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vanderilnde · 4 months

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rugby player soap fucks you after a win. that’s it. extension from this post of mine

cw for dubcon smut, noncon exhibitionism, and gross johnny + simon

“Did ya see that, hen?”

Johnny’s words come out stifled behind his mouthguard. He smiles, and it’s bulky, a little dim-witted in how he darts his tongue out, licking up a wash of blood that sluices down his lip. His eyebrow is split and his nose is bent out of shape, his cheeks all swollen and ruddy.

He pulls you into a crushing hug, shaking like an ebullient dog that’s unaware of how big it is. His jersey, a royal blue, turns cobalt with his sweat. It sticks to his skin and outlines his chest, peeling off of your shirt when you sheepishly pull away.

The pitch is glutted with celebrating teammates and their loved ones, but the broadcast camera is raptly focused on you and Johnny. On the grudging hold he has on your waist and the unwieldy trophy he’s just won for his team.

Johnny grins like it’s a challenge. Like he wants to make the camera turn away. He forestalls the protests on your tongue by sinking into you for a hard kiss, bruising, and almost brutal in its force. It’s like he hasn’t separated himself from the game yet. Like he doesn’t want to compartmentalise you from the barbarous sport he plays.

The scruff of Johnny’s stubble tickles you as you try pushing him back, try twisting out of his hands. But his fingers, as bandaged and torn as they are, press dimples into your jawbone and keep you in place. Keeps you squirming and shameful beneath the dissonance of celebration.

He peels away with a kitten lick, pressing a wet smooch to the corner of your mouth. He’s smiling, pulling your jeans against the bulge beneath his spandex-like shorts, chuckling.

“Scored that last try for you, hen,” he pants. Spits out his mouthguard and passes his tongue over his bloodied teeth. “Did’ja see it?”

Johnny stinks of iron musk and sweat. He hands the trophy away and uses both hands to pull you close, clemently kissing your jaw.

“I did,” you hum. You consciously lilt your voice upwards, telling it to Johnny how he always needs to hear it. “You did so well, Johnny. So good.”

He whimpers into your neck. Just barely gyroscopes his hips against you.

“Did it for you,” he slurs. Johnny’s words are all soft, melting on his tongue as if he’s drunk. As if his brain is belated and stuck in the grip of your praise. “Did so good, right? A’practiced so hard.”

You take the bait that Johnny has given you, petting him, because if not, he’ll get ratty and make a scene. You pull back and cup his face, preening under the cornflower blue of his eyes and the puppy-like dip of his lips. You smile. “So good. I’m so proud of you.”

Johnny is half-lidded and dizzy, nodding to himself, swallowing your praise like an empty-headed dog. Impatience and lust are written into him—you can tell by the darkened shade of his eyes and how hard he clutches your hand.

“Let’s go,” he says, leading you through the stadium entrance, shouldering past fans asking him for autographs and photos. “We’ve time before the team goes for dinner. Nobody’ll be in the change room.”

Your cheeks flare with the implication of Johnny’s words and how purposeful they are. Marked by firm determination, leaving no room for objection.

He tugs you like a puppy pulling its owner. Excited, working against its leash, your feet struggling to catch up. Johnny pulls you into his team's changing room, slamming the door shut behind you. The sound of you getting pressed against the lockers is thin, tinny, and fleetingly impairs you. When you reorient, Johnny has his skinned knee between your legs and against your pussy. His hand palming his cock through the tight material of his rugby shorts.

“Johnny,” you pant, “what if someone comes in?”

“Let ‘em,” he huffs out a laugh. “What’re they gonna do? Ban me from the league? I just won us a trophy. ’m on top of the fuckin’ world, baby.”

Annoyance cycles in your stomach at his lack of consideration. You try wiggling out and mewling, but the thigh between your legs is an immovable object. Your clothed clit catches on his sinews at every angle, pushing a gasp out of you regardless of how you twist and turn.

“Haud y’r wheesht,” he barks. A hint of aggression bleeds into Johnny’s words, and that makes you pliant. “We’re just celebratin’, hen, no need ta ruin my win.”

Your eyes are on the door while Johnny shucks down his shorts. It rolls down his thighs and he leaves it at his knees, too eager to toe off his cleats and pull it all the way off. He stands awkwardly now, a little stilted because he can’t stretch his legs all the way, but that doesn’t stop him from bevelling his thigh into you and flexing, grinding into you.

Johnny peels your shirt—a replica of his jersey—off of you, and kisses you deeply. You can taste the salt and blood crusted against his lips, feel his small smile.

Johnny spins you around and folds you over the bench. Your knees bruise against the rubber flooring and your chest flattens against the cold wood, your brain reeling in the gross implications of it, whatever Johnny and his friends get up to in this locker room.

He rips down your jeans, almost popping the buttons off, almost burns your skin with the denim, and settles himself behind you. Johnny grabs a fistful of your ass and spreads you open, swatting your pussy with his other hand.

“Johnny…” you mewl, and he chuckles. Gives you a waggle, slipping his large hand over and thumbing your clit.

“Thought you were feart of bein’ found?” He asks, lowering to his knees and kissing your dewy folds. “Why’re y’being so loud?”

Johnny waits for a second, giving you time to think of a reply, but with the first sound to leave your mouth he’s licking a fat stripe up your pussy, collapsing your words.

He laughs at himself and it sends vibrations up your spine. Your bones are grinding together, your nerves filaments of live wire under Johnny’s hands that dig divots into your thighs and his mouth that sucks on your clit, tonguing your sticky folds.

He spits on your cunt, spreads the wad of saliva around with his tongue. He pulls you into his mouth and suckles, moving his wet lips against your dewy ones.

You stretch your arm back and tug on Johnny’s fleecy mohawk, scratching your fingers against the dew-skinned, shaved parts of his head. He expels a groan against your clit and you mewl, pushing into him, wiggling so his nose buries further, his tongue plunging into you and licking a stroke up your walls.

You’re quivering now, shaking against the cold bench and Johnny’s hot mouth. A knot of energy crackles in your stomach as he wraps his lips around your clit and slurps.

“Gonna come on my mouth, hen?” Johnny pants, but pulls away before you reply. Punches a whine out of you by spinning you onto your back against the bench, pulling his cock out and giving it a few tugs, his dick so hard it droops with laden weight and a slaver of precum.

“Or would’ya rather do it on here?” He asks, stroking himself. His balls low-hanging in front of you, the fat head of his cock all ruddy and red and flaring as he pinches it.

You stare, dull-headed, with your mouth hanging open and a hazy film behind your eyes. Johnny giggles.

“Cannae think with this in front of ye?” He smears his cockhead on your lips. “Sweet girl. So cute.”

Johnny winces and pulls away. He swings one leg over the bench, settling himself on top of you. His cock is a heavy mass of muscle between him. Swinging, bobbing in place. Dumb and drooling with precum that drops onto your navel.

He slips himself between your puffy folds, panting like a dog. Equally as impatient as one, squeezing his cockhead past your first ring of muscle, writing off your small cries of pain. He thinks cupping your cheek offsets the burn—still, Johnny’s cock is so heavy and so big inside you. Spreading you open, stretching you out. Making a home inside your belly.

You hic his name, and he shushes you with a kiss. Johnny weaves into short, quick thrusts, because pulling himself to the tip means losing most of your warmth, and he can’t have that. He settles on barely rolling his hips, focusing on burying himself deep, folding himself into a frog position if that means fucking you meaner.

“Takin’ so much cock, bonnie,” he moans into your neck. “So good. So good.”

Johnny’s ears turn pink and his eyes turn glassy. He keeps rocking inside you, his cock filling you out so well, so full, your thighs shaking and damp with slick. He fingers your clit, and in his pace, wild and unfettered, you wrap your legs around his waist like a cobbled together leash that you use to pull him closer.

Johnny grows feral at that. He slaps his balls harder against you, biting your shoulder. Sweat and blood rolls down his cheek and onto your face, augmenting the icy gold of his first place medal. It drags along your chest with each of his thrusts, turning into a ball of liquid fire as your body saturates with sweat. Johnny leans down, his lips slick as he kisses you, the push and pull of his hips ripening into a more jagged, desperate rhythm.

“Gonna fill y’up, hen,” he pants. There’s a strong dissonance that impairs you, echoing within the locker room. Johnny’s degenerate moans and the slap of skin against skin. The pitched sound of the wind being knocked out of you, the sticky sound of your cunt getting spread open on his big cock.

Something else poises itself on Johnny’s tongue, something impure, but it gets shaved-off as he cuts himself off with a long, flinty moan. Johnny quivers as he comes, and that pushes him deeper as he fills you with his warm ropes.

He presses down on your clit, pushing the rise of your orgasm out of you. Your spine curls off the bench, your nails digging divots into Johnny’s arms, your mouth hanging open and a rough wave of pleasure curling over you and breaking into your skin. Your orgasm is so consuming it burns, eating you whole.

It chews you up and spits you out. You tremble around Johnny’s softening cock as he peppers kisses down your sternum, and while you reorient, you see an unearthly spot of colour in the corner of your eye. It isn’t composed of matter—it’s big and blurry and hides between two rows of lockers.

Then, you realise the drapery England flag, the absence of a Scottish one.

The man who stands in the corner is blonde and huge and has his fat cock out, curling his fist around it, pumping. He’s so quiet, an ambush predator as he just stands there, continuing to beat his dick even after you make eye contact with him.

He turns to Johnny, grotesquely smiling.

Johnny returns it.

#johnny mactavish x reader #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #soap/reader #cod mw2 #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny writing

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bunnys-kisses · 19 days

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(✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡* bunny's fic/drabble rec's, summer 2024!

happy summer bunnies! i know as the weather heats up, it means it'll be more time to soak in those rays and that smut! while i am gettin' ready for my birthday fiasco (it's july 4th everyone), i thought i'd share some posts i've loved over the past little while!

call of duty

simon riley x housewife kink (rated: e) by @princessbrunette

fugitive!konig × naive!farmer!reader (rated: e) by @motomamita

simon shares - tf 141 x reader (rated: e) by @canyonmooncreations

barracks bunny!reader but price is extra possessive over her.. (rated: e) by @luvit

rugby player soap fucks you after a win.... (rated: e) by @vanderilnde

141 and each one of them have Bimbo girlfriends who have no idea what they do but just know they get treated well... (rated: e) by @dante-mightdie

in utero (john price) (rated: e) by @captainfern (i owe you my life for this one)

formula one

podium princess | ln + cs + cl (rated: e) by @thef1diary (major (//∀//))

rulebreaker | cs55 (rated: e) by @pedantic-poison

baldur's gate 3

midnight's embrace (halsin/reader/astarion) (rated: e) by @astarionancuntnin

beyond desperation (halsin) (rated: e) by @dragonsfictavern

mating season (halsin) (rating: e) by @dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd

no, my love. i'm not jealous of the walking encyclopedia. (astarion) (rated: e) by @lendeah

May I please beg for tiefling tav with Wyll who can't get enough.... (rated: e) by @newtabfics

wishin' everyone a safe summer! <3 xoxo, bunny

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 1 month

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Mine. || Simon "Ghost" Riley

For @glitterypirateduck's “GhostChallenge” writing challenge! I used the following prompts:

9. Alternate universe 100. You're Price, Gaz, or Soap's sister/brother 12. Brothers best friend trope 71. Reader or Ghost rescues the other from a bad date (but 'bad' is used very loosely) 34. Ghost in gray sweatpants. Just. Gray. Sweatpants. 90. Thigh riding 13. Car sex (also loosely) 48. "Is that the best that you can do?" 99. "You're mine."

Rating: E Words: 3.2k~ CW: smutty, thigh riding, no piv, no kissing, mean!Simon, toxic!Simon, fuck buddy!Simon, jealous!Simon, stalker(ish?)!Simon, possessive behavior. Tags: afab!reader, you/your pronouns but no Y/N, rugby AU, friends with benefits/fuck buddies, unrequited feelings (or are they?), toxic-ish relationship?, lying, manipulation?, secret relationship, brother's best friend, creating/baiting jealousy. Summary: Ghost is a cocky, mean rugby player that you can't help but be pining over. But maybe it's not completely unrequited. OR Simon ruins your date with someone else because he's jealous. a/n: I had a plan. I executed said plan. Profit?

