patience — declan rice summary: during the arsenal gala, declan rice can’t keep his eyes off of you. pairing: declan rice x fem!saka!reader warnings: consensual activities mentioned. a/n: thanks anon for the request!!
adjusting his bow tie for the umpteenth time, he growled in frustration. why couldn’t they of just worn regular ties?
he was ready to give up when the sweet scent of summer wafted up his nose. looking down—the best he could— you stood just a foot below him adjusting his bow tie.
before he could get the chance to say thank you, you were whisked away by another player for help. you could feel those icy blue eyes intensely burning into your backside.
“he’s watching,” bukayo muttered under his breath, as you helped your brother and his friends.
a group of twenty-some odd men attempting to adjust bow ties was disastrous, and when you heard of the attire you knew of a certain someone who couldn’t even put in cuff links, that would need help.
“good.” you muttered, taking a step back to ensure the tie was even, “how do I look?”
rolling his eyes, bukayo ignored your question and found his teammates to chat with, leaving you alone.
you didn’t dare turn in his direction. declan rice had a way with his eyes that could just about melt anyone into nothing. he had lips that could make anybody come in the matter of seconds. and he knew this. your praise, your moans, and the way you came undone all fed his ego to know the look he was burning into you, was enough to get you running.
but patience had to be a virtue. he needed to keep his wet dick in his pants until the patrons were fed and the donations were made.
—
the laughter of the billionaires irritated his soul, but he made conversation and thanked the donors for their time and money.
when he had the chance between smiling and shaking hands, he’d search the room for you. occasionally, he’d never get the chance to find your silky black dress under the dim lights, but when he did? he was a goner.
you were situated among other ladies. chattering about what? he didn’t know, but he loved seeing you animated and in fits of laughter. there once was a time he swore you had zero emotions. that was of course until his fingers were inside you and you audibly moaned with pleasure.
“he’s looking for you again.” tolami sarcastically groaned, though she secretly loved watching a man pin over her boyfriends sister.
“let him look.” you said readjusting your posture. you barely made a glance his direction most of the night, but you knew where he stood. his laughter echoed through the room. loud, he always was.
—
his fingers splayed across your ass, pinching the cheeks slightly you leaned into his touch letting him know it felt good.
“finally,” his words whispered across your skin sending a chill down your spine, “I’ve been waiting for this.” he sunk his lips into the skin of your neck, pulling you into his front side.
alone in the privacy of the restroom, you let him roam your body like he’d never done it before. he knew every curve, dimple, dip, and stretch mark like somebody were to study a map.
“show me,” you say feeling the air leave your lunges as he sunk his teeth nipping at your exposed skin before sinking down to his knees and turning you to face him.
careful not to tear the silk, he hiked up your dress before pressing you into the sink snd spreading you open for his mouth.
you couldn’t help but whimper feeling his warm tongue lick the slick of your folds. your pussy was throbbing, ready to explode.
Declan took his time in showing you just how you made him feel. he moved achingly slow taking in all of you while you panted like a track star with his name rolling off your lips.
he liked hearing you struggle to compose yourself, he felt the same way the whole night. if this meant his tongue would edge you until you no longer could hold up a fight, he was right there with you. he could feel himself hard dripping in precum.
he took one look up at you, and when your eyes met his, you couldn’t hold back. it was that look you avoided earlier, except now you couldn’t avoid it. not when it had your cum all over his lips.
licking the remnants off, he stood up allowing your dress to fall back down your hips, “you have no idea what you do to me.” he hefted a sigh, looking past you in the mirror to readjust his bow tie.
the cure — martin ødegaard summary: Budapest plagues martins mind and he can’t sleep because of it. pairing: martin ødegaard x reader warnings: mentions of anxiety + someone’s inability to sleep and the side effects of it. a/n: this is my way of dealing with the loss…but happy parade day!! feel free to send in requests :)
somewhere in the world there was a man with a brain that shut off when the sky dimmed beyond the pink and purple clouds. somewhere, that same man, knew that the nights were meant for sleeping and not for over analyzing.
that man somewhere was not martin ødegaard. it was who martin envied.
seated in the Adirondack chair, he faced the endless darkness of London. from where he sat, there were no street lights, there were no buses and crowded lines for the tube. just pure silence and defeat.
he was on day two of no sleep. whenever he lay down, he was plagued by Budapest, and his mind loved to replay the one hundred and some odd minutes of football. martin wasn’t an overthinker. in fact, most matches never really affected him. he’d sulk for a few hours and then process the loss. this one was just a brutal way to end the season. one that was such a high for the team and the fans.
“you have to sleep at some point.”
you closed the door behind you, careful to not wake the neighbors, you trudged through the warm grass and slipped into his lap.
he couldn’t tell if this was a dream or real life. you, in his arms, he knew this couldn’t be real. but looking up at you, his mind suddenly knew how to shut up. it was like you could take his pain and stop it from spreading.
“I can’t.” he said, finally pulling his eyes off you, he stared into the distance that was just beyond you.
“the game, it’s all I see.”
“come join me, I can’t sleep without you. at least not like this.” your fingers brushed the strains of blond hair that flopped over his eyes, forcing him to look at you. for the first time in two days, you really looked at him, and he wasn’t himself. he looked paranoid and defeated.
“okay,” was the only response you got. standing up from his lap, you stretched out your hands for him to take.
rising out of the chair, he took your hands and followed you inside and up the stairs to the bed that looked far too lonely for you. how could he have left you to sleep by yourself?
before he could allow his anxiety to go any further, you pulled him into bed beside you, and you pushed his head down into your lap. your fingers roamed through his hair allowing him to settle against the cold sheets. it didn’t take long for Martin to be wrapped around your body. his fingers danced circles around your legs, and his own legs wrapped around yours like a koala.
nuzzling his head further into your thigh, you listened to his breathing deepen and his chest began to rise and fall in a pattern.
you knew that once he lay down, he’d finally let the game slip away into the darkness, and just be another match. he needed it to be one that didn’t define their season, but defined their hunger for victory. and he knew they’d be back, maybe that’s why the pain lingered. but snuggled alongside his loved one, the game faded into a dream.
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