#rugby player soap

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Rugby player Soap gets so pent up after a match. And, after they win, the whole team is expected in the pub, no exceptions.

Johnny finally finds you at the bar where you're trying to order a drink. Kisses you immediately while shepherding you into a corner or alcove so he can grope you unashamedly.

I mean, hands on your ass through your jeans, rubbing up and under your jersey (a copy of his with his name on the back, of course), hand roaming over your hip, stomach and further up, all the time with a thigh shoves between your legs.

When he cups your boob under your shirt, you pull away, gasping and push at his shoulders.

"Johnny, stop, people will see," you hiss.

He just grins and acquiesces, keeping a hand on your lower back as you get drinks and go back to the table. When he sees there's a shortage of chairs, he pulls you down on his lap.

Pretty much behaves himself for the first while, regaling his teammates with stories from the match, reliving the highlights.

But as the night goes on and he gets drunker, he starts whispering, not so quietly, in your ear.

"Look so fit in my shirt, hen. Can't fuckin' wait to get ya home, get ya on your knees for me."

You squirm and he groans.

"Keep movin' like that and we're not gonna get home."

Actually cups his hand over your pussy through your jeans in the middle of the pub.

You slap his hand away and glare at him, scandalised.

And you're partly annoyed because this shouldn't turn you on this much; annoyed at yourself for being wet through your jeans.

Johnny just laughs, pulling you back against his chest with one hand and grabbing his pint with the other. Leans into your ear, hand a little lower than it was a second ago, but not much, resting on your upper thigh.

"Dunno why you're acting so shy, love. Everybody here knows what I'm gonna do to ya later."

(If anyone wants a pt 2 of what happens in the taxi home orrrr what happens when reader meets Johnny's rugby captain, Ghost, lmk 👀)

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

I’m just imagining rugby players TF141. Price is the coach while Gaz, Soap, and Ghost are the players. You are their eager fanboy— always going to the games and first to buy merch. Following them on all social media and responding to all their posts.

We all seen rugby players and their bodies. Large beefy and hairy men just pressing against each other. TF141 is no different. So strong with their beefy muscular bodies— Soap and Price with the most good amount of hair on their chests and lower regions.

You would often find yourself jerking off or riding a dildo— imagining the silicon toy to be their dick. Moaning their names, wishing it was the real deal. You fantasized about the four men have the most perfect cocks. You know they have no idea you exist but that’s okay.

And they did notice you.

It was after a hard fought game that left them exhilarated and pent up at the same time. Price’s eyes monitored the crowd before laying them on you. As every one was leaving, the older man approached you. “I recognize you’re the fanboy? Me and the lads would like to meet you.”

You felt like passing out from those words. The coach was inviting you to meet them! This was a dream come true and you happily accepted the offer. You eagerly followed Price to the locker room— private section from the rest where the other players were.

Walking into the room, you were met with the three player completely naked, stroking their cocks. You stood shocked as you watched the scene, the three most sexiest men stroking their large erections.

“About damn time. This the lad who’s our fanboy? Look cute in those photos— now get to see you in person.” Simon grunts as he slows down his strokes and approaches you along with the others. All four men had you surrounded, Price was naked as well, his hairy beefy body pressing against your back.

You weren’t against this as your dream was reality. “Go on las, touch it.” Soap smirks as he waved his dick teasingly. You hesitantly touched it— was warm and thick in your hands, throbbing as you stroked it, the foreskin followed. Soap groans as he fucks your hand.

After that, you went from being their biggest fanboy to becoming their service boy. Satisfying their pleasures and stress after games or practice. All the men would stand in a circle and have you stroke their cocks and sucking— a bukkake circle. You happily accepted their thick loads of cum spurting on your face.

Then there was the actual sex. They rarely engaged in it before you came along. Now they’re feral whenever they fuck you. Your tight ass and moans of pleasure was music to them. You could determine that Ghost and Price were the biggest with average girth while Soap and Gaz were slightest above average with the greatest amount of girth.