Having grown up in a rugby family, you were given little choice but to attend all of your brother's games, both as a wee lad, a young man, and, now.

You were there, with your remaining sisters and your mam, for every single one of Johnny's games, back from when he was a wee one that couldn't even do a proper tackle and would fall in the mud, to now, picked to join the national team.

This means, however, that you've spent your entire childhood, teen years and now young adulthood, surrounded by the lads from your brother's many teams, but, especially, the ones he met as a teen and made a lasting friendship with: John "Cap" Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, and Simon "Ghost" Riley, the bane of your existence.

Johnny's had them over for birthdays, holidays, sleepovers... Not to mention the times you've gone to pick him up from training and were allowed into the locker room, only to get an eyeful of too much bare skin on all those men as they paraded around half-dressed; in towels; in underwear, or even in less than that.

It became a matter of time until you gained someone's attention. No wonder, pretty lass like you, with your sweet smiles and playful quips... coming to pick up your bulky winger brother, of course you'd catch someone's eye.

Kyle Garrick is the team's Hooker... but he's also known as a manwhore, the town bicycle, or whatever you wanna call him. The lads all know that if they go out drinking, Kyle is not going home alone, and, worse, they know that Kyle could and would seduce their cousins, sisters, mothers, and girlfriends, if not kept in check.

That's part of the reason why Johnny nearly had a fucking aneurysm when he caught Kyle outside the locker room three days ago, with a hand pressed against the wall beside your head, looking down at you with a smug little smirk on those perfect lips of his.

He knew what was happening, the way Kyle was looking down at you, the way you were looking up at Kyle, smiling all cutely, backed up against the wall, while his own teammate put the moves on you and talked about taking you out, his free hand gently playing with the strap of the dress you were wearing.

Johnny, however, missed the way Simon, who was standing right behind him, stiffened up and bristled at the sight of Garrick flirting with you. You didn't though. You caught it as soon as Johnny cleared his throat next to you with a "Should I pull up a chair and wait fer ye to be done?". Simon's eyes were glued to you, his brow set, his jaw clenched...

That's what he gets.

Simon, whom you've had a massive crush on for years now, who you pine for, whose attention you crave... and who only ever comes to you for a quick lay...

Simon, who rolls over after sex and tosses you a towel while he's putting on his clothes, telling you to 'hurry up' so he can take you home.

Simon, who always stares at you like he's going to eat you whole every time he lays eyes on you.

Simon, who chugs half of the ice cold water bottles he's given during breaks in practice, and uses the rest to douse himself in water to keep himself cool.

Simon, who knows how your eyes always get drawn to his legs and his bulge in his uniform, and rolls up his shorts before doing lifts, just for you.

Simon, who comes to pick you up whenever you call him, tipsy, from some bar or club when going out with friends.

Simon, who sends you 'u up?' texts at 2 in the morning when he's drunk.

Simon, who scoffs and chuckles whenever you breach the 'us' topic.

Frankly, you're not even actually trying to get with Kyle, especially not with his reputation (nothing against him, it's just not for you), but you needed to do something.

You're tired of waiting around for SImon to get his head out of his arse. You're not a toy, you're not going to stick around and be 'friends with benefits' with him, except barely friends, and with little benefits.

He's getting what he fucking deserves.

You didn't anticipate, however, how upset Johnny would be at the idea of Kyle taking you out. In fact, it was poor planning on your end because from the moment Johnny saw you with Kyle, he attempted, multiple times, to convince you not to go out with him... And if the DMs Kyle sent you are any indication, he also tried to talk Kyle out of it.

On the other hand, Simon didn't once try to intervene. Despite the look he shot you on Tuesday, he did not in fact reach out to talk to you, even now, as Friday comes along and you stride into the restaurant, hanging off Kyle's arm...

There's nothing from him. No texts, no DMs, no calls, nothing... So you guess that it's done, over. He got the memo, finally...

Your phone starts buzzing inside your bag while you and Kyle are halfway through sharing your appetizers. Looking down at your phone, you narrow your eyes when you find Simon's number ringing.

Really? Now? You don't think so.

So, you hang up.

Only for it to start ringing again immediately after. Simon. Again.

Grunting, you end up picking up. "What?"

"I'm outside. Let's get out of here."

You're hyper aware, suddenly, that the host has sat you and Kyle by the windows overlooking the car park... And you can see a car with its headlights on pointing right at you.

"I don't think so."

"Then don't think. Just do what I'm telling you."

Bossy, as always, that's how Simon is. Everything is on his terms, never on yours.

"I'm having dinner." You fight him, as always. This push and pull of yours has been going on for three years now... And Simon always wins. It makes him cocky.

"Not with him you're not. So you better get out here before I go in there and embarrass you."

With a sigh, you nod. "Fine, I'll be right there."

Turning off the call, you turn to Kyle, explaining you have to leave. His brows knit together and he looks at you with puppy eyes, asking why, and, short of a proper explanation, you do the same thing you've been doing to Johnny for the past three years: you lie.

"Johnny said he got a bizarre text from our mam and he tried calling her and she isn't replying."

"She's on these new sleeping pills, so she might have just knocked out while watching telly..."

"But he's worried, and he's on the other side of town, so he asked if I could go home and check on her..."

And Kyle, as much of a manwhore he is, he's also a gentleman, and is one of your brother's best friends. If your mam might be feeling sick, he's, of course, driving you home and helping! He was raised right.

As you leave the car park on the passenger seat of Kyle's BMW, you're hyper aware of the familiar Range Rover trailing you down the road, always a couple of cars behind, but always there... always lurking.

You reach your childhood home in record time, and start fumbling for the keys inside your clutch while Kyle trails up behind you to the front door. "I think I've got this from here, Kyle."

"No way, I love your mum like she's my auntie, if she's not doing well, I'm here to help,"

"No, really, it's okay, I'm sure she's fine..."

"Love, really, I'm not leaving you like this, not before I make sure that she's alright-"

Suddenly, a large, pale hand comes to grip Kyle's shoulder from behind, Simon's eyes shining in the darkness of the night, barely illuminated by the light by the front door, before his full face reveals itself.

Like a Ghost. That's his nickname. Fast, stealthy, there when you least expect it. Both in the rugby pitch and out of it.

"Don't worry, mate, I've got this." Simon announces, causing Kyle (and you) to freeze.

"You're here too?" Kyle asks, seemingly surprised, just as the taller fullback player removes his hand from his shoulder.

"Johnny called me too. Was worried about her being alone if mam wasn't doing well," Simon says naturally, as if he isn't also lying through his teeth, though his eyes never leave yours, catching and not planning on letting it go.

"Okay... well..." Kyle says and looks back and forth between you and Simon, seemingly catching the weird vibe between you, before he nods. "I'll go home then. Text me?" He asks you. "We can have a rain check."

Gulping thickly, your gaze slowly moves back toward Kyle, and you nod with a soft smile. "Yeah, yeah. Of course." You say softly and move over to kiss his cheek, before watching Kyle go back to his car and pull off.

You're turning, keys now in hand, to unlock the door when one of Simon's large hands grabs yours, stopping you. "What are you doing?" He asks you.

"Going home?" You retort as you look up at him, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrapped around yours, clutching lightly. "Ye can go now. Congratulations, you ruined my date. Yer work is done."

Simon chuckles and takes a step closer to you, tilting his head at an angle and regarding you with those dark, deep brown eyes of his, the same ones that always make you feel like he's trying to burn you with his gaze.

"That's cute that there, sweetheart." The Mancunian tells you before he lets go of your hand and pushes you along with a hand on the small of your back, away from your front door. "Get in the fuckin' car." He orders and uses his eyebrows to point at his jeep, his voice carrying the same strong tone that he reserves only for bossing his teammates around during practice.

You know better than to defy him. So you tuck your metaphorical tail between your legs and you nod, moving over to his Rover. He opens the door for you and helps you up by gripping a hand around your forearm, the other bumps you up by the back of the legs.

"How'd ye know where we were?" You end up asking once Simon has driven away from your street, your eyes locked on his as he drives, finally daring to take a proper look at him under the orange light of the street lamps you pass by.

Black hoodie, grey sweatpants, and some kind of running shoes. Those stupid bloody sweatpants... The same ones he usually wears when he shows up at your door, or you at his, or when he goes to get you from work or nights out...

You know he did it on purpose... To pick the most slutty outfit he has as he comes to break up your date with Kyle. The annoying grey sweats that hang off his lip, that hug his thick, muscular thighs, the ones that he never wears boxers under, to make sure you can catch the dick print in the fabric...

And his stupid blonde hair all spiked up with hair gel... It used to be brown, matching his eyes, but he bleaches it now, the idiot... You want to be mad at him, you really do... But when he glances over at you while he's driving, you can't really.

"Garrick's predictable," Simon says, his tongue spitting vitriol as he utters his teammate's name. You'd think he hates the bloke... and right now he might as well do. "Takes birds to the same 5 or 6 places every time. Your brother and I split up to cover half of them each." He explains.

Scoffing, you cross your arms over your chest. "The two of ye have no right." You tell him, scolding him over interrupting your date. "I'm a grown woman."

"Right. That's what you told Johnny. Don't try to use that shite excuse on me." Simon tells you as he turns on the blinker and pulls over.

You haven't driven long. Less than 2 minutes. You could climb out of the jeep if you wanted to and walk home.

"It's not an excuse." You retort as you glare at him, keeping your arms tightly crossed over your chest.

"Right, because you want me to believe you really want to go out with Kyle? Or, let me guess, you 'can change him'?" Simon asks sardonically and laughs as he pulls off his seatbelt.

"I didn't say that." You retort. "I simply said that I can do whatever I want because I'm a grown woman.'

"No..." The blond says in a sarcastic tone. "You... did it because you wanted my attention... And you got it, sweetheart." He replies as he reaches over and unbuckles your seatbelt for you, his hands wrapping around your hip and back, tugging you over the gearshift onto his lap.

"I weren't trying to-" You reply, pushing back against his chest, but only half-heartedly, allowing yourself to be dragged onto him.

"Sure you were. But Gaz, really? Is that the best you can do when it comes to making me jealous?" Simon quips as he makes you straddle his left thigh, bringing you down to sit on it, the gusset of your panties pressed against the warm material of his sweatpants.

His stupid, muscular, hard thigh, the same one you can't help but drool over when you watch him in his tiny rugby shorts during practice and in the proper pitch...

You can feel the taut muscle, even through the fabric, the wait his leg flexes as you straddle it, the way he presses the weight of it against your core, and his fingers dig into your hip before dragging you back and forth.

You bite your lip hard to contain a moan, though he notices the way you're trembling, enjoying the look in your eyes, the way your body warms up, the way your back arches up. It puts a sick smile on his lips, one you wanna wipe off.

"It worked, didn't it?" You reply, trying your best to suppress the pleasure from showing on your face, and instead trying to seem smug. "You're here, right? Came to break up my date for a reason..." You say, clinging onto your little 'gotcha' moment...

Only for Simon to ruin it. "Oh that weren't jealousy, darling." He replies, his smirk beginning to grow into a proud, mocking grin, his dark brows rising and his cheeks puffing up with his smile. "I have no reason to be jealous."

Simon begins rocking you faster and harder against his hard thigh, causing you to whine and mewl, the pleasure building from the friction between your cunt and his thigh.

Your clit is slowly and steadily catching on the fabric, making you tremble and twitch atop him, feeling the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten as it always does whenever Simon starts playing with your clit like this.

"No, actually... Don't have a reason to be jealous about anyone." Simon replies as he leans toward you, pressing his nose against yours so he can properly look you in the eye. "Not Garrick... not Price... not any of those coworkers you're always talking about... nor your old uni mates..." He trails off.

"Simon..." You grumble, bucking your hips against him, wanting to chase your orgasm. How does he do this to you every time? Make you so horny, make you throw away all rationality, make you give in to him?

"I know, sweetheart, I know... Feels good, don't it?" The large man coos at you as he helps you rock against his thigh faster and faster, your hips stuttering and your legs beginning to tremble on either side of him as you steadily grow closer and closer to coming.

"You know what else I know?" Simon teases as he leans over and uses his teeth to nip at your neck and earlobe. "I know that I'll never have a bloody fucking reason to get jealous over you... because You're Mine." He tells you, his tone surprisingly authoritative.

