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bunny-jpeg · 19 days ago

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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

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alnilaem · 10 months ago

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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 #soap writing #orion writing

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beloveds-embrace · 3 months ago

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masterpost

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:

Baker!Reader x 141 + part 2

Sick!Reader x 141

Omega!Reader x Alpha!Price

Bite kink with Soap

Yandere Capitano + part two

Matchmaker buns + part two

Bundad Simon

Firefighters!141 x reader

CoD Expiration date concept

Magic Mike 141 x stage manager!reader

Monster!141 x chubby reader + part two

harpy Gaz x wingless reader concept + oneshot

Lavender Marriage au + part two

Abused reader x poly 141 + part two

Omega 141 x Alpha reader

moose Konig

reaction to a dark romance reader

Haunted house moans

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

john catches you making out with one of his men

from simon's girl to his missus

johnny's supportive nature

you came/you called

omegaverse 141 x unusual reader concept + possessive behavior + to be seen is to be loved + more

spoiling them when they return from missions

false accusations concept

going to them for safety + guard dogs

lipstick testing

Big eater simon riley

kittens named after their titles

omegaverse 141 x trauma bonded reader

Dukedom 141 Masterlist

Roommate au masterlist

Until the Last Loop

Here Comes the Sun

ANONS:

👾 anon

💜 anon

🐥 anon

🧸💗 anon

✨ anon

Strawberry week share-anon

🐸 anon

🎓 anon

💎 anon

🦚 anon

🦋 anon

🦈 anon

🍒 anon

🪭 anon

👽 anon

🧼 anon

#masterlist #noona.posts

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 7 months ago

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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.

[ Ghost Challenge Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

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perfinn · 1 year ago

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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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swordsandholly · 5 months ago

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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!”

#kind of want to make her aromantic #because of course I have to insert my own life shit #but it would add that last piece to the dynamic I think #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #fem reader

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ghcstao3 · 10 months ago

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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 · 11 months ago

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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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lovemebutleavemewild · 3 months ago

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Ruby player Soap who was gonna call a taxi home but Ruby Captain Ghost offered to drive him and reader home. Perfect! Now Johnny can get as handsy as he wants while Ghost drives.

Who knows what happens then they get to Johnny's place. I'm sure it's only polite to Invite his captain inside for a beer...

Anon, this took far too long, but I hope you see this and enjoy.

You first see the man over Johnny's shoulder. His face is buried in your neck and you've had enough drinks now that you don't feel as embarrassed at this very public display as you usually would.

You know he's Johnny's captain (his jersey and the Captain's armband he's got on one huge arm is proof enough) but you've never formally met.

You drop your eyes when they meet his—you're not so drunk yet that you don't have any shame—but when you look up again a few minutes later, the man is still staring. Even for a rugby player, he's huge and you're more than a little intimidated.

"Johnny," you finally say, trying to push him off for a second. "Johnny, stop now. People are looking."

Well, one person, really. And Johnny takes heed of your glances, when he peels himself off you, follows your line of sight. He utterly lights up when he sees who you're looking at.

"I forgot, yeh've not met Si, yet," he says and he starts dragging you through the crowd, deaf to your objections.

You can barely look at the man, even as Johnny babbles away. You keep tugging at Johnny's sleeve, trying to be at least semi-subtle, until he finally gives in.

"Better get this'un home te bed," he says, hand dropping to your ass, squeezing it suggestively. You don't even care, you're not even properly listening. You just want to get away from Simon's lazer-focus gaze.

Except, then Simon says, "I can drive ye both home," and your stomach sinks into your shoes.

Johnny is delighted, of course, and there's no way you can argue without sounding completely ignorant so you follow them out of the pub, a puppy following two bears.

Johnny won't hear of you sitting in the back of Simon's truck, drags you into his lap in the front seat instead, and the small space feels claustrophobic with the two men and you squeezed inside. Neither of them seem to notice and in fact, Johnny must be drunker than you think, because he also doesn't notice when his Captain's hand ends up on your thigh. Well, you don't think he notices, until you look up and find Johnny's eyes in the rearview mirror, locked on Simon's hand. And he looks—there's no other word for it—hungry. It's a look you sometimes see when you're in bed together and you feel your insides twist confusingly at the sight.

All in all, it doesn't really surprise you when the car slows to a stop in front of your apartment and Johnny speaks.

"So, LT," he says casually, hand landing on top of Simon's and pushing it down harder on your leg. "Comin' in for a drink, aye?"

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bunny-jpeg · 7 months ago

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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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silaslich · 26 days ago

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The heat of imposition | part 2

Simon “Ghost Riley x f!reader x John “Soap” Mactavish

Summary - Rugby AU. While watching a rugby match with Kyle you happen to catch the attention of not one, but two of the players.