You love it when the men fuck you dumb. You threw the toy away— demanded by Price since their dicks are the replacements. He doesn’t want you using that pathetic excuse now that you’re dealing with real cocks.

When it came to the sex, Soap and Gaz were more soft and passionate. Giving you praises and compliments. Their rough hands worshipping your body. Just wholesome.

Price and Ghost on the other hand— they’re more rough with Ghost being roughest. Price starts slow before ramming his cock deep into your ass— rearranging your guts. Ghost was just rough, he asked for your consent about it and you happily agreed to it.

Ghost would always prep you before fucking you like a sack of meat. His deep rough voice echoed into yours: “slut” “boytoy” “love being our whore” just degrading you. He left the most marks on your body— hickeys, bite marks, and hand prints.

At the end, the four men would work to clean your body. Washing you done and soothing your skin. Ghost would apologize for being rough while soothing rubbing your back. The four men basked in your presence.

It’s not greedy to have four husbands, right?

I just been feral for the last few days. More so than usual. These men just make me so 😩 keep this up and I’ll have all my requests for round 4 completed.

Tag list: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @starboye @boypied @maxxioislost @sluttyhusband

[multifandomheathenannie]

TF141 Rugby au? We *all* know where we're staring......

Link for those who want it, and as the source: https://www.instagram.com/reel/C4EHZ3rtK6z/?igsh=NWV0YXAwMXY4cW54

@going-to-ikea-for-the-fries SEE THIS WHEN YOU COME BACK FROM YOUR SHORT BREAK, POOKIE

[s4dgayanime]

Hear me out and if this has been done before ignore me: ghost and soap as rugby players doing the lift thing (you know the one)

[forsworned]

RUGBY!141 - In which the 141 is actually in a famous Rugby Team

[x3no9]

MacTavish and Riley as Rugby players for their respective homelands. Went with all soft brushes and a few textures. Very soft overall. Sorry, Soap’s ass had to happen.

Forgot the socks in the last post!!!

[beloveds-embrace]

masterpost || MDNI

Hi! You can call me Noona! I write whatever comes to my mind and atm, I am very much obsessed with CoD and Genshin/Capitano. I am very much open to hearing ideas and just yapping in general, but I also can’t promise that I will write every request.

What I don’t write: fully explicit smut, suicide

Masterlist has not been updated fully. Use the tag noona.writes to see everything I’ve written!

Masterlist:

POLY 141 X READER:

Goddess!reader x poly 141

2. Baker Reader x poly 141

part 1 + part 2

3. Sick!Reader x 141

4. Bunny Owner Reader x Poly 141: Matchmaking Buns

part 1 + part 2

5. Chubby Reader x Firefighters 141

6. Expiration Date Concept

7. Stage Manager Reader x Magic Mike 141

8. Chubby Reader x Monster 141

part one + part two

9. Lavender Marriage AU

part one + part two

10. Abused Reader x Poly 141

part one + part two

11. Dark Romance Reader

12. Haunted House Shenanigans

13. john catches you making out with one of his men

14. spoiling them when they return from missions

15. False Accusations Concept

16. going to them for safety + guard dogs

17. kittens named after their titles

18. Poly 141 x Farmer Reader

20. Poly 141 x Neighbor reader

21. Clubs and Oiled men

22. Vampire 141 x Blood Donor Reader

23. Bodyguards 141 x Sick Reader

24. Poly 141 x Protective Reader

25. Shared-Wife trope

26. food: no1 source of comfort

27. anasthasia

28. Dragon John Collecting Chubby Reader into His Hoard:

p1 + p2 + p3

29. arranged marriage

30. harpy 141 grooming harpy reader

31. Chubby Burlesque Reader x 141

32. Reader with a Terrible Past

33. Self-Sacrificial Reader

34. Vampire Poly 141 x Reader: Late Night Hunger

35. yandere 141: bro-zone edition

36. 141 x big, tall fem reader they mistake for a man at first

37. 141 x Hacker Reader

38. Scuba Divers 141 x Mermaid Reader + super lovely art by @grombs-blog <333

39. mafia 141 x singer reader

40. 141 x recluse reader

41. 141 x Protective Reader:

p1 + p2 + p3

42. Guards 141 x Princess Reader

OTHERS:

