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helen-with-an-a · 2 days

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Out of Position

Hi. So, I'm not really sure I like this but hey-ho. I'm trying to write my masters dissertation so fics may be few and far between loll but I wanted to write something. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Lucy Bronze x reader

Description: R has to play out of position for Barça

Word Count: 1.5k

The season had been … tough, to say the least.

The start of the season was great, you were playing your favourite 6 or 8 positions. You were happy there – you were racking up assists, you had your name on score sheets more regularly. Things were really looking good for you. You were in the Starting XI regularly, slowly increasing the minutes to full matches every week. Your national team coaches had noticed your efforts to, soon earning that number 8 shirt at international level. Things were looking really, really good.

And then Mapi got injured. That was a blow to the team, no doubt. Her infectious energy was sorely missed during trainings, her technical prowess and defensive knowhow that were so integral to the team was difficult to replicate. But everyone was managing incredibly well. Slowly but surely, you were being played further away from where you were comfortable. And then Alexia was out again too. Another massive knock. Not just for the team, seeing the Captain out of commission was hard on everyone, but for you in particular. You were slowly being played further back on the pitch than you were entirely comfortable with. You weren’t a defender. You did your part, when necessary, but you weren’t a defender. You were never fully happy making those harsh tackles and committing essential fouls. Your main form of defence came from interceptions – your speed was something to be noted by all commentators. You were always the first onto a wayward ball. It was something you prided yourself on. It was something the whole team prided themselves on, none-so more than Lucy.

You didn’t know how it happened really, but by the away El Clásico, your picture was being displayed on screen in the no. 5 position. Who would have thought you would end up playing against Real Madrid as a centre-back? Especially when considering you started the season as an attacking midfield and borderline striker?

“I can’t do this.” You were full on panicking in the changing rooms. Your hands were gripping the bench so tightly your knuckles were turning white; your wide frantic eyes flittered nervously around the room; your skin was cold and clammy, your breathing erratic. You were on the verge of a panic attack.

“Sí, puedes, chica.” Patri soothed, running her hand in wide comforting circles along the length of your back. You had been fine during training, and most of the warmup but you had seen Moller Hansen give you, what you interpreted to be, a menacing glare, and something had snapped in you. “Amiga, you need to breathe” Patri reminded you, exaggerating her own breathing to try and prompt yours. It wasn’t working. Marta and Irene were with you, both looking on with some concern. “Ves a buscar la Lucy.” Patri ordered one of them, not taking her eyes off you. You had moved one hand from the bench to your thigh, your nails pressing harshly into the muscles, dragging unforgiving lines up and down.

Not 30 seconds after the door swung shut behind Marta, a very concerned Lucy appeared by your side, worry etched on her face.

“Can’t … do it,” you struggled to get the words out. Lucy’s heart shattered at your words. She had seen the hours you had put in, the number of dates you had rain checked to stay late with the defensive coaches, the frequent mornings when she had woken up, alone with your side of the bed cold with a note on your pillow telling her that coffee was in the machine, she just needed to press start and that you’d see her at training. If she didn’t know where you were, she would be concerned you were cheating on her. But no, you were in the gym at the crack of dawn, strengthening your muscles and pushing yourself to go beyond your previous limits. She was exhausted just looking at the work you were doing. But it wasn’t in vain. You looked so natural in the back line; anyone that didn’t know you would think you were comfortable. But no one saw these moments and sheer and raw terror that coursed through your veins moments before you stepped out of the changing rooms.

“You can, pretty girl. I promise you; you can do it.” Lucy said, gently crushing you to her chest. She was sad to admit that this was a common occurrence.

“Scared,” you croaked out. “let the team down.”

