist to further cement his point, he continues his assault on your neck with teeth and tongue all while he grinds his covered dick against your bare pussy.

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me, please,”

And just like that, the indescribable need to claim claim claim takes over his body once more. His eyes darken, the lust swallowing his senses moving him to quickly strip the slacks he wore off his legs, and then he reaches into his boxers to pull out his dick.

You could never get over the sight of his cock, you think momentarily as you stare, mesmerized by the flushed head and leaking tip. He took on more girth than length, and to you it’s nothing less than perfect because Sebastian is the only man who has ever gotten you to the point where you’re unable to walk the next day.

Maybe that speaks more of his knowledge of the female anatomy compared to your exes, but nonetheless you’re grateful.

You bite your lip, one of your hands falling from his back to reach down and take his erection in your hand. Sebastian hisses through his teeth at the feeling of you gripping him, and watches for a moment as you stroke him almost gently.

“I’m going to need you to stop that,” he speaks, a groan following right after before he quickly swats your hand away.

You frown, a slight pout on your lips. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to come in two minutes like a teenager if you keep it up, kisu.”

“Well when you say it like that—”

You’re interrupted by Sebastian slamming your lips back together, your words gone just as quickly as they’d come. Oh, how you could kiss him for ages and never be sick of it. You say this to him, or at least attempt to, before his hand not buried in your hair finds its way back down to your clit and rubs rather roughly.

“Want to taste you,” he mumbles, drunk on the sight of you under him as he lines up his dick with your entrance. “Want to taste you so bad. But I need to be inside you first,”

You try to respond, but then Sebastian is kissing you again right as the head of his cock pushes its way into your cunt. It burns, but a good burn because you would never be used to his size and the feel of him sliding deeper sets all your nerve endings on fire. You’re forced to adjust quickly, and something about him not caring if you’re ready or not has you dripping.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, restless hands weaving through his hair and all over his back, refusing to settle. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, too consumed with how good it felt being stretched to lie still beneath him. “Feels so good, Seb,”

“Yeah?” he huffs into your ear, hot breaths against your skin sending shivers down your spine. “God, you’re perfect,” Sebastian groans, his hips suddenly snapping forward. The angle has him hitting the sweet spot inside you perfectly, your walls clamping down tight around him which sends you both spiraling.

You cry out as he begins moving, the strength behind the force of his thrusts staggering because very rarely did he lose control with you. Sebastian tends to treat you like priceless jewelry, but you’re anything but tonight as his teeth sink into your neck to muffle his moans.

His pubic bone rubs against your clit deliciously every time his hips come down, and you couldn’t help but try and tilt your own upwards to match him. Sebastian clearly appreciates your efforts, hissing something that sounds distinctively like a curse.

Past the ringing in your ears, you can hear him muttering to himself. His eyes are squeezed shut against the rolling tides of pleasure coursing through his body, but his mouth is anything but closed. Then his head is lifting suddenly, hair now slick with sweat hanging over his eyes as he looks down at you.

“I need you to come around me,” he says, voice nothing more than a rasp. “Want to feel you squeezing me.”

“Please,” you interrupt, but he either doesn’t hear your plea or chooses to ignore you.

“Then I’m going to taste you, and when you come I’m going to fuck you again.”

Your head is nodding rapidly at his words because there is zero part of you that ever wants him to stop. It was almost primitive the way he was taking you, and you maybe liked it a little more than you should.

Sebastian picks up the pace, and you find yourself thankful - not for the first time - for his insane amount of stamina. The strength conditioning he goes through on a daily basis makes you wonder how he doesn’t just die, but nonetheless you can’t help but appreciate it.

His hands find their way under your back in the midst of your appreciative thoughts, settled on your lower back just above your ass, when he tilts your hips up and his cock strikes the sensitive, spongy spot inside you head-on. It has you keening loudly, uncontrollably—one of your hands previously gripping the sheets jerkily moves to cover your mouth, your own noises embarrassing you.

He doesn’t notice at first, too busy moving his hips in the same pattern as before because he enjoys the way you grip him like a vice, your body’s way of telling him he’s doing a good job, but when he sees you trying to muffle your noises he instantly grows possessive.

Possessive of you, your noises, because in his feral mind everything about you belongs to him and Sebastian doesn’t want you ever holding yourself back. Your name falls from his lips darkly, “You don’t hide yourself from me,” one of his hands drags yours from your mouth, the other splaying across your lower back to keep your body in the same position.