Bite kink with Soap

Yandere Capitano + part two

Bundad Simon

harpy Gaz x wingless reader concept + oneshot + more

moose Konig

rugby player simon x ballerina reader

divorced but obsessed simon x reader

Ghoap angst concept

simon x family traditions

Horrible konig concept

john price x single mom reader

simon and a certain someone grieving your loss

from simon's girl to his missus

johnny's supportive nature

you came/you called

lipstick testing

Big eater simon riley

house-trained Simon Riley + p2

bear price x chubby reader, winter day

Simon Riley x reader: non-sexual smell kink

Raven Hybrids Simon x Reader

"As beautiful as the day I lost you"

John Price x Soldier Reader who wants to be wife-d up

Dukedom 141 Masterlist

CoD Omegaverse

Roommate au masterlist

Until the Last Loop

Here Comes the Sun + p2

Witch of the Woods

Bakery/Coffee Shop au

Fae Duke(King)dom au \\ different take

ANONS

WIPS

[bunny-jpeg]

grass stains

simon "ghost" riley

cw: smut/pwp, rugby au, friends-to-lovers, rugby player!simon, breeding kink, pregnancy, wife!reader, cowgirl position, size kink

this bunny runs on reblogs, tags & comments!

simon was a superstar. you had always known that, ever since you were both teens. you remembered him as the intimidating boy with shaggy blond hair who hated talking. but, that was fine. you'd talk for both of them!

now in your twenties, he was still broad and intimidating. now with two fake teeth due to rugby and a sleeve of tattoos. he was one of the best rugby players in england, if not the entire island. people knew simon "ghost" riley fairly well. when you went to games, you often heard the chanting of his name. regardless he was your husband and you loved him more than the flowers in your front garden loved the sun.

"you know mister riley." you said as you scrubbed at the front of his jersey with an old toothbrush. the suds from the cleaner got deeper into the fabric of the jersey, "i don't know how you get grass stains that are so tough! i'm pretty sure if i cleaned soap's or gaz's jerseys they wouldn't have so much trouble."

simon was at the stove nearby, checking on the boiling potatos for the cottage pie he was making the both of you for dinner. he looked over to you by the small dining table, "i'll talk to the team, love."

you raised your eyebrows at him, "and why exactly am i washing this? you have two hands."

he tilted his head towards the boiling potatoes on the stove. he replied, "someone's gotta make cottage pie."

you stuck your tongue out at him, but he pretended to catch it like a kiss then pressed it to his chest. you did have to admit, simon was a better cook than you and the cottage pie was amazing. so in exchange you'd battle the stains on his kit.

the jersey got cleaned eventually and was hung up in the kitchen to dry overnight. and after dinner and clean up (which simon did as a thank you for you working so hard on the kit). simon led you to the bedroom and you got out of the oversized t-shirt and the patterned sleeping shorts you wore.

you got into your husband's lap and he held you close to him as you kissed him gently. you hand touched the side of his face tenderly as you felt his erection against your back.

"my beautiful wife." he said softly against your lips before he went in for another kiss. he felt you then hold onto the front of the grey t-shirt he wore.

"my darling husband. i love you so much."

"not as much as i love you. i try to look from you in the stands even when i know you're home. you're my good luck charm, love. that's why i ask you wash my jersey. so i have a little piece of you while i play."