“No, my love, you will never let us down. I promise. You can never, ever let anyone down.” She cooed, her fingers dipping under your shirt to run her nails over your bare back. She pulled back after a few moments, waiting until your breathing evened out a little bit – her comforting smell washing over you and soothing your body more than any words could do. She cupped your face, gently running her thumb across your cheek. “I love you, so, so much. There are 10 other girls on that pitch, all of them believe in you. You wouldn’t be out there if the club didn’t think you could do this.” She said her words with such conviction. You took a deep breath and nodded – not believing her words, but the noise outside the changing room was growing louder, signalling that both teams were ready to go. You were still incredibly nervous, but you did have a job to do after all. You both left the changing room hand-in-hand, taking your customary places at the back of the line.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” She whispered in your ear as she caught you staring off into the distance. You turned to look at her, a slightly guilty look on your face as your bite your lip harshly. “I love you,” she said emphatically.

“I love you,” you said softly back, not as nervous as you were before, but definitely not good.

It was a tough match. Real Madrid had really stepped up their game since the last time you were out. It was a 1 – 1 all draw that was growing more precarious every minute. You had just 10 minutes left of the match and both sides were determined to break the stalemate.

Madrid were on the attack, having been able to pick out weaknesses in Barça’s defence. Lucy had drifted too far from her position, letting Carmona utilise the space by making a speedy break for it. You were the furthest back in your team’s line up. Your muscles were aching, your face was red with effort, yet you had to win this ball back. You couldn’t let Cata take on Carmona and Caicedo all by herself. You ran. Hell, you practically flew down that flank, pushing yourself harder and faster than you ideally wanted to.

You knew exactly what Olga was going to do before she did it. Maybe it was your experience up front? Maybe it was all the hours you had spent reviewing footage of various players you would face in the league? But you abandoned your chase on Carmona, changing your momentum to catch up to Caicedo just at the right time. Cata had drifted to the right in anticipation of Olga’s strike, but you knew she wouldn’t attempt the shot – not when Caicedo was sitting wide open with a goalkeeper-less net in front of her. You threw your body into the header – it was easily the harshest one you had given all season – possibly your whole career. Your technique was perfect though as you caught only the ball, using your momentum to bounce the ball away from the goal before bouncing painfully on the ground. You quickly rushed to your feet, watching Cata take advantage of a very confused Caicedo and a disappointed Carmona to chase the ball and boot it out into the stands.

There was a moment of quiet – at least it was quiet for you – before the world came back into focus. Your heartbeat was in your ears, your chest rising and falling dramatically as you sucked in precious oxygen. Cata was the first to get her hands to you. She shook your shoulders almost violently, your head wobbled comically at the action.

“Tu nena preciosa,” she shouted, kisses raining down on your forehead. You felt head pats and light taps on your back as you made your way back into your position.

Finally, the full whistle went. Barça had won El Clásico yet again (although it was tougher than anyone cared to admit)

“You …” Lucy said as her warm arms wrapped you in a hug. “That was the best defending I have ever seen.” She smiled, clearly wanted to say and do more.

“I learned it from you,” you whispered as you squeezed back. “The flying header. A Lucy Bronze special,” you teased.

“And you said you couldn’t defend.” She scoffed. “I’m so proud of you.” She said, pressing kisses into your sweaty hairline. You blushed profusely but smiled, nonetheless. That was all you really wanted, to make Lucy proud. “I think this calls for a treat, don’t you?” She whispered seductively into your ear as she dragged you into the changing rooms, a sly smirk dancing on her lips.

Hope you enjoyed reading <3<3<3<3

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hockeynoses · 2 days

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R/oy x Jam/ie (Somno/philia Snz Fic)

Summary: Consensual somnophilia when Jamie has a cold. Includes snzing into the covers (inspired by this post and my original post about it is here). Roy has the kink.

Warnings: Mess. 2.2k.

Roy can’t fall asleep. He’s been trying for the past hour, but he’s just so fucking distracted. Lying in the darkness of their room, he can feel the heat of Jamie’s body beside him. He’s been listening to the cadence of his breathing, uneven with congestion.

Jamie’s so stuffed up that he’s forced to breathe through his mouth, drying his throat and causing him to wake in fits and starts with cute little snuffles and coughs, rubbing his face into the pillow, the sheets, whatever’s in reach.