Neither of them like the fact that the other wants you too. [part 2/2]

Wc - 7k

Cw - smut, 18+, oral (f!receiving), unsafe sex, male masturbation, brawling, blood, Johnny is a shit stirrer lmao

Taglist - @blushingskulls

There’s an ache in his jaw, a noticeable twinge of pain when he talks. Simon’s felt worse, a lot worse actually, but he knows exactly what this is.

It’s the same reason he has to get another mouthguard, the indents of his teeth had almost pierced right through his old one. It’s a result of his anger; his inability to think rationally, there’s an itch in his bones that he can’t scratch.

Yet, you keep coming back, time and time again. He’ll look up at the stands and see you sitting there, nursing a bottle of cider or a styrofoam cup of coffee, sometimes Kyle is there and sometimes he isn’t- that had been a surprise. Because only days after he’d first met you, sitting slumped at the bar as you work behind it, with Johnny at his side trying his luck with you- You’d said something that completely contradicted your actions.

“I’m not a huge rugby fan” you’d said it with such conviction, Simon knew you weren’t bluffing, you weren’t just saying it to get a reaction.

He’d felt Johnny stir beside him, his palms slapping against the wood of the bar loudly.

“What’re ya talkin’ aboot?” His voice grew louder as he leant over the bar, close to your face, you didn’t even flinch.

You’d shrugged, completely bored, and continued polishing the glass in your hand. Simon’s gaze had shifted then, placated with a few whiskeys, making him heavy- his blood sticky and slow in his veins. His eyes had fallen to your hands as they worked, deftly, then lower to your hips- or whatever his eyes could actually see from his side of the bar. Then they had trailed up and up and up until they landed on your chest, his stare unashamed, his tongue felt like lead in his mouth and he could barely tune out the sound of Johnny as he shrieked like a banshee about everything wrong with what you’d just said.

Then Simon’s eyes had lifted to your face, and that’s when the realisation had hit him, you were looking right at him. Pointedly. You didn’t say anything- but you didn’t have to, enough was said with your eyes, better still- he couldn’t tear his eyes from yours.

Johnny had been none the wiser to this wordless exchange, blind to it all with his fingers pressed into his eyes, vexed over the fact you kept shrugging at every point he was trying to make to counter your honest opinion on his favourite sport.

_____________________________________________

Today will be different, he thinks, because as training starts and the sweat begins to slick his skin- you’re nowhere to be seen. Perhaps that means that he’ll keep his head, his ability to be level and think will shift back into gear, business as usual. He can’t exactly explain it, that look you’d given him, it’s burned into his retinas. He can’t shake it, no matter how much he trains or how fast he runs or how much whiskey he drinks- it just won’t go away.

You- all narrow eyed and serious, watching him watch you, that little glint in your eyes had told him more than words would. The game was set, but Simon now realised that it wasn’t just himself and Johnny playing- you were too.

Despite the fact that you’re not even there, Simon still finds himself checking the stands, looking towards your usual seat. Still as distracted as he would be with you there. It stirs in his chest, an annoyance he wants to rip out, like a ball of worms at his core. It squirms and burrows in his chest, he can’t shift it. He thought without you there he’d feel better, a weight lifted, one less pair of eyes scrutinising- you’re not the type.

There’s a sharp thwack to the back of his head. He bristles.

“Quit yer daydreamin’” Johnny passes him, a sly smirk curling his lips. Simon can’t stand it.

These bets, these little games, these challenges they put on one another- they’ve never quite matched this. It’s usually something trivial and stupid, things that equate to bragging rights at the end of it all. This? This isn’t the same and Simon is just now noticing that he doesn’t like it, but Johnny is loving every second of it.

Simon resumes his drills and for the remainder of the session his head is still elsewhere. There’s a cog that’s turning in his mind, perhaps it’s foolish to think any more on it. He should instead play up to this game of Johnny’s and let it be over with, let him get what he wants out of it, out of you, and then everything will return to normal again.

Training is brutal, to no one’s surprise. Their coach, John Price, had taken notice of Simon’s attention issues and made sure that the whole team was punished for it. An extra hundred sit ups and push ups on top of an extra ten laps of the whole field. Safe to say that Simon isn’t in anyone’s good books.

As everyone is showering and changing Johnny sticks close, too close to Simon, muttering about something or other- Simon tries to tune him out. It’s as he’s getting dressed and Johnny’s getting ready to shower that he hears it clearly, it’s pressed into the ear of another teammate.

“Big lad was too busy thinkin’ about our lassie’s pretty pussy y’see” Johnny’s grin reaches and Simon doesn’t stick around to hear anything more.

He storms outside, the cool air hitting his lungs and his wet hair as it drips down his neck. He needs space and he needs air. His thoughts are racing around his head, for no reason at all, it seems. He doesn’t know you, and you don’t know him, so he doesn’t understand why he’s looking for you- seeking you out in a half-empty crowd like there’s been more then just a shared glance passed between the two of you.