There's something in that claim... the way he finally says the things you've wanted so badly to hear him say... Your climax crashes into you and you go limp against him, your head falling onto his chest and your jaw going slack as you moan incoherently.

"That's it..." Simon coos at you and gives you a couple of pats on your thigh, sliding his hand up over your ass, covered in a new dress you bought on purpose for your date with Kyle. Your cunt is throbbing inside your panties, your walls clenching around nothing and you know you've left a bit of a wet spot on Simon's sweatpants.

"You got off on that, huh?" He teases you in a mocking tone. "Been wanting to hear that for a while now, have you?" You can hear the smirk on his lips as you try to catch your breath and calm your racing heart. He's so fucking mean...

"Piss off, Simon." You retort and pull off him, pushing against his shoulders with both hands and moving pack to the passenger's seat. "Take me home." You say in a huff.

"Of course, sweetheart." Simon replies, his voice still smug and a large shit-eating grin on his lips as he bites his tongue, turning back onto the street.

After Simon pulls over in front of your house again, you hop out, fixing your dress and stomping back toward the house, displeased with his behavior. With him using your feelings for him against him. With him.

His phone rings, echoing through the speakers in the Rover. The small screen on the dash displays Johnny's contact name as Simon is watching you frustratedly fumble for the keys inside your clutch again.

"Been to all three spots. Did you find her?" The Scot's voice comes through the bluetooth speakers as the Mancunian watches you, running his fingers over his thigh where you left a wet stain on his sweats.

"Yeah, mate. Been keeping an eye on them. Kyle didn't try anything and he just dropped her off at home." He replies, watching you for a moment longer.

"Thanks for lookin' out, mate. 'm going for a pint right now..." Soap announces.

"Cheers," Ghost says in a nonchalant date, watching you finally find the keys and open the door, heading inside and turning on the hall light. "You owe me one, had a date planned but spent my evening going after your sister."

"Yeah... yeah... I owe ye." Soap retorts. "Come out me with me, then, 'm sure ye can find a bird at the pub." He offers.

"Nah, mate, 'm knackered. Going to get a good night's sleep." He says and watches you turn to glance at him (or more so his car) through the open door before you turn away again and visibly huff, closing the door behind yourself.

Simon shakes his head, snickering under his breath and saying goodbye to Soap before hanging up the call and grabbing his phone to shoot you a quick text.

"Ur brother is @ pub. Let me in."

Then, he stashes his phone back in his pocket, not even waiting for a reply.

His eyes return to the door and wait patiently, just a couple of seconds go by before you're opening the front door again. Simon smiles seeing that, turning off his car and hopping out.

His girl is so obedient.

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dante-mightdie · 2 months

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Sigh

Toxic, nasty, Rugby player Soap who is unfortunately a sex god

oh brother this hits the spot

c/w: toxic!soap, angst/no comfort, brief smut

oh, he’s just a right cunt. proper full of himself, always showing off on the field and flexing his muscles when the match camera is on him. running up to the barriers and letting women touch his flexed bicep with a shit-eating grin on his face

doesn’t care that you’re at his match, watching the cameras with sadness flooding your features. he always does this. you know he’s not loyal to you and he fucks around behind your back and you wish you didn’t have feelings for him but you did

and everytime you come to your senses, ignoring his calls and not going to his matches, he shows up and fucks all those bad thoughts about him out of your pretty head. bends you over the mattress and slams his cock into you over and over again until you’re seeing stars

leaves you an exhausted mess on your bed, giving your ass a swat when he saunters off to the bathroom so he can piss with the door wide open because he’s gross. at least he cleans you up before settling into your bed like he owns it. that’s the small act of kindness your brain keeps remembering as you watch his phone buzz over and over again with the contact ‘bonnie <3’

absolutely will not show you off either :( he keeps you a secret from everyone he knows. calls you a friend when he bumps into someone he knows. ‘dates’ consist of you going to his house at 3AM after he messaged you, telling you to come over. you try and play it off when he occasionally cancels on you when you’re literally 10 minutes away, saying something more important came up

you don’t think it’s a coincidence that he always shows up with hickeys on his neck and the lingering scent of perfume on his skin after a night of ‘something more important’

#mw2 #cod mw2 #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #captain mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap #toxic!soap #rugby!soap

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perfinn · 6 months

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translate your vibration

rugby player!soap mactavish x reader

wc: 3.1k

summary: you're a fieldside medic for a rugby league team and you care a bit too deeply for one of the players. he cares right back

cw: NSFW, f!reader, medical inaccuracies, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), johnny's face is covered in blood, medical malpractice too probably, semi-public sex, johnny is lowkey concussed so dubcon just to be sure (but he wants this trust)

special thanks to @kitkatscabinet for helping this come to be!

read on ao3, divider by saradika

“Ye come here often?”

It takes everything in you not to laugh at Johnny’s obvious attempt at flirting. Not because he’s misguided or the advances are unwanted– truly, you wouldn't mind at all in any other circumstance. Only right now, you’re trying to assess him for a concussion. That, and he’s still got his mouthguard in so paired with the blood dribbling from his nose, his words are a garbled slur.

“Stop moving, Johnny,” you tell him, handing him another cloth to press to his bleeding nose– broken again, you’d wager. You’ll get to that in a moment.

“‘Am no,” he mumbles, lifting his head when you tilt up his chin and giving you a charming grin. Even with the mouthguard and a twisted nose, he’s still the most handsome man on the team. Which, given your own penchant for beefy rugby-type men, is saying something. “Just askin’.”

“It's not helping your case, then,” you say, gripping his jaw tighter when he tries to move again. “Because you know good and well I come here often. I’m your medic.”

“ Mine ?” Johnny echoes with a somewhat-delirious chuckle. “Och, I’m lucky then, have ye all to maself.”

You want to correct him, to tell him that you're technically the whole team’s medic, but you don't. You let him be, and instead reach to grab a light to check his pupils. He does manage to hold still as you shine it into his eyes, though he’s helped along by your firm grip on his jaw. His pupils react normally, but you’re still concerned.

“How are you feeling?” You ask, taking a seat across from him as he finally spits out his mouthguard and presses the cloth to his nose. “Head pounding?”

“Aye,” he says, and you frown as you watch the cloth steadily soak with blood. “But it has just been knocked off my shoulders. ‘Am not seeing two of you, if that's what you mean. Wouldn't be complainin’ if I were, mind you.”

You hum in response, seeming dubious. You suppose that's good, all things considered. Flirting aside, if he is concussed, it's not deeply serious. Still, you’re concerned. But you know Johnny. He loves to play, loves the game. And he’s one of the best players in the club. You glance behind you at the screen that's playing footage of the game, biting your lip. You can see how desperately Johnny wants to get back out there, he’s practically buzzing in his seat. So somehow, you’re going to have to break it to him that you’re keeping him off the pitch for at least the remainder of this half. Naturally, he’ll be a nuisance about it. Whine, complain, probably beg you to reconsider. Part of you doesn't want to deal with the guilty feeling those puppy dog eyes envokes.

So, you stall.

“And the nose?”

“Fuckin’ kills,” he confirms, lowering the rag and grunting in satisfaction when no more blood drips free. “Broken.”

“Again,” you sigh, moving to stand up again. The fact his nose has stopped actively bleeding does loosen the vice-like grip of worry that’s wrapped around your ribcage. He’s breathing okay too, which loosens it again. Still, though, it’s suffocating.

(You shouldn't worry so much about Johnny. He’s been knocked around far more than you could ever handle and played through much worse. But you’re a bit selfish when it comes to Johnny… you care about him more than you ought to as a professional.)

“Cannae complain when it means I get to see ye,” Johnny says with a cheeky grin as you put your fingers to his nose. “I like it when ye dote on me.”

“You won't like me in a second,” you say. He laughs shortly, and you suppose that he assumes you’re talking about setting his nose. In a way, you are. But that's not why he’ll actually be miffed with you. He’d probably never be miffed about setting his nose anyway, he knows it's a necessary pain.

You give him a smile, gently prodding at his twisted nose to get your hands in the right position, and you don't bother giving him a countdown. Instead, you break the news to him as quickly as you can manage as you snap the bone back into place, “I’m keeping you off.”

“ Fuck ! Yer what?!” Johnny rears back in his seat with the combined impact of the pain and the sudden information. You step back, wringing your hands together as he blinks harshly. You’re sure there’s dots in his vision from the pain, and once his head clears enough he’ll process what you’ve said.

“Bonnie,” he says slowly after a moment. The sweet name makes your stomach twist in a strange anxious delight. “Tell me yer joking.”

You give him a sheepish smile, unmoving– and he knows you won't budge. He also knows how much his coach trusts you, and if you say he’s out, he’s out. His coach won’t put him back in if you say not to. But you know he’ll argue anyway. “Until the next half, at least. I need to keep an eye on you.”

Johnny groans deeply, sinking down in the chair. He growls your name, and you’re a tad ashamed to say it goes right to your core.

“We’re only 20 minutes in, I’ll miss half the game! You cannae-”

“You’re staying off, Johnny,” you say firmly. When you’d started on as the Eels’ medic, you’d been a bit shier. But you’d learned quickly that these men were hardheaded in more ways than one, and being shy and timid would get you nowhere in enforcing their safety. So you took note from their coach and got tough with them. It earned you the respect you needed, and also the trust from their coach in knowing that you could handle them. “And you know I won’t be changing my mind. Now if you want to go back on at all, you’ll behave.”

This earns you another groan, but the growly tone of it says something entirely different than the last one. You feel your cheeks warm, and hope to god he doesn't notice.

“Talkin’ dirty won’t make me forgive you, you ken,” Johnny says, knuckles pressed against his closed eyes. “Ye really won’t budge?”

“You know me better than that.”

“Aye, I do,” he sighs, dropping his hands and lowering his lidded gaze to you. “Lucky yer sweet talking me, lass. Wouldn't be so forgiving otherwise.”

It's not a threat meant to be taken seriously, you know. It's a threat that does something else entirely, but you hurriedly stand and clear your throat. Professionalism, you tell yourself. It's the backbone of your career. To be surrounded by hot, burly, virile men all day and not do anything about it is a god damn superpower.

“Price will be as disappointed as you are, but he’ll let you watch from the bench-”

“‘Am no going out there,” he says, standing up with less hurry and far more care. Despite his protests, he is heeding your warnings and taking care with his head. “Can watch the game from in here. Got another way for us to pass the time.”

You stop as you’re turning toward the door, glancing back at him while he inches closer to you. “Johnny…”

You know exactly where he’s hoping to go with this. And as much as you want to – god, you want to – you truly can’t. You’d lose your job. Probably lose your licence if the powers that be were feeling extra annoyed by it, and absolutely shatter your reputation in the process.

But then… that’s only if you get caught. There’s no security cameras in the locker rooms– there isn’t allowed to be. There’s 20 minutes left of the half, no one’s going to come in here until then. You could. You could do it, and be done with it before anyone notices.

(You’re obviously being intentionally naive in thinking you’d ever be satisfied with just one taste of Johnny, but for now it’s the only way you can rationalise it.)

“C’mon, bonnie.”

You turn back round to face him, bouncing a bit on your toes. “We’ll need to be quick.”

Johnny’s bloody and bruised face lights up with a toothy grin and he nods dutifully as he closes the distance between you both. He lifts his hand to place it on your cheek, his palm warm and rough against your skin. “Cannae tell ye how much I’ve thought about this.”

You laugh a bit, staring up at him. You don’t mind so much that he’s still a bit covered in his own blood. “This is so unprofessional.”

“Aye, it is.”

He doesn’t waste another second before he’s putting his mouth on yours, teeth clacking against yours with the desperation and intensity of his kiss. You hear yourself make a soft noise of surprise, or something akin to that. It’s hard to say, hard to organise your emotions when your brain only wants to focus on Johnny, Johnny, Johnny.

He’s intoxicating. If being around him and simply being flirted with by him was as addictive as it was, actually kissing him, touching him beyond just treating his injuries, is heroin. He’s backing you up toward the lockers before you realise it, moving his hands from your cheeks down to your body. His hands explore you with no inhibitions, his rough hands squeezing at your tits. He groans into your mouth, pulling his lips away from yours to look down.

His forehead presses to yours as he takes in the sight of your body. Of course, you’re fully clothed and it’s nothing he’s never seen before, but it’s the fact that for this moment it’s his.