Roy himself hasn’t escaped unscathed, not that he minds, of course. Quite the opposite, in fact. Jamie had fallen asleep on Roy’s chest, peppering him with enough wet, heavy sneezes to cause all Roy’s blood to flow straight to his cock. He had tried his best to remain still and not wake his boyfriend, reaching down with his free hand and giving himself a couple cursory strokes to take the edge off in the hopes that he’d settle back down after that.

After several minutes, Jamie had stirred with a syrupy sniffle and rolled off Roy to his side of the bed, facing away from him. Roy’s grateful for the relief, and the ability to move his limbs freely without the weight of Jamie’s muscle mass smothering him.

So here Roy lies, deciding whether or not to wrap a hand around his cock and finish what Jamie unknowingly started. His skin feels itchy with need. It’s been a special kind of exquisite torture, looking after Jamie when he’s this sick. He’s fucking irresistible enough on a normal day, but this… this is more than Roy can take. His nerves are a constant live wire, jumping to attention every time Jamie sneezes or lets out a particularly miserable groan. The heady tension of desire and restraint constantly thrumming through Roy’s veins. Flushes spilling down his neck in a way that has Jamie smirking into his tissues. It’s like something out of a wet dream.

Jamie knows, of course. They’d talked about it months ago. He had assured Roy that it was fine. They’re both into plenty of freaky stuff, and Jamie has a very open mind. He’d gone so far as to say it was charming, the cheeky prick.

He knows Jamie would do just about anything he asks him to, so Roy takes it upon himself to be the one to set boundaries. He insists they have a safeword, in this and any other kinky shit they get up to. He doesn’t want to take advantage of Jamie when he’s sick. Doesn’t want to press him, but he has to trust that Jamie would tell him if it ever got to be too much.

They’d even talked about –

Roy squeezes his eyes shut. Is he really that desperate?

Jamie said it was okay. That he was flattered, always happy for any and all of Roy’s attention and love.

Their conversation from earlier that day flashes through Roy’s mind, as if to prove to himself that it actually happened.

“You dknow how we talked about… mbe being asleeb?” Jamie asks as he finishes blowing his chapped nose for the millionth time.

Roy grunts in affirmation, laser-focused on his boyfriend.

“You could sdtill do that, whend I’b like this.”

Something coils in Roy’s gut, sinister and so, so tempting. They joke about him being a sadist, but this feels like a lot, even for him. But oh god, he wants it.

He knows as soon as Jamie says it that he’s going to do it. How could he not? Now that Jamie’s offering it to him on a silver platter.

“Are you sure?” he forces out, his throat tight with lust.

“Of course. I trust you.” Jamie says. He presses the crumpled tissue to his pink, dripping nostrils. “And one of us mbight as well enjoy ihh… hih’AEETTSHH’uh! SNF. Endjoy id.”

“Okay,” Roy says, the idea taking shape in his mind. “You do need your rest.”

“Exactly, mbate. We can both get what we want.” His tired, red-rimmed eyes soften. “Love that you’re still into mbe evedn when I’b disgustin’.” He gives a playful leer that quickly dissolves into a wrenching sneeze. “uh…ha…HA’IGGHHSH’IUE!”

And Roy can’t go another second without touching him after that.

Roy’s cock twitches at the memory, dragging his attention back to the present.

His hard-on is insistent now; it hasn’t flagged at all. Probably because Jamie’s lying next to him making all sorts of sounds and Roy can’t focus on anything but that. Every noise he makes only serves as a reminder to Roy of just how full of cold Jamie is. He’d taken a considerable amount of Nyquil before bed to combat it, or at the very least to knock him out, and it seems to have only accomplished the latter.

Unable to take anymore, he decides to give in, reminding himself that he doesn’t have to feel guilty. Jamie asked for this.

He curls against Jamie, blanketing his back with the warm line of his body. He brings his hands to Jamie’s hips, buries his face in the nape of his neck, smelling the familiar warmth of Jamie’s skin. Jamie snuffles a bit – and Roy freezes – but he stays asleep.