You try to apologize, but your breath escapes you when his hand slides itself down your body, brushing past one of your nipples, then dipping into your navel where his fingers once again find your swollen clit. He rubs quickly, dick ramming into you even faster than before.

Now more than ever Sebastian wants you to come undone beneath him, and soon he gets his wish as the calloused pads of his fingertips roll your clit in time with one, two, and then on the third thrust your entire body seizes.

Tensing, clenching, shuddering—your eyes flutter as your vision goes white, and you feel nothing except for wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure rushing through you. Vaguely, you feel what you think is Sebastian gently continuing his ministrations on your clit in time with slow thrusts, helping you ride out the waves of your orgasm.

Then your eyes are opening after what feels like hours but had really only been minutes of you going still. You tense again, this time with sensitivity rather than pleasure, and he reads your body perfectly as he slides out of you, removing his fingers from your clit at the same time.

You come to a realization then, “Wait, you didn’t come,” you murmur, and Sebastian has a mischievous sparkle in his eye that makes you think he held himself back on purpose. You’re proven right when he suddenly slides down your body, hands prying your thighs apart before settling on your hips, holding you open like his very own buffet.

He lets out a long sound, like he still can’t believe you’re right here in front of him, and then his mouth is meeting the slick folds of your pussy. The timespan between your first orgasm and him now feasting on you has your mind reeling, blissfully going numb as his warm, wet tongue licks into you.

“Sepe,” you whine, having not yet decided if you could handle another orgasm so close to your last. He parrots your name back, the vibrations from his voice rumbling pleasantly. “You can take it,” he coos, hooded eyes watching your face as his lips now fully latch onto your clit. He sucks, steadily picking up the intensity until your thighs are shaking uncontrollably.

He doesn’t stop, not as your cries grow louder and you subconsciously try squirming away from him. He just holds your hips down, anyways. As his tongue joins the mix, dipping down to flick at your nub suctioned in between his lips, one of his hands moves down to dip two fingers into your folds.

Sebastian groans at your wet heat enveloping his digits, already greedy for the feeling of you squeezing his dick again. Then he starts thrusting his finger, timing it with the flicks of his tongue, and then you’re coming all over again. “There you go, such a good girl for me,” he praises as your pussy spasms, eagerly lapping up your juices like you’re his favorite meal.

Oh god. You are officially fucked-out. You definitely have a bad case of sex-for-brains. You can’t think beyond the sensitivity of your overwhelmed nether regions, and yet as Sebastian crawls up your body for the third time you can’t help but have your legs fall open to welcome him.

This is new for him, too. Sebastian’s endurance is extraordinary, yes, but he never really let himself use it to his full extent with you. Now, though? He wants to explore the thrill of dominance, of controlling you when everything else in his life slips through his fingers.

Against his will, he thinks of his team for a moment. It’s still too raw of a feeling, he finds, hating the way disappointment and frustration bubbles up inside him. Sebastian swallows roughly, squeezes his eyes shut as if that would help block out the sound of the final buzzer ringing in his ears, and then kisses you to distract himself.

As he lines himself back up with your entrance, you both find that the energized tension between you has cooled significantly. Sebastian is less restless and jerky with his movements, and your desperation has cooled as your legs wrap around his waist. He whimpers into your neck, then, his arms curling under your back to press your bodies even closer together.

Your roles switch, and you whisper sweet and dirty nothings into Sebastian’s ear as his hips roll into you. The head of his cock scratches that delicious part inside of you, and soon your words turn into gasps which are music to his ears. One thrust has you squeezing him particularly hard, and his rhythm stutters. “Fuck, you feel amazing,”

His lips form into an o-shape, and suddenly he finds that his high is coming (hah) much quicker than expected. He expresses such, or thinks he does, because all you do is moan in response when his thrusts pick up speed.

He wants to send you into your third orgasm before letting go himself, and even though Sebastian has been rather selfish tonight, one thing that would never change is that your pleasure would always come before his—no matter what.

“Gonna come for me?” Sebastian teases, lips managing to curl into a brief smirk before you’re squeezing him again, wiping it right off his face. “Yeah? Look so pretty taking my cock, baby,”

“I’m close,”

“I know. Let go for me.”