"you know i'm always cheering you on, simon." you kissed his nose. it had been broken so many times that it was angled weird. but, you loved it, just as you loved every part of him, "and if any other player tries to say anything bad about you, i'll kick their asses."

he chuckled, "like my bullies in secondary school. i remember when you hit that one guy so hard he basically begged me for forgiveness." he cupped the back of your head and looked into your eyes.

you poked his broad chest and said, "yeah, and i'll kick their asses again if i had to."

simon cupped your behind before he leaned in close once more and said, "well then, why don't i show my missuses some tlc for bein' so good to me." he got you onto the bed and helped you out of the rest of your clothes, until you naked for him.

you were both naked on the bed together, simon's strong arms around you as he laid there next to you. he took in the sight of every curve of your body. his beautiful wife.

he remembered when you dyed your hair in secondary school or when you went through your 'punk' phase right before uni. he remembered when you stole two beers from your parents' fridge and you two got a little drunk only to kiss for the first time.

he lucked out with a wife like you. the prettiest bird he had ever seen.

his lips found your neck as you two cuddled together naked. you moaned and held onto those wide shoulders. you went to almost every game he had ever played in. you even packed up your little life to be with him in liverpool.

soon he took you gently and got onto his back. placing you onto his waist. you smiled down at him and rubbed your sweet pussy up against his erect cock. you giggled, "someone wants it."

"love, if i could never have it again. i would die. you're the only one i want." he chuckled as he massaged the fat of your hips. he tensed up when you seated yourself onto his cock.

you let out a soft moan as you got yourself settled. you planted both hands on his board chest for leverage as you moved your hips up and down. he was just so much bigger than you, you remember him before the growth spurt. you were taller than him for a brief while before he shot up well past six feet.

and then came all the muscle, then he had very few bullies after that. but, you'd still give them a piece of your mind. to you, simon was still the scrawny blond with the uniform hat was a tad too big for him. not the mountain of a professional rugby player he was now.

"mmm, si." you said as you rolled your hips against him. you felt the pleasure course through you as you moved up and down on his cock.

you felt the warmth of intimacy in your gut as you moved up and down on his cock. he held you and watched your moved against him. your hands looked so small on his big chest. you were just so perfect for him. being able to take all of him perfectly.

he gave gentle thrusts to match yours, he could feel the heat climb his neck and into his cheeks. "i want you to have my babies, love." he said softly, "i wanna be on the field and see ya in the stands carrying my big baby." he groaned as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. eventually his hands found your breasts and he groped them as you moved together, "i want a whole house of 'em." he chuckled.

you held him by the face for a moment and looked into his eyes, those darling browns looked back at you, "how about we start with one first there, my love."

he than wrapped his strong arms around your middle and thrusted up into you. you two met each other's pace as he whined, "i just want you so badly, love. you'd be such a good mama to my kids."

you kissed him on the lips as you laid against him. chest to chest as you two moved together. you felt the exhilaration of pleasure in your gut.

he kept those arms around you as he bumped up into you, his lips wet your cheeks as he heavily panted against you. you felt so good against him. he groaned, "pretty wife. my beautiful pretty wife." he was rambling at that point.

you pulled him into a searing kiss, his lips were chapped against yours. you tasted like the sweet lipgloss you always wore, that made his cock twitch inside of you.

"my beautiful husband." you said when you broke the kiss, "with all those scars and tattoos, you're perfect for me. you've become a wonderful man."

his heart fluttered a little. he was so painfully in love with you.

you soon both climaxed within moments of one another, with you first followed by him. he held onto your soft hips tightly as he pushed his cock as far as it would go. he shuddered and gasped, while you let out a string of sweet little moans. you slowed down your pace as you felt the high of pleasure. you held onto your lover's chest and panted heavily before you got the strength to get off of him and laid down beside him. you felt him wipe the sweat off your forehead and give the skin a kiss.

"you're so beautiful." he said, "my missuses."

"of course, simon." you snuggled up closer to him. basking in his warmth, "because i established myself at your number one fan in tenth year, so.... of course no one else is going to take that."