(Johnny is well aware that half his team wants you. Maybe more than half, but half of them had openly expressed it. While you’re gone, while they’re winding down in the locker room. But none of them could pull it off. None of them had seeped through the cracks in your professionalism and found their way into your pants. But Johnny had. He had barely even started with you, and he's already thinking about how he might gloat about it.)

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, bonnie,” he mumbles, pressing a short kiss to your lips. “Would love to take my time with ye.”

“Me too,” you breathe, arching into his touch as he gropes at your tits. “But we can’t.”

“Aye,” he says, a scowl creasing his bloodied face. “Bloody tragic. S’alright, lass, next time.”

Part of you wants to say there probably shouldn’t be a next time, which is true, but your brain is already surpassing its ability to form sentences– and the idea of denying yourself of more Johnny sounds like a nightmare right now. You can’t even entertain the thought, not while Johnny is pressing his bulge to your leg, groaning as he shamelessly ruts against your clothed thigh.

“What d’you want, bonnie?” He asks, voice breathy, almost growling in your ear. “Tell me. I’ll give it to ye.”

You have to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from asking him to fuck you outright. You’re not entirely sure why you don’t say that, actually. Maybe it’s the time constraints, or maybe it’s his cock pressing against your thigh, but fuck, you want to taste it.

“Let me suck you off,” you demand unceremoniously. Johnny chuckles, likely at your commanding tone, but nods as he presses a kiss, then another, to your neck.

“Christ,” he says between heated kisses. He seems almost disappointed to let you sink to your knees, leaving his mouth unoccupied. He almost starts panting as he sees you stare up at him from your knees, reaching for the waistband of his shorts. “Yer fuckin’ perfect. Goan then, lass, then I’ll give that pretty pussy of yours the treatment it deserves after, yeah?”

Nodding along to his ramblings, you tug his shorts down and find yourself disappointed as you come face to face not with his cock, but with his compression shorts. The both of you groan, and Johnny almost tears them off in his desperation to remove them, cursing the shorts under his breath– you bite back the urge to remind him of the medical benefits of wearing them; besides, any thought you have is cut off by the sight of his cock, hard and leaky, springing free.

It's beautiful, which is a strange thing to say about a cock, you know, but there's little else to describe such a pretty thing. You wrap your hand around the base, licking an appreciative stripe along the underside of it.

“ Fuuuuck ,” Johnny groans, hand falling gently on the back of your head. Not pushing, but just resting there. “Good fucking girl.”

You take the head of him into your mouth, gazing up at him as you begin to take him deeper, bobbing your head along the length of him. Johnny’s head hits the wall as he moans freely, seemingly unashamed of the idea of being caught. He’s lost in the warmth of your mouth, and you can't much blame him, because you’re lost in the weight of his heavy cock on your tongue.

Johnny’s eyes are lidded as he turns his gaze down to watch you, and you feel his thumb rub gently over the back of your head as you take him deeper, stopping about halfway down his length, and just stroking what you haven't fit.

“S’alright, bonnie girl,” Johnny mumbles, voice low. “Dinnae have to take me all today, we’ll work at it, aye?”

His muttered promises make you moan, and that makes him moan. You go back to bobbing your head, the locker room filled with the lewd noises of your mouth.

It doesn't take Johnny an exceptionally long time to start reaching his end, his hips twitching as he holds back on the urge to fuck right into your mouth. He has the self control to care for your comfort at least.

“Gonna- fuck , lass, can I come in your mouth?”

Were it anyone else, or any other situation, you’d probably say no. But it's Johnny ; and right now the two of you can't exactly afford to deal with a mess. You hum your affirmative, and apparently the slight vibration of it is enough to have him coming. You see the muscles of his lower abdomen tense before you feel his hot release spill onto your tongue. You take every drop, even when it begins to feel a bit much. When his body relaxes and he leans back against the wall, you pull away and swallow, making Johnny groan lowly.

“Perfect,” he praises, gently guiding you to stand before kissing you again. He licks into your mouth, tongue laving over your teeth like he’s trying to taste himself. Only as you lean to return the favour, he’s flipping the both of you around so your back is against the wall and he’s kneeling before you.

“Promise is a promise,” he mumbles, tugging eagerly at your leggings. You can tell he’d love nothing more than to rip them from your body, but he exercises enough self control to just drag them down to your calves, your panties going along with them.

The position isn't ideal, but Johnny’s enthusiasm isn't hindered. He spreads your legs as far as the leggings will allow, one thumb tugging your lips aside. He groans, leaning forward and inhaling deeply. His nose brushes against your clit and you whine, cheeks warming at the lewd gesture.

“Johnny,” you urge, threading your fingers through his mohawk and tugging gently. Johnny moans. Then, he shuffles forward on his knees and presses his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue over your dripping pussy.

One of his hands grabs at your thigh as he licks you, slurping desperately at your slickened cunt. Another tug at his mohawk draws his focus to your clit, which he sucks into his mouth with an appreciative groan. Even when he can't talk, Johnny is incredibly loud; there would be no hiding this from anyone listening outside the door.

He sucks at your clit, hand moving from your thigh to slip a finger into your cunt, making you moan before you slap a hand over your mouth. Johnny’s eyes open, and his eyebrows furrow.

He pulls away, despite your whined protest, and takes a short breath. “Lemme hear ye, lass,” he encourages. “Don't hide from me.”

“Johnny,” you begin to protest, cutting yourself off with a gasp when he eases another finger into you and curls them right against a spot that has a loud moan falling from your parted lips.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, ducking right down to graze his teeth over your clit.

His mouth combined with his rough fingers is driving you mad, making you squirm in place as pleasure begins to sear the ends of your nerves.

“ Johnny !” You cry, head banging against the wall as your orgasm hits you without warning or much buildup at all. It feels as though it's been punched out of you, making your body tense and tremble for a few good seconds, mind floating miles above your body.

When you return to earth, Johnny has pulled his fingers from your pussy and has them in your mouth, his nose pressed against your clit as he ruts his hips against his hand. You're entranced watching him rub himself through the overstimulation, fingers in his mouth and bruising nose in your pussy. It's only a few more moments before Johnny spills into his fist, a guttural groan muffled by your cunt.

He sighs, pressing a loving kiss to your pussy. Then, he pulls back, face shiny with your slick, and looks up at you, grinning lopsidedly. “Alright, bonnie?” He asks, like he hasn't just jerked himself to a second orgasm on his own.

“Yeah,” you breathe, words like laughter. “Are you?”

He nods, shuffling awkwardly to his feet and looking at the mess on his hands. Pants still around his knees, he shuffles over to your medical supplies and gets himself a tissue, wiping his hand off before tugging up his shorts.

He returns to you, who’s struggling to stand, and gently tugs your pants up for you. He kisses you, softer and sweeter than before, and smiles against your lips. “Ye were perfect, bonnie.”

You hum, shifting your legs so that your underwear doesn't press wrong against your oversensitive cunt.

The door opens before you can respond, and the first person inside is Johnny’s coach, John Price. The two of you must have somehow missed the siren in the heat of your joint pleasure. The bearded man takes in the scene of the two of you standing so close, and the slick on Johnny’s flushed face, and a heavy sigh leaves his lungs.

“Fucking hell, MacTavish.”

#soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #cod #my work #do not ask me how tjis ended up 3k words. i dont know #smut #cod smut #rugby au

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ghcstao3 · 4 months

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i’m still of the belief that ghost was of a slight build when he was younger and only filled out once he joined the military, where exercise was frequent—necessary—and food was steady. ghost might’ve made a good track athlete, if he had the will. what with his long legs and lean runner’s frame. but he’s almost unrecognizable from his younger self, now, and for the better. it separates him further from a past he doesn’t remember all that fondly.

soap, on the other hand, has always been on the stocky side. building muscle came easy to him, and he’d made a particularly good rugby player in secondary. for him, joining the military was the only logical career path for his athleticism and drive to prosper, and so it does. he just refines his strength and gains a better sense of himself.

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #headcanons

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rookiesbookies · 5 months

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The body types I’d give the boys based on this article

Price - dad bod but like sexy dad bod with the soft layer of fat over the muscles probably closest to the swimmer or the discus athlete

Soap - He is buff like a rugby players. Look up Rugby players stretching and you’ll get it

Ghost - im thinking he’s built like a triathlete.

Gaz - a slightly bulkier athletic build so like a muscular build

Konig - builtfat body. He’s similar to Price but probably less hairy probably discus or wrestling but the lil blonde wrestler dude

Krueger - lean but built. Light hair. Soccer body type. Enough said.

Keegan - probably built more like a basketball player

Alex Keller - built more like a male volleyball player

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captainfern · 8 months

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141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part Two - Crush •

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x fem!reader

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - you're getting used to your new job now, and have a knowledge of player's injuries. but the scrum-half insists it's more than just his leg that needs attention lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 5.5k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], soap's an absolute menace, mutual masturbation, guided masturbation?, brief discussion of oral [m!receiving], light degradation/dumbification but only if you squint tbh, praise, strong language

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

Soap is a scrum-half, or half-back – has a wide set of skills, kicks and passes well, and is generally the smallest on the team. this position tends to work the best under pressure.

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

<- part one | part three ->

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

You wake bright an early the next morning, the sunlight streaming through your window and bathing you in warm golden light. You stretch, joints popping, back shifting out of sleep-mode.

You ready yourself for the day, manage to eat a small amount of breakfast, and then you're out the door– the sun hovering above the horizon and reflecting onto the city below.

You're one of the first to arrive at work, as per usual. It's unusually quiet. The players usually bring the noise once they all start arriving a few hours later. So you hum to yourself as you walk down the award-lined hallway, passing by the coaches door and seeing light peeking out from beneath it. He's the first at work, before you.

You round the slight corner, juggling the files and your lunchbox in your hands, as well as your favourite choice of beverage for that time in the morning, while you wriggle your keys out of your pocket. You look up at your door, and almost drop your things in fright.

The scrum-half of the team leans against the wall beside your door, scrolling absent-mindedly through his phone. He looks up when he hears you approaching, a broad smile passing over his face. He pockets his phone and kicks himself off the wall as you walk over, your heart still beating a bit faster than normal after that unexpected fright.

"Mornin', doc," he smiled, then held out his hands. "You need a hand."

"Oh!" You hand your files and your lunch over to him, now finding it significantly easier to slot your key into the keyhole. "Thanks, Johnny."

When you twist the key, it unlocks, and Johnny beats you to it– pushing the door open for you and sliding his hand inside to flick on the light. He then stood aside, allowing you to walk in as the lights beamed on.

"After you." He smiled, and you smiled back, walking into your office. It was cold and dark, so after placing your keys and your travel cup on your desk, you moved to open the curtains and then turn on the heater in the corner of the room. Johnny followed in behind you, placing your files and lunch neatly on your desk, before looking around your office with a small quirk in his lips.

You pulled the curtains and allowed golden sunlight to stream in. You then passed a look over your shoulder. "You know... your appointment’s not for another forty minutes, Johnny."

"I know," he shrugged as you moved to the heater to turn it on. "I just figured you'd probably want to get it out of the way, right?"

You laughed. "Not necessarily. It is my job."

Johnny smiled. "Well, I'm glad you don't want to get it over and done with then, eh?"

You turned from the heater, catching his sly grin and the flirtatious tone in his voice. You ignore it with a roll of your eyes, before pointing to the medical table on the other side of your office. Johnny got the memo, hobbling across the room and scooting himself back up onto the table.

You grabbed his file from your desk and walked over to him, thumbing through the pages.

"Right, so you've pulled a muscle in your calf, correct?"

"Yes ma'am," Johnny said, twisting to lie on his stomach, but looking over his shoulder so he could see you. "My right one."

"And you did it at training the day before yesterday?" You questioned him again, placing your files to the side and opening one of the cabinets, pulling out a bottle of cool, muscle rub gel.

You approached the table and unscrewed the cap as he continued speaking. "Yeah, pulled it coming out of a ruck."

"What's the pain like?"

"Not too bad, but still unpleasant."

"So it's definitely not a tear then, which is good." You said, squeezing a generous amount of the gel onto Johnny's calf. He flinched at the cold.

"So that means... it's probably just a strain?" Johnny asked, no longer looking over his shoulder. Instead, he had folded his arms and was now resting his head over them.