And let go you do. You seize up, not for the first time tonight, before shuddering with full force in the wake of your third release. Your vision goes white in time with the ringing of your ears as you’re consumed in it, feeling too much but also not enough at the same time because your boyfriend is a force you could never get sick of.

Your walls are squeezing Sebastian like a vice, and it only takes him a few more thrusts as you ride out your orgasm before he’s falling into his own. He groans from deep in his chest, arms shakily moving to rest on either side of your head as he buries his own in your neck.

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder as his dick pulses inside you, pumping you full of his cum while you shudder beneath him. It fills Sebastian with a primal sense of satisfaction, knowing he’s claimed you from the inside out.

You’re his, still repeats itself in his mind on repeat, until both of your bodies are spent and he’s rolling off of you exhaustedly. You’re still panting when he turns to look at you, and without hesitation he pulls you into his chest so you can rest your tired body against his.

It takes you a few minutes until you can muster the energy to move, and when you do it’s to tilt your head up to look up at him. You murmur his name, quietly, lest you disturb the fragile peace the two of you find yourselves in. “Sepe?”

“Mhmm?”

“Do you feel better?” It’s a loaded question, you both know, and he takes a few minutes to think about it.

Sebastian’s body feels better, yes. It’s limp, relaxed, the achy tension long-gone from his muscles. The moment he first sank into you he felt immensely better, actually, now that he thinks about it.

His mind, however, is a completely different story.

Colors of red, orange, and blue flash behind his eyes; the colors of his jersey and the opposing team’s, with the haunting sound of the final buzzer still playing in his memory. He thinks of the anger, of his teammates’ faces as they marched defeatedly into the locker room.

No, he thinks with sudden clarity. No, he doesn’t feel better. Sebastian doesn’t say this though; it probably isn’t the answer you want to hear, considering how you explored a new aspect of your relationship tonight.

You know, though. You always know—Sebastian is your better half, and you can understand him more than your own self sometimes, now being one of those moments.

“I love you,” you say after several minutes of silence. Your declaration - the first of the night, he suddenly realizes - says everything he needs to know, about how you feel for him and that he has your support no matter what.

Sebastian swallows, finding that his throat is parched. Lying naked under the sheets, vulnerable and oh-so-exposed, he lowers his head to kiss you sweetly. You mold together softly, and a low rumble can be felt from his chest as you gently nip at his bottom lip.

He is a man of few words, preferring to show his feelings with actions rather than words and this just happened to be one of those moments. He loves you so much, more than words can describe, his lips say, before they gently part from yours.

You admire him in his full glory before he opens his mouth to speak. His hair is incredibly ruffled, from both your hands and the game he played, his full lips swollen red from your kisses, and his eyes have a light sheen to him that suggest he’s more emotional than letting on.

Sebastian raises a hand to your cheek, large yet gentle palm caressing the soft skin as he gazes at you like you’re precious porcelain. “I love you,”

Your lips break into a small smile, and then you’re curling farther into his chest. You’re far too comfortable to move, figuring aftercare in the bathtub can come later. For now, you’re content; your body is sated, and with his cum dripping down your legs you’ve never felt so full with love.

Sebastian knows he has hell to face tomorrow morning. He knows it, but doesn’t really care. For now, in the peaceful silence of his room with only the gentle sounds of your breaths to keep him company, he chooses to forget.

He’s only one man, after all. He can’t carry his team, but he can carry you.

A/N: This is the first time I've written in present tense, which was actually a lot harder than I thought because I kept using past tense action verbs 💀 it was a fun challenge though!! Hopefully my parents never ask me what exactly it is that I write about because. Uh. Yeah. Once again, please reblog and comment :))

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vikasroyal · 2 months ago

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Tata Winger Staff: Comfortable Group Travel Solution

The Tata Winger Staff is designed for comfortable group travel, featuring spacious seating, a 2.2L DICOR engine, and excellent fuel efficiency. Ideal for corporate transport. If you want to know more about Tata Winger Staff for your business, visit Truck Junction website.

#Tata Winger Staff

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condensed-ink · 1 year ago

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One thing I realised about Tumblr is that no matter how badly the staff fucks up the site it'll never go down the path of other social media sites by becoming infested with reactionary garbage solely due to the fact that the early/mid 2010s anti-SJW content mill has instilled into every right-winger this overblown fear of the site due to them (to this very day) perceiving it as some sort of massive blue-haired feminist commune that'll segregate every cishet white dude lol.