"and who else will get my grass stains out." he chuckled as he kissed your nose.

"exactly!" you said as you looped your arm around his waist and remained close, "no one else is taking my title, dammit!" you said jokingly, you knew you were more than just his wife. he saw you grow up just as much as you saw him grow up. you were a pair for a lifetime.

-

at the beginning of the following season, you found yourself in the same spot scrubbing at the jersey to get all the stains out. occasionally you stopped scrubbing and held it up to inspect it.

you had your daughter in april, little rose riley. even at four months old, she had already shown an interest in rugby. simon even went as far as to make her a onesie with his number and name on it.

currently while you were washing his jersey, he was across the table from you, holding onto your daughter. the little girl was nice and asleep in her father's bulky arms. he could kill someone with them, but yet held his little girl so delicately.

"ya know mister riley." you said as you examined the jersey once more, "i think these stains have gotten harder to clean since last season. it's like they designed this jersey to piss me off."

simon chuckled, "i'll talk to the team next time. tell them to make my wife's life much easier."

you looked at him, "and why exactly am i washing it, again?" you raised your eyebrows at him.

he tilted his head down to your daughter, "someone's gotta hold rosie."

you made a face before you said, "you're lucky i love you. but, if i can't get these grass stains out i'm going to manager price's office tomorrow and talk to him."

"you mean yell?" simon quipped.

"don't make me dump this in the flower garden and have you wash it." you warned with a finger pointed in his direction.

simon shifted his hold on your daughter and said to rosie, "can you believe mama?" he made a face before he looked at you and smiled a bit, "i love you."

you put the jersey down on the table and reached over to touch his tattooed arm, "i love you too, mister grass stains." <3

[shotmrmiller]

re: rugby team ghoap

it'd been a one-off, seize-the-moment kind of thing. casual hookups aren't really for you, plus you distinctly remember your ex prating on about how the team would only be here for the weekend hence the absolute burning need to go, and you've got work monday.

goodbye, great knowing them. you'd traipsed out of the hotel room with your sneakers in hand, soap's used jersey in the other- a memento of sorts, a trophy. mild serial killer behavior but you reckon since you just became another pearl in their long string of conquests, the least you could do is take something with you that won't be gone with a warm epsom salt bath and a couple of days rest.

("would ye believe yer the prettiest we've ever brought back with us?" right. you know where you stand on that scale, and people like you don't typically pull men like them. another cringe-worthy comment like that and you'd mistake their interest with pity.)

you'd put both jerseys in the wash later that day, and the rattling of your washing machine marked the end of your exciting weekend.

or so you'd thought. from your side of things, you'd wiped your hands clean of their sweat, spit and come and went home, once again falling back into semi-familiarity, expecting to go to work feeling completely relaxed and loose, in more ways than one, while ignoring the photos taken of you and the "star players" at the stadium on social media.

(no one caught your face, what bloody luck.)

when you see them again, it's by pure chance. you'd been ordering a sandwich at a deli down the street, hand already reaching for your wallet when an arm curls around your shoulders, dark, coarse hair of a forearm brushing against your cheek.

cedarwood and citrus. it clings to your senses— a sharp, tangy reminder of that time you'd only look back on when the familiar pang of want pooled searing hot between your legs. small world, you suppose.

"didnae leave a note. stole my jersey. 'm surprised ye didnae leave us money on the table, bonnie." warmth flared beneath your cheeks but you didn't cow to his crude joke.

"i suppose i could've left a tip. what do you want?"

the playful lines around his eyes smoothed as his lips straightened into a firm line, his eyes frostbitten. you ignore the way his touch makes you feel trapped, tethered, a cage made of velvet.

"took my shirt and then didn't show up to a single game after tha'. jus' gettin' wha' i'm owed. unless he's yer favorite."

how can he be your favorite when you know nothing about the sport they play and have no interest in knowing?

"too bad. we come as a package. get yer food, we've a place nearby."