You began to smooth the gel over the surface of his calf, gently at first. "Most likely. They're very common."

Johnny grunted when your grip hardened– a firm massage into the skin, feeling for the muscles that were causing him the most discomfort.

"Does that mean, you know, because it isn't a serious injury, that I won't be able to come in here as much?"

You rolled your eyes. "Very funny." Your thumb then pressed down on an inflamed patch of skin, feeling a particularly tender strain of muscle beneath the thin layer of flesh. Johnny let out a low groan, and you quickly apologised as you lightened your touch.

You spent a couple of minutes working your fingers and thumb around the injury. Not too hard, like a proper massage, as the injury was still fresh. But you got a feel of the strain on the muscles, and you moved away to wash the gel from your hands.

"What's the diagnosis, doc?" Soap asked as you scrubbed the gel from your hands.

"Oh my god," you shook your head in disbelief. "What is with you boys and calling me doc?"

Soap cracked a smile, though you couldn't see him do it. "It's 'cause you're our doc."

"I'm a physiotherapist, Johnny."

"Same thing."

You shook your head in disbelief again, drying your hands and moving to scribble down a few things on Johnny's file. Your eyes lingered on the top for a moment, and you laughed behind closed lips. Johnny heard you, turning around and sitting up, his head cocked to the side like a curious puppy.

"What're you laughing at?" He asked, trying to get a peek at your files.

You tapped the tip of your pen to the top of the page you were writing on. "How'd you get a nickname like Soap?"

Johnny smiled. "Oh, that! S'cause I'm slippery like that, doc. Hard to catch on the field."

You blew out an unimpressed sigh, moving back to your cabinets and taking out a new tube of gel– this time, Voltarol. You spoke to him as you unscrewed the cap and walked back towards the table. "That's a stupid nickname and– turn back onto your stomach for me, thanks– I find it hard to believe everyone calls you that."

Johnny twisted himself back around to offer you his calf. He laughed. "It's a popular name 'round here, doc. Not many of the lads call me Johnny."

You piped a small amount of the Voltarol gel onto the back of Johnny's calf, screwing the cap back on and placing the tube to the side. You then slowly began to smooth the gel into the skin, which was now bright red from where your hands had been moving against it.

"Am I the only one that calls you Johnny, then?" You asked, carefully rolling his calf beneath your fingers and palm.

He grunted, lost in the feeling for a second, and then cleared his throat in an attempt to re-centre himself. "Uh, yeah, pretty much."

"Do you like it?" You asked.

You said it innocently enough, but Johnny's brain was in a slight haze. Your hands on him, the slight twinge of pain, the smell of the gel and of your perfume. He blinked rapidly where his head was tucked against his folded arms.

"Huh?"

"Do you like it?" You repeated, fingers rubbing gently across Johnny's burning-hot skin. "Do you like when I call you Johnny?"

"Uh–" Johnny was praying that he didn't get a fucking boner.

"Or would you prefer it if I called you Soap like everyone else?" You asked, this sentence sounding more sweet and sincere than seductive like the last few.

Johnny cleared his throat again. "Oh, I mean, it's up to you, doc. I don't... you know, I don't really mind–"

"No, seriously," you assured him, the palm of your hand pressing down on his calf, making his breath hitch. "What would you prefer? Don't worry about what I prefer. What do you prefer?"

Anything. Fucking anything. You could call him whatever name you wanted to, even if it wasn't his, and he'd still love it. He'd still love the way it sounded falling from your lips. Call him whatever you want, doc.

"You can call me Johnny." He said quietly.

"Yeah?" You smiled. "I'm not cool enough to call you Soap?"

Johnny bristled. "What? No! No, doc. It's not that–"

You laughed, and the sound alone made Johnny's heart start beating a hundred times faster. "I'm just kidding, Johnny. Don't worry."

Johnny sighed into his arms, shaking his head, which made you laugh. Soon, you finished applying the Voltarol gel, and were washing your hands at the sink while Johnny gingerly put his feet to the ground, sliding off the table.

"Okay, so I've just put some Voltarol on your calf, which should help reduce the swelling and inflammation. It'll also help soothe the muscles a bit and hopefully reduce the risk of you cramping up in the near future," you said, double-checking your files once more before turning your full attention to the scrum-half. "Don't shower or put water on the area for at least an hour, and try to avoid direct sunlight if you can. It works better in the first hour if you do that."

Johnny was nodding along to everything you said.

"Oh, and don't touch it and then touch your eyes, that'll sting like hell," You finished with a smile, clasping your hands together. "Any questions?"

Johnny looked out the window briefly, and then back at you. "Yeah, uh, do I need to do anything else?"

"Well, no training for thirteen days at least. Which means no game this weekend."

He gaped at you. "What? Doc, come on–"

"If you want it to get better, Johnny, then you need to rest it," you told him sternly, and he shut his mouth immediately. You smiled. "Any other questions?"

"Am... Am I coming back?"

You laughed. "To me?"

"Yeah. I mean, you know, as a physio–"

"Yes, you'll come back to me, Johnny. Give it about a week, but if it's still feeling as though it's a fresh injury before then, make an earlier appointment. Oh! And don't let me forget–" You hurried over to your cabinets and grabbed a spare tube of Voltarol gel, handing it to him. "You can use it up to four times a day, but your injury isn't too swollen anymore, so just put it on after your shower, maybe once in the morning and again at night if it's bad."

"Okay. Okay, cool, thanks doc." Johnny said, looking down at the gel and nodding.

You smiled, heading back towards your desk. "I'll see you in a week's time then, okay?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Johnny told you, pocketing the gel. "Thanks for that, doc. Have a good day, yeah?"

"You too, Johnny."

Johnny left your office, closing the door gently behind him. His calf was already feeling so much better, but he had another problem.

He adjusted himself in his shorts, placing his hands in front of his hardening cock.

Fucking hell.

•º•º•

He felt like an absolute perv the way he would take any opportunity just to look at you.

Over the next week, Johnny wasn't allowed to take part in any of the trainings, but he played water-boy pretty well. That meant he was still limping around the training grounds, wandering through the halls, and annoying his teammates by just being himself.

But, one of the main reasons he was so happy to play water-boy for the next week or so was because he could see you.

He watched the way you hurried down the hall, files tucked beneath your arm, humming to yourself. He admired the way you smiled and greeted all of the players and staff, always so happy to be talking with any of them. He noticed how sometimes you'd absent-mindedly watch the training from your window, and Johnny got to steal glances of your pretty face behind the glass.

It was some high-school type crush. It had to be it.

Or maybe not. When Johnny saw the way Gaz looked at you, just for a split second, a fleeting moment passing each other in the halls, he felt his stomach drop. Would he have to compete with Gaz for your attention now? The way the winger smiled at you; all bright white, absolutely perfect fucking teeth. So charismatic, and charming, and Johnny saw the way it melted you. The way you hid half of your face behind your clipboard of files, and the way you averted those pretty eyes of yours.

Johnny had no reason to feel like this. But something about you... something about you had him feeling so... different.

So he did feel as though he was competing with Gaz sometimes. Subtly, of course. Gaz was still his teammate and one of his closest friends, so the Scotsman had to ensure his strategy was invisible.

For example. Walking down the hall on the way out to the field, and you'd pop your head of your office to wish everyone good morning. Johnny found it easy to just push Gaz ahead, jostling him around with false excitability that everyone predicted of the scrum-half, anyway.

Or at night, one time Johnny caught Gaz lingering near your door, waiting for you to finish up your shift and then, like the gentleman he was, walk you to your car. Johnny found it slightly less easy to tell Gaz he had a last minute appointment, and so Gaz didn't need to wait around. It was just a little white lie. Nothing major. And then, when you'd finish with your work, Johnny would walk you to your car, opening the door for you, leaning against it as he spoke to you. He'd wish you goodnight, and a safe drive home.

And then–

"Did you need a ride, Johnny?" You asked at the end of the week, looking around the empty carpark.

Johnny drove sometimes. But as of late, to keep himself moving– and occupied– he'd walk from home to the station and then take the train. If he really wanted to, he could probably walk all the way home in less than thirty minutes.

But, how could he say no?

Not with the way you were offering him such a warm, comforting smile. The night was cold, too.

"Are you sure, doc? I don't want to keep you from heading home..." Johnny said, drumming his fingers against the car door.

You smiled, starting the ignition. "Don't be silly. Hop in, it's cold out tonight."

Johnny tried and failed to hide his smile as he walked around to the other side of the car, sliding into the passenger seat. After giving you his address, he thanked you while he put his seatbelt on, and then thanked you again when you rolled out of the parking spot. He thanked you a third time when the car merged out onto the main road.

You released a small, bashful laugh, glancing at him momentarily. "You don't need to thank me. I'm sure you would've done the same for me."

Of course he would have. He'd do anything you asked of him, you know that, right? Hell, if you wanted him too, he'd let you drive him home and get you splayed out on his sofa and, because you'd probably ask so nicely, he'd press his face between your legs and make you come in his mouth. Or, or, if you let him, if you granted him even the slightest chance, he'd be so fucking happy for you to drop to your knees in front of him, pump his cock in those soft, skilled hands of yours, and then wrap your lips around him. Good god—

"Yeah, o'course I would doc." Johnny mumbled, screwing his eyes shut and trying not to focus on the image he just put in his head.

You shot him a look. "Are you alright?"

Johnny's eyes snapped open, and he realised, with heat forming in his cheeks, that he'd made a pained face and released a soft groan. How fucking embarrassing.

"Yeah, m'fine... s'just, you know, my calf." He lied.

At that time, you pulled up outside his flat. Johnny took a deep breath.

"It's still sore?" You asked with a frown.

Johnny felt guilty now.

"No..." He admitted. "It's actually feeling a lot better. I should probably thank you for that too, eh?"

You smiled. "That's okay. It's my–"

"Your job, yeah..." Johnny trailed off, looking down the dark street through the windshield. He turned back to you and found you were already looking at him. He furrowed his brows. "What?"

You squinted at him, as though trying to see him better. "What has been going on with you lately? You've been acting... different."

Johnny looked around sheepishly. "S'nothing, doc."

You hummed, skeptical, but didn't question him further. Instead, he thanked you again for the ride, wished you goodnight, and exited the car. You watched him disappear through the door of his flat before driving away.

•º•º•

Of course you had a crush on Johnny. Who wouldn't?

It was hard to ignore his charm, his infectious smile and his flirtatious compliments. It was hard to ignore the looks he gave you across the hall, or the way he always seemed to run into you after the end of your shift.

He was a handsome man. An absolute menace, mind you, but he was nice. Really nice. And you wondered whether it was a ploy to get you to actually like him.

Thirteen days after your initial appointment with Johnny, and a couple of days after you had dropped him home, he sauntered into your office, chirping out a "morning, doc!" before automatically laying himself down on the medical table.

You smiled, shaking your head ruefully, getting up from your desk and walking over to him. He was rolling up the leg of his grey sweatpants, exposing his calf to you.

"Morning to you too," you said. "Your calf looks good. The swelling's gone down significantly, hasn't it?"

He nodded. "Yeah, and it feels good too. No pain."

"No pain?" You questioned, gently prodding the target area on the back of his calf. "None at all?"

"Yep," Johnny said, popping the p. "I'm all good."

"Good," you told him, patting his calf a couple of times before walking away to write up a final statement on your computer. "Then I suppose we're all done."

Johnny jolted up, his head snapping over to look at you as he quickly lifted himself off of the medical table. He began rolling down the leg of his sweatpants. "Oh, well, I mean– are you sure? Like, did you want to check it again?"

"No, it's alright," you said without looking at him, eyes on your computer as your fingers flew across the keyboard, the clacking filling the room. "Swelling's gone down, pain is gone. You're all good to go."

Johnny frowned. "Right... okay... Do I need to, I dunno, like, come back for a follow-up appointment?"

"No." You shook your head, still typing.

"So that's it?" He was almost pouting now.

You smiled at your screen, hearing the slight sadness in his tone. "Yes, Johnny, that's it. Until you get hurt again, you don't have to come back and see me."

Johnny's frown was deep now. "But what if I want to see you again without being hurt?"

"Well, I work here, so you'll see me–"

"No, I mean, what if I want to spend time with you without you– you know– checking me for injuries."

You finally looked away from your computer, cocking your head to the side in confusion. You stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. "God, at least take me out to dinner first, MacTavish."