#feminism #social justice

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skipper1331 · 2 years ago

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Argument // Guro Reiten

Guro came home from training not very happy. And as soon as she saw you she only got angrier. It wasn‘t because of you - it never was. But it was about you. She heard a few of the staff members talking about you or rather your relationship. "Guro doesn’t deserve Y/n" or "Y/n is way out of her league" and much more than that. It made her mad. How could they say these things?

When you gave her a kiss (like you always did when she comes home) she walked past you, ignoring you. She loved your kisses, she really did but not after she heard what she heard. "What‘s wrong, baby?" you asked - she just snapped. After that everything is a blur. You both said things you shouldn’t have said but the both of you couldn‘t stop and your argument only grew. Neither of you backed down. Normally, arguments never came this far because the two of you would communicate your feelings. But Guro felt trapped, trapped in the sentences the staff stated.

"Well then. Go! Go fuck someone else!" you shouted. "I will!" Guro grabbed her keys and stormed out of your apartment. "What?" you frooze, shocked. With all her anger she slammed the door.

You moved like someone was controlling you as you sat down. She wouldn‘t, would she? You couldn‘t think, couldn’t breathe, everything hurt. Tears ran down your cheeks yet you couldn‘t cry. The tears ran, nothing more.

When Guro left she didn‘t no where to go so she simply sat in her car. She had to calm down. Go fuck someone else - she would never. No matter how mad she was, she would never do something like that. She loved you. You were the love of her life. And she hurt you. This wasn‘t supposed to happen. When she heard the staff talking all she wanted to do was to come home and be with you. She would‘ve told you about her day and you would‘ve resured her that she was the only one. But as she saw you smiling her mind was thrown back to the staff. They were right. You deserved better.

Did you think that she‘s fucking someone else right in this moment? It was dark when she left the car, hours later, you were probably asleep - she hoped you would be. Quietly, she put her keys down and took her shoes off. As she went further into the apartment though she noticed the lights in the living room. There you were, sleeping on the couch, curled into a ball. Guro could see the tear stains which made her heart ache. She picked up in a bridal style and carried you to bed. The brunette wrapped the blanket around you, made sure you were comfortable before she laid down herself. She didn‘t know If she should cuddle you because how things ended earlier but she also couldn‘t sleep without holding you so she just did it. As soon as you felt her strong arms around you you were awake. You turned in her embrace to look at her. You had to know "Did you do it?" you whispered, your voice quivering. "No," she breathed. Relief washed over you "I sat in the car doing nothing" there was no reason not to believe her. Her voice was sincerely and you could tell when she was lying - which she wasn‘t. "I would never" the winger took your trembling hand and placed it on her chest, right above her heart. "Do you feel that?" her heart was racing, beating fast. You nodded. "It always does when you‘re around me" she kissed your forehead "i promise you’ll get a big apology and explanation in the morning but lets sleep now. I missed you so much today, min kjæreste" she pulled you closer, your neck resting in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. You had missed her too.

She still owed you an explanation but for now it was enough that she was with you.

"Jeg elsker deg"

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#guro reiten #woso x reader #guro reiten x reader #woso #woso fanfics #chelsea wfc #norwnt x reader #norwnt #chelsea x reader

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ahqueinfortunio · 27 days ago

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙

The air inside Scotiabank Arena was electric, as always, the tension of the third period curling through every row like smoke. The fans were on their feet, chanting, screaming, living for every pass, every shot. On the bench, Coach Harper Reed—young, brilliant, and the first female head coach in NHL history—paced with the intensity of someone who knew everything could change with one bad shift.

But no one, not even she, could’ve predicted the exact second everything did.

William Nylander—her star winger, the one who danced across the ice like it was his second skin—went for a fast cut behind the net, chasing a loose puck. A defender from the opposing team didn’t hold back. The collision was loud, almost thunderous, as William’s skates caught awkwardly. He went down hard, not bouncing back up.

The crowd gasped.

Harper’s heart stopped.

It wasn’t just concern for her player. It was deeper than that. Hidden. Forbidden. Dangerous.

It was William.

Her William.

The secret they’d kept wrapped tightly between late-night texts and even later nights tucked away in the shadows of hotel rooms and empty arenas. They knew the stakes. Knew the scrutiny that would rain down if anyone found out. Coach and player—especially in a league like this—was unthinkable.