(simon had been nowhere near as good-natured as johnny had about you leaving without a word. made you spit out apologies with swollen lips, only accepted the ones that came with a fluttering of your raw pussy around the splitting thickness of him while soap condescendingly cooed in your ear about lessons having to be learned the hard way.)

[pfhwrittes]

P… I went to the pub with the girls the other day and we all got distracted by the rugby, they actually watch it normally but tbh I just liked seeing big burly men tackling each other on the grass… can imagine having the 141 overhearing a bunch of lasses talking about the players like horny old women and cornering one when they pop off to use the bathroom by themselves

anon i want you to know i have been rotating this ask around in my mind like a sock in a washing machine.

the joy of rugby is big fellas in shorts smashing into each other and frankly gratuitous shots of grass stained thighs. and bloodied eyebrows.

also i’m still stuck in a bit of a writing slump (because i’m stuck using my phone 90% of the time) so all i can offer you is this:

price employing a classic neg technique to get the gobby friend to start an argument loudly discussing why he’s wrong actually and monopolising all her time.

gaz charming the shit out of your flirtier mate and definitely casually dropping into conversation that he was a winger on his school’s under-18s team and backing it up with pictures of him in shorts and whoops how did that shirtless selfie from last night get in there.

soap peeling off to corner the lass who made a ball joke before she headed to the loos because he’s a simple man and loves a crude joke.

simon following your mate who vapes (even though she knows she really shouldn’t) out into the beer garden with his pint because he couldn’t give a shit about rugby but watching her wrap her lips around that shitty bit of plastic is more than entertaining enough for him.

[quarterlifekitty]

Oh to be the sweet, benevolent messiah of a group of big, burly rugby players *sighs dreamily*.

You're just so smart and kind and there's obviously no way this is just them clinging onto the only soft thing they have at their disposal. What do you mean this is just them attempting to find purpose and meaning in a tragic situation? No, this is real, you are special.

Of course there would be some conflict, there always is when a group of people are stuck together. Maybe a spat or two about who gets to warm your bed tonight or present you with the spoils of the latest hunt. (Oh no, they're competing for my favour, how terrible and not hot at all.)

Mmm the way you’re so unwitting about it.

Cw: gore, blood, implied cannibalism, murder, etc

You can’t convince them away from their reverence. You’re draped in cloaks of rabbit fur, berry wine smeared to stain your lips and cheeks, laid gently on your bed of dried grass covered in bear skin, stomach full of the heart of a doe. Johnny had presented it so smugly as you all sat at the fire, reveling in the jealous stares from the men he called brothers. The blood of it still laid dry in the lines of your palms, in the beds of your nails.

The winter has been cold. He has lived and breathed for every glance of your bare skin that could be afforded. Now that he’s able to see you naked fully, he’s tasked with keeping you warm himself. Dirt and wolf blood lines the skin of his cheeks because he wanted the power to keep you, to mate you, tonight.

Your neck still smells ever so faintly of the lavender soap you’d managed to make in the fall from the tallow of one of his kills. It fills him with pride and energy.

Six months ago in the locker room he’d talked with his mates about how he wanted to fuck your face until tears dripped down your cheeks. Wondered if you’d act like a blushing little virgin or if you were secretly some freaky slut who’d be down for anal. Now he spends at least an hour with his face planted between your legs for libation every night he gets to warm your bed. His cock sitting hot against his stomach, twitching and leaking, ignored. They’d hunted and killed one of their teammates for trying to touch you unearned. They did not dishonor you by feeding you the tainted flesh of that particular hunt, but they saw it did not go to waste. His sacrum was added to Ghost’s armor. His skull adorned the entrance to Johnny’s dwelling.

He tastes the blood on your tongue and smiles to himself. A hart in her prime. He’d make sure you were fat and pregnant with something of his by the end of winter. The wilderness demanded it. You survived to be delivered to each other, he truly believed that.

And you just didn’t want to be hungry anymore.