The way you said his last name had his cock twitching within the confines of his sweats. He cleared his throat, fidgeting with the elastic of his waistband. "Yeah, actually, I mean, if you wanted, you could come 'round to mine for dinner."

You smiled at him. "You cook?"

He shrugged. "I try."

You laughed. "Okay, sure. When–?"

"Tonight," Johnny said a bit too quickly, then slowed himself down to repeat; "Tonight. Six o'clock."

Your smile didn't fade. "Okay, Johnny. I'll see you at six."

•º•º•

"For the record, this is not a date. It's just dinner, okay?" You reiterated as you walked into Johnny's flat at a few minutes to six that evening. He took your coat from you, and showed you into his flat.

"I know, doc. Don't worry," He said, and then led you into the living room. "Dinner's in the oven, but we can wait here if you'd like."

You sat down on the couch and Johnny took the armchair directly opposite. You were presently surprised, too. The flat smelt amazing, savoury smells of rendering fat and frying potatoes– a good roast, by the smell of it. And the flat was tidy, well decorated too. Not something you expected from a rugby union player.

"Your place is really nice, Johnny." You remarked, looking around the room.

"Oh, that's all Simon. He likes keeping the place clean."

"Oh, you flat with Ghost?"

Johnny nodded. "Yeah, but he's out for the evening. Gym, I think. Probably with Price and Gaz, too."

After looking around the room, you turned your attention back to him. He was already looking at you, and it was like a wave of heat passed over you– the way he was looking, his soft dark eyes and the slight pinch in his brow, made you grow hot. It was like he was studying you, an unwaveringly warm appraisal that had you shifting in your seat. The only other person that had ever looked at you like that with such admiration was Gaz.

"What're you staring at, Johnny?" You asked accusingly, trying to play it off like a joke. Something flippant. Anything to conceal the fact your heart was beginning to hammer in your throat.

He sighed through his nose, lips quirking as he looked at you. "You're a smart girl, doc. I think you can figure it out."

Your stomach fluttered at that. What the hell.

You forced yourself to roll your eyes and sigh and act the complete fucking opposite of the way you were feeling. You shook your head, a mocking smile on your face as you broke eye-contact, looking anywhere else but him. "Don't do this to me, Soap."

"Oh, no Johnny?" Johnny teased. "You're nickname-zoning me now?"

You huffed, finally looking at him. "No, that's not what I–"

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," Johnny quickly said. "And you're more than welcome to leave, seriously, no hard feelings. But... but I have a huge crush on you, doc."

Oh. Well… it’s not like you weren't expecting it. But you still felt your mouth drop open a bit.

You tried to play it cool. "Crush? What are we, thirteen–?"

"Don't shoot me while I'm down, doll," Johnny grimaced. "My heart's beating out of my fucking chest."

Doll. That's new. You didn't know how to feel about that.

But your pussy certainly liked it. [LMAO]

That pulsing heartbeat in your chest seemed to move down your body and into your underwear, pleasure pinching at the base of your tummy, making you feel giddy. Maybe it was because it was Johnny saying it...

"Johnny..." You whined, flopping back further onto the couch.

Johnny groaned in response, his legs spreading as he lifted his hips, adjusting the way he was sitting in the armchair. Your eyes followed the movement unabashedly, causing a wicked grin to split across the Scots face.

"God, I've imagined you saying my name like that since you walked into the team room on your very first day," Johnny muttered, and you watched him with bated breath as he palmed himself over his sweatpants. You could see the hard outline of his cock, and you squeezed your thighs together.

"Johnny..." You whispered to him and he groaned again.

There was a prominent tent in the front of his sweats now. He groaned again, watching the way your eyes never left his body. "Tell me to stop doc, and I will. I'll stop. I'll... I'll stop for you."

You didn't want him to stop. Maybe you did– I mean, hello! You're job? But, just like with Gaz, all thoughts of your job seemed to fly out the window. The way Johnny was looking at you, the way his cock hardened just by you whining his name like that, had heat flooding your body and arousal dripping from your cunt.

"I... I don't want you to stop," you told him and you could see the visible relief on his face. You bit your lip to hide your smile. "I want you to touch yourself, Johnny."

"Oh, fuck yes–" he literally growled, pulling his cock out of his boxers and sweats. He hissed out a low groan when he squeezed his cock at the base, the tip already flushed red and pearling with pre-cum.

You bit back a whimper at the sight. The way he fisted his cock a couple of times, before holding it at the base; the way his cheeks burned red, eyes darting across your face; the soft grunts and groans that elicited from his chest; the light pinch in his brows as more pre leaked from his slit.

You released a shaky breath, teetering on a whimper. "You're so pretty, Johnny."

"Ah, fucking hell, doll–" He groaned, using the pre-cum rolling down his length to slick his grip, pumping his cock while his eyelids fluttered. But he willed them open, eyes finding yours. He noticed the way you were squeezing your thighs together, moving in your seat. God, he loved it.

"Come on, doc. Let me see you touch that pretty cunt, eh?" Johnny uttered, a sparkle in his eyes as you wasted no time pulling your trousers down, followed by your underwear. He noticed the damp spot on the fabric, and groaned again. "God, s'this what you wanted the whole time? Naughty fucking girl, doc. Look how soaked you are."

You spread your legs slowly, parting your thighs for him to see your glistening core. He moaned out, the pace of his hand increasing as you dragged your own fingers along your inner-thighs, dancing across your bikini-line but not quite going further. That made Johnny grunt, movements slowing.

You blinked lazily at him, pleasure stirring in your stomach at just watching him. Your clit was throbbing.

"Tell me how to touch myself, Johnny." You basically begged, and Johnny almost came right then and there.

"Fuck, fuck–" He gripped his cock hard at the base, trying to slow the building of his orgasm. But you looked so good, sounded so good. You were perfect. He slowly began his movements again, the sounds of his pre-cum alone sending soft squelches through the living room. "Play with your clit, doll, come on. Show me how you like it."

You moaned, finally dragging your fingers over your core. The pads skimmed across your wet folds, gathering your slick, before circling your puffy clit. Johnny's eyes were burning you whole.

You moaned out, a breathless "oh my god, Johnny–" following, bracketed by another long moan at the end of your sentence. You were so sensitive, your bundle of nerves throbbing beneath the tight circles of your fingers. Johnny jerked himself off to the sights and sounds of you, his cock twitching in his hand, rigid velvet beneath his fingers. His eyes flitted from your blissed-out facial expressions, to the way your fingers toyed with your clit. Your cunt squeezed around nothing, and Johnny groaned when another dribble of slick leaked out down the lower curve of your arse.

"You're so wet, fucking hell," Johnny muttered, more to himself than you. "Want you to fuck yourself now, doc. Want you to stuff that wet cunt with your fingers," he said louder this time, wetting his lips as he quickened his hand movements, hips twitching upwards to meet each thrust. "Go on."

You whined at his words, reluctantly dragging your fingers away. Your clit was buzzing with your unreleased orgasm. So fucking close. But you listened. Like a good girl, you listened and trailed two fingers down your folds to your dripping hole. You waited for him, fingers circling the opening.

Johnny cursed, then groaned. "Waiting for my permission? Really, doc?"

You whined. "Please, Johnny–"

He chuckled darkly, still pumping his cock. "Go on then, doll. Two fingers, yeah? S'that it?"

You whined again, two fingers smearing your arousal across your dripping core, heat fizzling in your lower tummy. Your hips twitched, body warming against the couch.

"I know that wet cunt can take more than that," Johnny said. "Fuck yourself with three fingers. Go on doc, you can count. Three fingers. Make yourself come thinking they're my cock."

Listening to him, you added a third finger and then slowly pushed inside. The stretch was there, of course– the light twinge of pain somewhere deep inside you, but you ignored it. The gummy walls of your cunt sucked your fingers in, wet and warm, until your knuckles were brushing up against you.

"Steamin' Jesus–" Johnny whispered, cock twitching in his hand, leaking pre. "That's it... now fuck yourself, doc. You can do that, can't you? Be good– fuck– be good and fuck yourself."

You did. In and out, you dragged your fingers, fucking yourself like he said and imagining they were his cock. His cock filling you up, pulling moans and whimpers from your throat, building that bubbling hot pressure in the base of your gut. You knew he'd feel so good inside you. Warm and hard and thick inside you. You were almost salivating, whimpering out to him as you neared your orgasm.

Your legs shook against the couch, trembling. You tried your best to keep your eyes on him, but the heat of his stare was making you dizzy. You whimpered "Johnny, Johnny, please–" and he grunted in response, praising you through it, uttering deep "that's it, doll, that's it" with each thrust of your hand.

"M'gonna come, fuck, m'so close–" You gasped out, eyes rolling.

Johnny was close to, grunting as he fucked his fist, eyes on you the entire time.

"Eyes on me when you come, doc. Open those pretty eyes." Johnny told you. You wrenched your eyes open, head falling forward slightly and your lips parting, a string of breathless whimpers emerging.

Johnny moaned. "You can come, doll, go on. Come 'round your fingers and tell me– fuck– tell me who you’re thinking about. Who’s on that pretty mind of yours while you’re being a good girl and coming ‘round your fingers, hm?"

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, and you did as you were told– keeping your eyes on him for as long as possible before the weight of your pleasure forced them shut, moaning his name in a long, loud "Johnny–!"

He came too, moaning your name into the living room. No doc, or doll; it was your first name– moaning it as he came across his knuckles, his cum splattering up his abdomen and dripping onto his lap. He pumped himself through it, slowly softening, muttering your name over and over, eyes finally closing.

"Next time..." He breathed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Yours was much the same. "Next time, I'm coming down your throat."

You smiled, fucked-out, taking a deep breath as you relaxed against the couch, the pair of you basking in each other's company as your highs waned. When you breathed in again, you smelt food. Burning–?

"Oh, fuck! Fuck–!" Johnny was tucking himself back into his cum-stained sweatpants and sprinting out of the living room and into the kitchen. "Fuck! My fucking roast!"

You couldn't help but giggle, moving to slip your pants back on. "Make sure to wash your hands first!" You called, and immediately heard the water running. You laughed again.

As you got dressed, you looked back down at the couch, embarrassment flooding you. A wet stain on the fabric. Oh, fuck no.

"Uh, Johnny? Do you have anything I could, uh, clean the couch with?"

"Check the bathroom! First door on the right!" Johnny called.

Thank god for that, you thought. You didn't exactly want Ghost wondering why his perfectly clean couch had a fucking stain on it. And, knowing Johnny, he wouldn't exactly have a good excuse for it.

Speaking of Ghost...

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to ask, what has Ghost done to himself? He's got an appointment before the game tomorrow, and it only says he's hurt his hand." You asked after exiting the bathroom with an arms full of cleaning supplies.

"Yeah, something wrong with his fingers, I think. I dunno. He hurt himself sparring with Price on Monday," you heard Johnny reply. "Price made him book an appointment. He usually doesn't."

"Huh..." You pondered. "Why's he at the gym if he's hurt?"

Johnny poked his head in the doorway. "He's Ghost. It'll take more than a couple'a sore fingers to knock him down... and, by the way, dinner's ready."