But in that moment, all that vanished.

He didn’t move. Trainers rushed the ice. Her assistant coach shouted something she didn’t even hear. Harper’s entire body froze until she saw him sit up slowly, pain etched into his face, gripping his wrist and shoulder like fire had bloomed inside them.

And she couldn’t take it anymore.

She left the bench.

No hesitation. Just instinct.

Down the hallway, into the locker room tunnel. The media caught her, of course. Whispers flew like wildfire. But she didn’t care. All she could think was, please be okay, please be okay.

She pushed through the trainers as they examined him just inside the medical bay. He looked up, eyes locking with hers.

A smirk tugged at his lips despite the pain. “Hey, Coach.”

The nickname was teasing. Intimate. Her walls cracked just hearing it.

“Will,” she said, her voice shaking. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just my shoulder, maybe my wrist. Nothing serious.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispered, stepping closer. “You could be out for the rest of the season.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He tried to keep it light, but she could see it—the fear behind his casualness. The way he winced even when trying to laugh.

She placed a hand gently on his cheek. “You’re such a reckless idiot sometimes.”

“And you love that about me,” he said, his voice dipping low.

Silence hung between them for a moment. Heavy. Full of all the things they never got to say out loud. Then his fingers brushed against hers.

“I hate this,” she said softly. “Hiding. Watching you get hurt and not being able to show anything.”

His good hand moved to her waist. “Then don’t hide. Not right now.”

She leaned in—just a breath between them—and something broke. Maybe it was the fear. The adrenaline. The unbearable weight of watching someone you love hurt.

She kissed him.

Right there, in the middle of the hallway leading out to the ice.

At first, it was soft. Desperate. But when she pulled away slightly, he pulled her back with a murmur of her name, like he hadn’t said it in weeks. This time, it was deeper. Real.

And then they heard it.

Gasps. Clicks. Shutters.

Reporters. Staff. Players filtering in and catching the scene frozen before them: William Nylander, injured and flushed, sitting on the exam table. Coach Harper Reed in his arms, kissing him like the world had stopped.

And maybe, for them, it had.

Neither moved. There was no point. The secret was out now.

Harper looked at him, her heart thudding in her throat. “Well. That’ll be a headline.”

William grinned despite the pain. “Think they’ll still let us practice tomorrow?”

She laughed. Actually laughed. “Not a chance in hell.”

#william nylander #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #william nylander imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines

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justinspoliticalcorner · 3 months ago

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Scott Dworkin at The Dworkin Report:

In the White House Press Briefing Room on Friday, John Ashbrook was put right up front, in a spot normally reserved for staff. Ashbrook, host of a pro-GOP podcast, was given the red-carpet treatment as he filled Trump’s “new media” seat. His “hard-hitting” question sounded completely staged, asking if the Press Secretary personally thought the media was out of touch. What an absolute joke. Since this “new media” seat idea was announced Tuesday, a right-winger from Breitbart has also asked the first question. It seems to be Trump’s new weapon against the Press—having scripted questions that allow Donald to more easily spread his lies. Trump’s Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt says that the new seat is needed, because trust in the media is at an all-time low. Funny how she didn’t mention the enormous role her pathological liar of a boss played in all that.

It’s not just at the White House where things are getting bad for corporate media. Trump also had his disgrace of a Defense Secretary, Pete Hegseth, make sweeping changes with the Pentagon Press Corps.

NBC News, NPR, The NY Times, and Politico were all kicked out of their workspaces, and replaced with maga propaganda outlets One America News, Breitbart, the New York Post, and randomly—HuffPost. NBC stated they were “disappointed,” and The NY Times said it was a “concerning development.” Sounds like Susan Collins wrote those responses. Kevin Baron, a former VP of the Pentagon Press Association, called the changes an “erasure of journalism at the Pentagon…replaced with fake news partisans…for fake balance.” This is why corporate media should’ve never bent the knee to Trump. Mika and Joe needed to stay home. ABC News shouldn’t have settled. Neither should Paramount. Trump cutting off access to the Press is just the beginning. We warned them, but they clearly didn’t listen. And in the end, the American people will pay the price for it. Lies and fake news manufactured by the White House, looks to become the norm.

Scott Dworkin wrote a gem on the legacy media outlets who obeyed in advance still got burnt by Tyrant Trump and his spokespropagandist Karoline Leavitt.