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

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.

[ Ghost Challenge Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

[perfinn]

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.”

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Simon Riley Masterlist

gym bro Simon Riley

Munch Simon Riley

Cumdump + Soap, Price, and Gaz

Rugby Player Simon Riley + Soap, Price, and Gaz

Cuckold Simon + bull Soap

Hunter Simon Riley

CoD links

Double penetration + Soap

[swordsandholly]

Should I start working on this College AU rugby player Soap x art history major (sort of low self-esteem) reader again?

I’ve been thinkin’ about it. Their story haunts me. Anyway here’s a snippet for you to judge:

You sit in the common grounds on an old, tattered quilt under one of the oaks. You managed to score a good spot today, just enough sun to be warm but not enough to force you to squint. The tree curves in that perfect shape for you to lean back against it. You’ve settled into your millionth re-read of Howl’s Moving Castle. A go to when college gets too hard for your brain and you need something easy to digest. Like saltines on a sick stomach.

A faint call of, “Bonnie!” jerks you from the quiet of your moment. Oh, God. Johnny comes jogging up from a group of his fellow rugby players. If only the way he smiles at you didn’t direct all of your attention onto him, maybe you could have gotten away with pretending not to see or hear him.

As it is, you totally can. You push your sunglasses up onto the top of your head and pluck out an earphone just to sit up on your elbows. “Johnny.”

All six foot of the man comes plunking down onto the grass beside you. “I don’ get tae see ye around campus often. Feels like I havennae seen ye in forever.”

“I work a lot.” You repeat. Why couldn’t the gods gift you with at least moderate conversational skills? “It’s only been, like, four days. You weren’t in class yesterday.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aye… Might have, eh, partaken a bit too much…”

You snort. “As long as you weren’t drinking and driving.”

“I would never.” The response is immediate, his tone unrecognizably dark. A sore spot.

“I’ll give you the notes.” You tilt your head back, changing the subject quickly. The shadows move and the sun begins to encroach upon your spot. It’s nice, actually.

“Ye donnae have tae-”

“I don’t mind.” You wave him off. “We can go over them on study night.”

A loud whistle and a holler echo from the other side of the lawn. Johnny’s buddies are all grouped up, staring. Well, the ones that aren’t actively being distracted by pretty girls are. Your eye meets with the man in the mask, staring each other down for a very brief moment. A shiver runs down your spine as he turns away. Two of the others lean in, snickering while they watch the two of you. It makes your chest hurt in a far too familiar way.

“I think your boys are calling.” You turn back to look at Johnny.

“Och, they can wait.” He shrugs those wide shoulders. Has he gotten bigger recently? “Whit are ye readin’?”

“Oh, nothing, just some kids book…” Before you can tuck it away he snatches it up, flipping it over to the back.

“My sisters read this! They watched the movie a lot. S’about tha’ girl who gets swept off her feet by a dashing wizard, eh?” He grins and leans in. “Remind ye of anybody, bonnie?”

You sit up and scoff, snatching the book back. “Fancy yourself dashing, MacTavish?”

“On occasion.” He winks.

You roll your eyes and mock gag. The man sure lays it on thick. “Well if you read the book you’d know he’s a whiny little brat, so, frankly, yes, it does remind me of a certain somebody.”

Johnny pouts dramatically, only further proving your point. “Got a sharp tongue on ye, hen.”

“It comes in handy.” You chuckle.

“God, I’d be so good to ye.” He says so fast you almost miss it as he grins wide.

You splutter out an awkward laugh, caught entirely off guard. The words sting a bit. He’s joking, obviously. It’s a little cruel. Uncharacteristically so.

Another shout has Johnny rolling his eyes and standing up. “I’ll see ye Thursday?”

“Thursday…” You nod, eyes still wide. You’re sure you look ridiculous.

Mr. Johnny-Sees-All grins back at you with a knowing spark in his eye. “Later, hen!”

[ghcstao3]

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.