You smiled. "It's not too burnt, is it?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

#captainfern #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #fem reader #141rugby!au #johnny soap mactavish #soap smut #soap x reader #soap call of duty #cod smut

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lushrue · 18 days

Text

hockeyteam!141 headcanons

wanted to write more for this au but i don't have enough creative juices for a part 2 yet, so have some hcs about the 141 + some reader backstory! 💖

price (#35)

has been playing since he was a kid, found something he was good at and stuck to it

skate guards, stick tape, mouthguard, everything is blue because that’s his favorite color

gets really concerned when any one of his guys goes down on the ice, he’s usually right there beside the team medic until they shoo him away

is the first one back in the locker room after a game to greet the others with a fist bump or a high five for a job well done

(ghost thinks it’s corny, but he always asks for a fist bump after a particularly tough match)

ghost (#42)

picked up the sport as an escape from family life, it was an outlet to let out his rage and he took it

carries around a communal bottle of peroxide for washing jerseys

sometimes, the other guys on the team will give him their bloody gear cause no one can get the stains out as good as he can

technically, gaz gave him his nickname first (“you’re like a bloody spectre out there, mate”) but soap was the one that made sure it stuck

is definitely the guy on the team that yells at everyone else when they aren’t paying attention to price

has gotten called the captain’s pet more than once for it, too

really likes the flavor of red gatorade, but he doesn’t like how it stains his teeth

soap (#07)

started playing when he got kicked off of his youth football/soccer team for being too aggressive, parents picked a more physical sport for him

definitely chews on his mouthguard when the game is getting close, will chew on it regardless if he’s been on the bench for too long

gets really annoyed with how sweaty the mohawk gets under his helmet and has fully considered buzzing his whole head multiple times

chirps both on and off the ice, started an all-out brawl by calling another player a “sack of yankee-dankee-doodle gobshite” once (yes, he got it from gordon ramsay)

once he puts those pads on, he will do anything and everything price tells him to do

refill his water bottle? done. grab the whiteboard so he can sketch something out? it’s already in his hand.

speaking of sketching, johnny really likes to draw and has drawn everyone on the team at one point or another

gaz (#74)

definitely was one of those kids that played every sport they could

this man was in hockey, rugby, football, anything that would let him sign up and give him a position to play

price handpicked him for the minor league team after seeing him play in a local match (still had to run it by the head coach, laswell, though)

dances in his seat on the bench in between plays and has definitely bribed the announcer to play some of his favorite songs during the intermissions

is relatively quiet on and off the ice until he sees something he doesn’t like

once, someone landed a pretty nasty hit on price and kyle got himself ejected from the game fighting with the ref over the lack of penalty

bonus reader hcs!

i want to leave most of the physical characteristics vague (gender, hair color, etc.) but i have some backstory for the reader in this au!

decided they want to be a figure skater after watching the olympics with their parents as a kid

they started classes as young as an instructor would take them, and before that, they made their mom take them to the ice rink every day after school

always refuse to compete with a partner because they got burned by an almost-dating situation when they were in high school

as much as their coach keeps trying to get them to do upbeat routines to rock/pop music, they’ve always preferred the more flowy routines to instrumentals

despite that, they always warm up to divorced dad rock

gonna write a pt 2 for the story soon, so stay tuned!

#cod #cod fic #call of duty #reader insert #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #poly!141 (eventually)#hockeyteam!141 #figureskater!reader

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

Text

call of duty masterlist

-my requests are open if you have any asks!

-this blog is 18+, mdni, if i notice you’re an underage or ageless blog i will block you

-all posts will have individual warnings, smut indicated with a *

-taglist form

simon ‘ghost’ riley

absolution (18+) masterlist

summary: you're a sniper and hostage negotiations specialist in the military, secretly married to Simon, as the knowledge of your relationship would compromise both your posts. one night he comes home from a mission and you tell him that Price wants you on the team for an upcoming 141 mission.

spillways (18+) masterlist

summary: you joined the 141 a year ago, your file is completely redacted and no one knows anything about you, other than your code name, ‘phoenix’. you keep to yourself but have caught the eye of ghost, who seems intrigued by your presence and is determined to find out who you are behind the mask you put up.

mary on a cross (18+) masterlist

summary: you've recently moved to manchester, while looking for jobs you come across a run-down pub looking for bartenders. upon meeting its owner simon, you find out there's more to him than meets the eye. mercenary/vigilante au

the vow (18+) masterlist

summary: you’re betrothed to the future king of Guilder and a fearsome knight is assigned to protect you. medieval au

mini series

never going back again (18+) masterlist

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

cards on the table (18+) + soap

summary: ghost and soap place a bet on who can sleep with you first

septem peccata mortalia (18+) masterlist

summary: a collection of oneshots based on the seven deadly sins

pick and go (18+) masterlist

summary: you work as an athletic trainer for the manchester rugby team and accidentally sleep with one of their players rugby au

call me little sunshine (18+) masterlist

summary: you come home for summer break to find a new man has moved in next door, he’s charming and mysterious so you welcome him to the neighbourhood. dark themes

one shots

two birds

everlong

fear of the dark*

something sweet

cherry*

hysteria*

sweet creature

snake mountain blues* (cowboy au)

requests

epiphany

the very first night*

no more tears

forever

in the night

delicate

duality part 2 part 3*

sick day part 2

reaper

threesome (+ könig)*

monster!ghost (+ könig)

angel on my shoulder

mask kink

faked o*

protective!ghost*

jealous!ghost*

sub!ghost*

readers crush on ghost

ghost & cats (gn!reader)

headcanons

ghost x sunshine wife!reader hc

ghosts corruption kink*

ghosts office*

lieutenant ghost*

ghosts breeding kink*

ghosts tongue piercing*

jealous!ghost*

ghost x touched starved so

141 oneshots & headcanons

141 x fem!reader*

141 and calling them daddy

141 x adhd!reader

price x recruit!reader*

under prices desk*

price x adhd!reader

prices superiority kink*

price x noisy!wife*

gaz x sunshine wife!reader hc

homecoming (könig x wife!reader)*

sharp shooter (könig x fem!reader)*

ser schön (könig x gn!reader)*

könig x sunshine wife!reader hc

graves x enemy!reader*

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eilidh-eternal · 4 months

Note

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

Ohhhhhh I have SO MANY recommendations!

@yeyinde their entire masterlist. Absolutely transformative experience reading anything and everything Lev writes. I want to be her when I grow up

@groguspicklejar Chink In the Armor! Best medieval Ghoap AU I’ve ever read!!!! Mafia!141 is so deliciously angsty and she captures it soooo perfectly! Kelsi is absolutely my go to for any and all Kyle pretty boy Garrick reads!!!

@gemmahale Gemma my beloved🖤 everything she writes is literal treasure. Priceless. Deserving of a pretty glass case and soft leather bindings. There are worlds in her head I could not dream up in 100 lifetimes, and her OC’s are sooo complex and well rounded!

@peachesofteal once again, her entire masterlist. Everything she writes is guaranteed to leave me staring at the damn wall with the loading circle spinning on my forehead, wishing I could jump through my screen and live in the worlds she writes

@luminousbeings-crudematter Folie á Deux, Donner Party, and Land Softly are some of my favorites! I still need to work my way through the rest of Lumi’s masterlist😅 but the way she writes Simon 😳 my enclosure only has so many bars, I’m going to have to replace it soon

@391780 oh god too many to count! I looooove the way Early writes dark!141 and ALL of her stories highlight and praise big soft bodies🥰 she also does comic relief INSANELY well, and I just know anytime I sit down to read her fics I’m gonna have a good laugh (get wrecked König)

@moondirti I have just read the first part of Cabin fever and I am already IN LOVE with Dee and their writing style! Cannot wait to read more when I have the chance!

@ceilidho I was not a Price girly when I started getting into CoD, but Ceil’s take on him has irreversibly altered my brain chemistry🫠 and her characterization of a darker Simon?! Canon. She’s in charge now.

@auspicioustidings OH MY GOD!!!! Mhairi just started Ae Fond Kiss and I am so, so, sooooo in love with the concept for this fic! It’s already incredibly gut wrenching and I know I’m gonna be a sobbing mess throughout this series! Truly on the edge of my seat!!!

@pfhwrittes P has such a wrinkly brain! I’m absolutely in love with their Here Be Kink and Dealing Drugs and Feelings collections! Absolutely phenomenal writing! Everything they write is so dark, decadent and rich🤤

@kaadaaan Offer Me His Hunger is such a beautifully written descent into madness and obsession, and Vi does a truly immaculate job of portraying it! I chew on drywall thinking about this DAILY!!!!

@ohbo-ohno PUPPY! SOAP! Don’t Leave Me Locked In Your Heart was the beginning of a very transformative experience for me and with every new fic Bo writes I descend further into madness😵‍💫 I cannot unsee Soap with big puppy eyes and a pouty face and I think Bo should be on the writers team for his “surprise I’m not dead but guess what? I’m Very Fucked Up™️ now” story arc in MWIV bc that was not him in that tunnel

@glossysoap The go-to for any and all Captain related thoughts! Price and 09’ Soap can captain my ship anytime as long as it’s Glossy’s version🫡 Peppers is absolutely deserving of it’s namesake🥵

@charliemwrites never misses! All of her characterizations are spot-fucking-on and she has a wonderful selection of CoD characters that span multiple genres! I’m particularly in love with Woof Woof Johnny🥴 (nasty little freak🖤) and Fields of Elation

@vanderilnde RUGBY! PLAYER! SOAP! He’s dirty and nasty and pervy and pathetic!!!! What more could you want from a man like him? And the way Orion writes him…… CHEWING ON GLASS! I love when soap is a pathetic little whore and Orion NAILED IT!!!

@the-californicationist Oooohhhhh Guile and Guilt was one of the first CoD fics I ever read and it lives in my head 24/7, even when Johnny is whispering Nasty™️ ideas in my ear. The story, the poetry, the characterizations…. IT’S LITERAL PERFECTION!!!!

#eilidh’s asks #author recs #fic recs

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azsazz · 5 months

Text

Change Your Ticket (Part 7)

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: ALL SMUT, shower sex, oral (f receiving)

Word Count: 3,405

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Notes: Starting of 6 updates for 6k with this one because it's been way too long for rugby cassian 💙

_________________________________________

“Well, I’d planned on making you something extravagant,” Cassian says, frowning down at his phone. You wonder if it’s something related to your picture appearing in the media, but your shoulders loosen as his continues. “But I didn’t make it to the store before coming here. Is pizza okay with you, (Y/N)?”

“Pizza is more than perfect,” you sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. You’re both sitting at your kitchen island, glasses of wine filled to the brim. “I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

You watch as Cassian places the order. You grumbled about how two pizzas were too much, and he’d reminded you just how much he needs to eat as a rugby player.

“I don’t think they meant that about pizza, Cassian,” you tut, bringing your glass to your lips for a sip of sweet wine. His eyes glitter when he looks down at you, stirring that feeling of want in your gut.

He shrugs, “I think that whatever my trainer doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.” Cassian pushes from his chair, taking your hand. “C’mon, let’s have a relaxing shower, wash the day off of us.”

As blissful as that sounds, you’re not sure you’ll be able to join. “What about the pizza?”

Cassian tugs on your hand a little, more than ready to abandon the kitchen in favor of getting you into the shower with him.

“We’ll make it quick, be out before they get here.”

“Nothing involving you or showers is ever quick, babe.” You roll your eyes and he winks.

“Then, hopefully he has the common sense to leave it at the door because there’s no way I’m letting you go right now. You can accept my stink until after we eat or I can eat you out in the shower while you shampoo my hair. What do you say, baby? I am pretty smelly.”

His words slide down your body like soap, bubbling between your thighs.

Cassian leans down, peppering kisses across your face. The action make you giggle, setting down your glass in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck. He does smell, but it’s the musk of his sweat and it makes your thighs clench, arousal making your cunt wet.

You squeal as he lifts you into his arms with ease. He’s strong, and you can feel the way the muscles packing his back bow and flex when he lifts you. Gods, does he have the perfect body.

You kiss along his neck as he walks, licking up the salt from his skin. It makes Cassian shiver; his fingers press harder into your flesh. He breathes out a curse when you bite, then suckle at the perfectly tanned skin beneath your teeth.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, kicking the door to the bathroom shut behind him. “I’m so fucking hard for you.”

His words have you moaning in response and your fingers find his hair, tugging the ponytail out before burying your fingers in his still-damp strands. It’s tangled from his practice but Cassian likes the pull, making a noise of pleasure in response to your desperation.

Your lips find his a moment later.

Cassian sits you on the edge of the counter but you’re not ready for him to pull away yet, wrapping your legs around his waist to haul him closer. His hands slide from your hips upwards, thumbs brushing across your pert nipples where they’re pressing hard against the fabric of your shirt.

His ministrations continue upward until he’s grasping your jaw between both of his large hands and dipping his tongue into your mouth in a claiming kiss. His fingers thread through your hair and he devours you like you haven’t seen each other in years.

Like you’ve just admitted to him for the first time that you love him.

You can’t hold in the whimper he sucks from your mouth as his tongue brushes yours. It’s a passionate kiss, your tongues dancing with each other as you drag your hands down his muscular chest.

Cassian bucks his hips a little, the strain of his cock in his pants heavy with need. He’s completely focused on ravaging your mouth, but he sneaks his hand down your body, dipping into the waistband of the sweats you had changed into upon arriving home, and flattens his hand against your heat.