His cock fits perfectly between Jamie’s pert ass cheeks, and Roy digs his fingers into the skin of Jamie’s hips as hard as he dares to pull him closer. Panting his hot breath against the back of Jamie’s neck, already so worked up. It’s like he’s popped the cork of a shaken bottle of champagne and all his desire is spilling out of him. Their bodies are sleep-warm beneath the sheets, and Roy feels like he’s going to combust. He starts a slow, easy grind against Jamie’s ass, forever grateful that the man sleeps with no pants on.

Jamie breath hitches and he groans out a little sound – Nng – nuzzling his face against his pillow. Roy doesn’t stop.

His runny nose has already leaked onto the pillowcase. Roy’s had to switch them out every day, throwing the snotty things in the wash. If Roy lifts his head a little, he can watch Jamie’s face contort, nostrils flaring as a sneeze builds in his sleep. Jamie’s chest expands as his breath picks up – “huh… huh-ggsh’TCHH’iue!” The sneeze sends mess bubbling from his nose, spraying down onto the sheets and his chest.

He still doesn’t blink awake. The Nyquil must have really knocked him out. The thought goes straight to Roy’s dick, heady with the knowledge that he could do whatever he wanted and Jamie might not even wake up; a sick power trip that’s been gifted to him.

“Fuck,” he grits between his teeth, pressing his forehead to Jamie’s shoulder as his thrusts turn more desperate.

Jamie snuffles again, his sinuses thick as molasses. His open mouth sucks in a sharp breath before – “ha’kxxgsh’uh!” another viscous, sickly sneeze coats his upper lip and the pillow below him. He moans, and Roy, through the haze in his own brain, tries to decipher if it’s in discomfort or if it has to do with the fact that Jamie’s dick is thickening up now – his body reacting to Roy even like this – dead to the world, sick as a dog, and hopped up on drugs. If there’s one constant in this life, it’s that Jamie’s going to get hard for him.

Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me, he thinks.

Needing more, he lifts Jamie’s leg as gently as he can – he’s so fucking pliant like this - and thrusts his dick between his fucking tree trunk thighs; one of the many benefits of dating a professional footballer. It provides him with just the right amount of the friction he’s so desperately seeking, the corded muscles like a vice on his dick.

The tight heat of Jamie’s thighs sends Roy careening closer to the edge, a growing, molten pressure in his gut. He’s still not awake yet, Roy marvels, breaking a sweat.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Jamie’s breath starts to hitch again - little frustrated gasps in and out. Roy doesn’t halt the movement of his hips. He buries his face in the back of Jamie’s neck and keeps pumping into that warm, inviting place between his thighs.

“ah…hah… ha’NGGSSHH’UH!” The sneeze rocks them both as it tears out of Jamie, spraying the sheets and clinging to the bottom of his face in a sheer glossy mess. Roy’s hips stutter with another sharp spike of lust.

Jamie groans, low and confused, and Roy feels it reverberate through him where he’s fused to Jamie’s back.

“Mm…Roy?” he mumbles, cracking his bleary eyes open. Roy slows his pace but doesn’t stop the rhythmic slide of his hips.

“I’m right here,” he says, his quiet voice strained with his quick breath. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got you.”

“Ngh… Cadn’t… heh… hih’nngg’SHOO! Ugh. Cadn’t breathe.”

Roy’s halfway to outer space right now, with the brain function to match, so he does the only thing he can think of and gathers the section of the comforter that’s in front of Jamie and presses it to his slick face. These sheets are fucked anyway, he reasons.

“Blow for me,” his voice rolls deep in Jamie’s ear. Jamie doesn’t even hesitate, still half-asleep and fuzzy from the Nyquil. He simply does as Roy says, mustering all the energy he has in his sleepy state to force out a gurgling blow, soaking the comforter with a heavy amount of snot.