“Touch me,” you beg, unable to resist your boyfriend, rocking desperately against his hand.

He does as you say, teasing his middle finger into your wetness. It slides in with ease and you keen at his touch, the palm of his hand grinding against your clit when his finger enters you all of the way.

You’ve missed this, missed his fingers brushing against your skin, touching you and tasting you in the places you both love the most. It’s been too long since you’ve been in his arms like this, even if it had only been this morning, you were holding each other so close. It seems like a million hours away now, with the draining day you’ve both shared. But you’re together now, and you know that Cassian will be by your side throughout the entirety of this media hellscape you’ve found yourself in the center of.

He pulls his finger out slowly, teasing you with it, in and out and in again until you’re a keening mess in his arms, cunt dripping into the palm of his hand and nails scratching down his fabric covered chest for more.

“Easy now, baby,” His breath is warm against your lips. His taunt is paired with a circle of your clit and your body presses further into his in response. “We haven’t even gotten you all wet, yet.”

“’M so wet for you,” you mumble your disagreement, kissing him between words. “Please!”

Cassian laughs against your lips and it sparks sunshine in your chest. You need to feel that chuckle against your skin, that mouth against your cunt.

You cry out sharply when Cassian removes his fingers from your pants. He’s pecking you softly, murmuring sweet words that keep you all worked up as he slides your shirt up your torso.

His name leaves your lips on a breathy moan when he ducks back down after removing your shirt, lips attached to that sweet spot on your throat that makes you melt. His touch turns more aggressive as he undoes your bra, his lips following where his fingers are removing it from your chest and flinging it over his shoulder.

Sucking one of your nipples into his mouth makes your see stars. You throw your head back in pleasure as he massages your free breast, kneading it with his rough hand.

You arch into his body when he rolls your tight nipple between his teeth. He loves the way your fingers dig into his shoulders in response and all he wants to do right now is get down on his knees, throw your legs over his shoulders, and taste your cunt like he’s been thinking of doing all day.

The morning session he’d spent in your bed didn’t sate him in the slightest. It only made him hungrier for you.

“Cass,” you hiss when he begins kissing across the skin of your stomach. His tongue lathes around your navel as he works your sweats from your hips, nipping, sucking at the expanse of skin that appears, fresh for him to mark. “Hurry up, baby. I need you.”

You shift your hips and kick your legs, helping him rid you of the rest of your clothes. Cassian groans like a man felled in war, utterly weak for you.

His hands part your thighs, fingers spreading your lips so he can get a full view of your fluttering, wet cunt. His hazel eyes are bright with arousal, and he licks his lips, tutting when you slide your hips closer, needing his mouth on you.

The tip of Cassian’s tongue brushes ever so lightly against your clit that it has you howling with pleasure. It zips up your spine like fire and you arch away from the counter, but he’s pulling away completely, his warmth lost from your body.

“Baby,” you plead, eyes going wide. You hadn’t realized they’d fallen shut with the first caress of his tongue on your cunt, and they open to the view of Cassian ripping his shirt over his head as fast as he can. Before the fabric even hits the ground he’s already working at his pants, stumbling a few steps to the side and reaching into your shower to start the spray.

“I’m coming, sweetheart. Be good for me.”

Like you could be anything else but good for him. You release a pleased sigh, lids lowering over your eyes as you watch the love of your life flailing around the bathroom, setting the water on high as he struggles at the same time to hop out of his pants.

Your mouth waters when his cock is finally released for the tight confines of his sweats. It bobs, slapping against his tight abdomen, and it’s already thick and full, pink and beading precum at the tip, ready for you.

“Come here, stinky,” you reach out to Cassian, still leaning back against the mirror. Splayed out like this, all his for the taking…Gods, he’s never loved you more.

He’s drawn to you like the sun is drawn to the moon, like love to a cupid. In three great strides he’s pressing back up against you, slanting his lips over yours in another hot kiss.

You arch off of the mirror, your hands finding his body thoughtlessly, as if a magnet is pulling you in. His cock nudges against your folds and you’re gasping against his mouth as Cassian pulls you fully off of the counter and into his arms.

You hold tightly to him, crossing your legs behind his back. Cassian keeps you suspended right above his cock and with every step he takes it teases you, a brush of warmth against your wet cunt. You keen against his mouth, nipping his lip in frustration, but the man only laughs in response.

“Oh, how I love when you beg, baby,” he says, distracted by kissing the skin of your throat. He steps into the hot spray and you hiss, surprised. “Go on, grab that bottle of shampoo over there. I have a promise to keep.”

Gently, Cassian sets you on your feet. Your legs are shaking and he doesn’t let you go, instead sliding his hands down your body, following the lines of warm water as it drips down. His touch is searing, more so than the rain pouring from the showerhead and the sight of him sliding to his knees before you nearly makes you cum, untouched.

He looks up at you with hazel eyes, raising a brow. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to hold yourself together if he’s looking up at you like this. He’s waiting, a silent demand in that heady gaze that has you snatching the nearest shampoo bottle from your shelf. Cassian hums in appreciation, hearing the top snap open, and he taps your thighs, a signal for you to open them wider.

You obey, because you need to feel his mouth on your cunt, his fingers plunging into your wet heat. You squeeze some of the soap into your hands before he can begin, because you know there will be no focusing once he’s laid those pretty lips upon you.

There’s hardly any focusing right now as you look down at him. The expanse of his tanned, broad shoulders and dripping hair plastered to them. You have the perfect view of his thick thighs, powerful where he kneels. He is every bit of a stature right now, one built outside of temples that people used to worship.

Just like how you’ll be worshipping him tonight.

Rubbing your hands together to activate the suds, you dig your fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp with brash strokes. Cassian’s groan bounces deliciously against the tiles and you’re guiding him forward, straight to your weeping cunt.

You shout when he gets right to work, tongue scraping against your clit before he’s craning his neck and plunging it deep into your cunt. You choke, fingers faltering in his hair but he’s growling, large hands pushing your thighs further apart so he can dig his face further.

His nose digs into your clit and you whine, grinding your hips against his face. You don’t think your hands are moving besides where they’re clutching his locks tightly. Cassian fucks you with his tongue and you throw your head back, the motion smashing your skull into the tiles behind.

“Fuck,” you whimper, but the pleasure drowns out the throbbing in your head. Water skims down your body, its warmth satisfying against your sensitive nipples. The room is filled with steam already and it’s a struggle to take the laboring breaths you need to with Cassian’s tongue stuck so deep. “Right there, baby.”

Cassian listens, drinking down your wetness like a parched man. He’s thirsty for your taste, for the way that your body responds to his, for your words. Every sound that you make sends shockwaves to his cock. He’s desperate to get a hand on himself but he wants you to cum first. Needs you to cum first.

He sneaks a finger to your cunt, replacing his tongue with his thick digit. You sink lower, your feet slipping on the tiles but Cassian is holding you up without an ounce of effort. He’s much too concerned with making you feel good, suckling at your clit with a hum when your nails rake through his hair, letting him know he’s doing a good job.

The downstroke of his index finger turns into an upstroke with his middle and you keen at the feeling of more. He feels so good, knowing right where to touch, the bundle to caress and curve his fingers against so that you’re a shaking mess. Heat gathers low in your gut when he brushes against that spot again before pushing his fingers deep and hitting your womb.

“Cassian,” his name is a cry, a prayer. You can’t form words beyond that with the feeling so hot, so tight in your loins. He begins moving his fingers faster, fucking them in and out of you with vigor. “I’m cumming, baby! Keep doing that—” your breath catches in your throat as you see white hot, orgasm flooding you. Your fingers turn harsher against his scalp but you don’t even notice because Cassian’s picking up the pace even more. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

Your boyfriend doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop flicking his tongue against your clit because the noises you’re making right now are music to his fucking ears. Doesn’t stop pushing his fingers into your cunt even though he has to use a touch more effort now that you’re trying to clamp down around his fingers like some wicked trap. He’s been waiting all day for this and he’s going to revel in it, even if you’re already whining from sensitivity.

When you’re squirming, begging him to pull away, he does.

“Have I satisfied you, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning back only slightly. Your hands fall from his hair to his shoulders as he presses light kisses to your thighs, rubbing light circles into them with his thumbs to ease their quaking. “Or are you all ready for my cock now?” Cassian tilts his head back to look at you but hisses as the water falling from the showerhead washes soap into his eyes. “Oh, fuck! Ow, ow ow!” He rears back, nearly losing his balance completely as he slips.

Your hands find him, coaxing him under the water. Your chest still heaves with your orgasm, but you brush the hair from his face and lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder while he tries to rub the soap from his eyes.

“Are you alright, Cass?”

He groans in response, trying to blink the sting from his eyes. They’re all red rimmed now, and when his vision clears, it’s to you biting back your laughter.

“At the time, I thought that was going to be so hot,” Cassian admits with a huff, but you see the smile cracking his lips.

“At the time,” you tease, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “It was.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The pizza is good but the sex that follows is even better.

Cassian is gentle with you, loving you like he had the first time you’d ever slept together; caring and tender. He takes his time mapping his way across the planes of your skin with his hands, with his mouth, tracing the hills and valleys of your body like he has all of the time in the world.

And you let him, not because you already know you’re dodging your work tomorrow, but because anything that this man does utterly enraptures you.

It’s passionate and slow, each roll of his hips sensual and intentional. The words he presses into your skin are soft and meaningful, ones that bring tears to your eyes. You don’t know how someone who has been through as much as he has can love you so openly like this, and you’re thankful every day for it.

“I love you, Cassian,” you exhale, fingers raking down the expanse of his back as you try to hold him closer. Your back arches off of the bed and you throw your head back in bliss, sparks igniting behind your eyes with every thrust of his hips.

Cassian peeks his head up from where it’s buried between your breasts, licking and sucking his way from one nipple to your other. They’re hard as rubies, red like them too, surrounded by mottled marks left by his mouth.

His hazel eyes are dazed, sparkling with adoration. Your chest constricts as your heart swells with joy, with love for the man willing to rush to your side and make sure you’re okay. He’s shown you that you’re his first priority in all of this, that he will put you before even the game he loves so dearly.

He surges forward with a brutal thrust of his hips that has you seeing stars. He loves the way that you clutch him as if you never want to let go. He won’t ever let you go either, and that thought only has him more ravenous for you.

Cassian catches your cry of pleasure against his lips. You taste like a dream, in more ways than one. His strong arms snake surround your body and you squeal as he rolls, holding you tightly on top of him while he plants his feet into the mattress and fucks up into you.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he pants against your mouth. “Want to take care of you like this every day. Fuck you so good you won’t be able to run away.” His hips jerk and he’s hitting that spot that sends a tsunami of pleasure throughout your body.

Roughly, he grabs your ass, helping you move yourself up and down his cock to prolong your pleasure. It’s so good, he’s so hot and long inside of you, his girth filling you completely but it’s not enough, you want his cum too.

“Never,” you gasp, riding out the orgasm that’s wracking your body. “I’m never leaving you, Cassian. Never ever. I love you too much for that.”

It those words that have him growling, sucking harshly at the juncture of your throat and shoulder as he cums. His warmth fills you to the brim, and you’re shuddering on top of him from the pleasure of it all, collapsing against his chest when the grinding of his hips comes to a halt.

Cassian doesn’t pull you though, and you don’t want him to. You want him to keep you plugged up with his cum inside of you. You’re on the pill and normally you’d be more worried that he’s not wearing a condom, because the pill isn’t 100% effective, but you needed to feel his bare cock buried deeply into you tonight, need to feel his warmth in your cunt and leaking down your thighs.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Cassian breathes, brushing a strand of damp hair behind your ear. You’ve already showered but you’ll both need another when you feel like finally getting up. “Until the moon no longer rises.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Change Your Ticket Taglist: @justasillylittlegoofyguy @starsinyourseyes @jdeclerc @indiedash @kennedy-brooke @tothestarsandwhateverend @azsteris @obsessivereaderchick @aalxrose @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielover @bookishbroadwaybish @itsinherited @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @vellichor01 @mischiefmanagers @queerqueenlynn @justdreamstars @mayemperess @wallacewillow0773638 @microwaveallthedemons @natashachelsea @stayinglow-exploringworlds

#cassian x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #cassian #change your ticket #rugby!cassian #rugby!cassian au #acotar modern au #modern!cassian

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