“Good boy, get it all out.” He starts to pull the fabric away from Jamie’s face, strings of mess still tethered, when the sound of Jamie’s breath scissoring in and out goes straight to his dick. Fuck, he isn’t going to last much longer.

He props himself up on one elbow to have a better view of Jamie’s face as it contorts in a delicious pre-sneeze expression, still covered in mess and about to get worse. He doesn’t even have his eyes open, but his eyebrows pull up desperately as his red, wet nostrils twitch.

After one last sharp inhale of breath, a heaving double bursts from him - “huh… hih’AEESSHH’IUE! Hah…ha-Heh’GKSSHHTT!” – unleashed openly into the inches of space between him and the already-slimy comforter, coating it even further, spots of liquid turning the fabric dark where it lands.

“Fuck - Jamie.” Roy’s voice punches out of him, raw with need. Lightning jolts through him, his hips fucking into the tight clench of him, an exquisite pressure building. He sets his teeth against Jamie’s shoulder in a bite, as gentle as he can stand. Jamie groans and tries to snort up the congestion that’s shifted in his sinuses once again.

It takes all Roy’s concentration to arrange the comforter in his hand to find a clean spot and bring it to Jamie’s face for more.

“Come on. Again,” he grunts out, head swimming with his imminent orgasm. Jamie obeys. Of course he does. The squelching, miserable sound of it shivers down Roy’s spine. The viscous mess fills the section of fabric, drenching it through until Roy can feel it warm against his skin.

Fuck. Jamie’s breath starts to hitch again, and Roy thinks he must have done something very good in a previous life to deserve this. I’m so close, he thinks, his hips rutting in time with Jamie’s staccato breaths.

Jamie’s head rears back, pulling away from the sodden blanket before splattering it with another exhausted, desperate fit – “ah…hah’iiggh’SHIUE! Hih…hih-kngxxt’GSSHT!” The Nyquil and fatigue are banding together to turn his sneezes haphazard and unrestrained. His face is slack with it; mouth open as he heaves in another breath. “Ugh… ihh… hih’GgSHHuh! Hah… Hiiiih-ZZSSHHESSHH!” He finishes with a monster of a sneeze, sullying everything with a wrenching, wet deluge of filth.

Reaching a fever pitch, Roy’s thrusts stutter before pumping once, twice – then there’s a rush in his ears as he comes so hard he sees stars. Thick, white ropes of come coat Jamie’s thighs as Roy chases his pleasure, fucking him through it.

When Roy comes back to earth, he pulls out from Jamie’s thighs, hissing at the sensation. Nuzzling into Jamie’s neck, he peppers soft kisses against the warm skin there, luxuriating in the smell of him. Jamie sniffles and rouses a bit at that, and Roy tightens his hold around his middle.

One last time, Roy finds a dry part of the blanket - no easy task at this point - and wipes Jamie’s face clean as best he can.

“Roy?” Jamie blinks, half-awake as Roy pulls the blankets up around them. The sheets are truly disgusting, but only in certain spots. They’re both sure to wake up sticky tomorrow, but Roy’s too satiated and fucked out to deal with it right now. And he doesn’t want to disrupt Jamie’s rest any further. They’ll just have to enjoy a nice hot shower together in the morning, and Roy can throw the sheets in the wash then.

“Shh. You did so good, love.”

Jamie gives a sweet little moan and reaches for Roy’s hands around him, holding him there. He snuggles back into his pillow.

“Go back to sleep now. You need your rest.”

Roy’s hand drifts down to Jamie’s cock, checking the state of him, and finds him still half hard. Jamie cants his hips against Roy’s hand on instinct, but doesn’t give him much more than that.

Roy chuckles into his hair. He really does need his rest and Roy doesn’t want to risk waking him up further. It’s nothing that can’t wait.

“Sleep. I’ll take care of you tomorrow.”

Jamie’s contented sigh is the last thing he hears before sleep pulls him under.

#snzblr #snzfic #snz fic #snzfics #snz fics #finished 2 fics in a day! I'm on a roll #this one took me 4 months 😭🙏#jam/ie ta/rtt

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