Maybe it’s Johnny’s influence, the constant battle for dominance between the two of them, no matter how much it goes unsaid. Simon doesn’t want Johnny to ever have something that he can’t also have, whether it’s a trophy or bragging rights- or you. He wouldn’t stomach that, no, not deep down where that possessiveness in him festers and broods like an infected wound. Weeping and sore.

Simon takes a minute, breathing in the air, staring out into the car park- ultimately weighing up his options, does he go home to lick his wounds and drown out the thought of you with a beer or two or does he do something about all of this. Once and for all. He can tell you about this bet they’ve got going on, he can be honest and make sure that you don’t give either of them the time of day anymore-

“Think this is the first time I’ve seen you alone” your voice cuts through his thoughts, “Johnny’s usually hanging off your arm”.

Simon whirls around in the direction your voice emerges from, then he sees you sitting there, perched on a bench just outside the gates of the stadium. Seemingly minding your own business, had you been here all along? Somewhere he hadn’t seen you- surely not.

“Where’av you been hidin’?” Simon arches a brow, moving to step closer toward you, your smile jabs him right in the chest. He watches as you shake your head.

“Just got here, Kyle dropped me off” your eyes follow him as he comes close, you have to angle your neck to meet his eyes- he’s just so tall. As you sit there your mind immediately realises you’re in the perfect position to-

“How come? No game today” Simon tilts his head, thinking for a split second before he decides to come sit beside you, he knows Johnny will be walking out any second now.

The angle of your body follows Simon as he sits, turning to face him, one arm slung over the back of the bench- comfortable.

“I agreed to a date with Johnny the other week didn’t I, to get him out of my hair at the bar” you half-laugh, recalling that night. Remembering the glasses smashing and the way Simon’s hand had fit so well against your waist, so warm and ever-reaching.

Simon nods, humming in acknowledgment, he thinks about that night alot too. For the same reasons.

There’s a moment of silence, and as it stretches you both realise how comfortable it is. You’re looking at Simon but he isn’t exactly looking at you, his eyes flit to you a few times but he breaks the eye contact almost instantly, looking back toward where he’d come from- watching for Johnny.

“You single, Simon?” Your voice pulls him back, now he looks at you, meeting your eyes firmly. He nods.

“Yeah, f’some time now. Too scared to settle and too old to be messin’ around” he smiles but you can see it isn’t genuine, his admission hits home for you too. It’s the way things go for people like you and him, wanting to meet the one but too scared they’ll want more than you can give.

The fact that you’ve even asked him that question gives him something to think about, if you were so sweet on Johnny, why would you care if he’s single or not? Unless you’re just being polite, making conversation, yeah that’ll be it.

“I know how that feels” a breathy laugh falls from your lips, “the dating pool isn’t what it used to be”. You fold your arm against the back of the bench, resting your cheek in your hand. Simon hums once again.

You hadn’t really had a chance to speak to Simon since the incident, yeah you’d seen him plenty since then, but Johnny had always been there too. Demanding the attention like he does, perhaps he stands out more because Simon is so quiet. He’s more than happy to blend into the background and sip on his drink, only putting his ten pence in when he really needs to. It peaks your interest, it draws you to him in a way you don’t really get. It’s the way his dark eyes watch you, the way he looms in the corner of the booth and acknowledges you with the tilt of his head. He makes a heat rush over your skin when he looks at you like that, like he’d pull your clothes off with his teeth if you’d just let him.

“Simon” you test his name, you’ve said it plenty over the last few weeks, but the weight of it in your mouth feels different.

He dips his chin, dark eyes lowering to yours as he turns to look at you. Your name falls from his mouth too nicely, you wish he’d whisper it in your ear.

“I didn’t get a chance to say a proper thank you the other week, would have been picking glass out of my face for days if it weren’t for you” the heat of his stare makes your skin prickle and you suddenly feel the need to look away, but he holds you there, you can’t break away.

“No need to thank-“

“There she is” Johnny’s voice cuts through Simons, breaking off the conversation mid sentence, maybe he didn’t hear the two of you talking before he shouted over. Maybe.

Both you and Simon turn to look at him, watching as he storms over, pulling the attention to himself with that wide smile and those bright blue eyes that shine with the autumn sun.

“Ready to go?” He asks, eyes raking over you, you’re not as scantily dressed as he prefers but he’s hoping that it won’t matter for long anyway.

Your smile widens and you nod, moving to stand up, your hand reaches over to pat Simon’s knee as you go.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah? Enjoy the rest of your day” you wink at him and make a gesture with your eyes toward Johnny, who can’t see you do it, so he’s none the wiser.

Simon smiles at you and you’re sure it’s the most genuine one you’ve seen from him since you’d met him. He raises his hand and mirrors your little wave as you step toward Johnny, who’s looking at Simon with narrowed eyes, already wondering what he’s missed out on while he was showering.

“See y’around darlin’” Simon watches Johnny as he speaks, the way Johnny’s smirk curls leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He knows that Johnny still has the upper hand right now, but he won’t take this lying down.

_____________________________________________

Simon can’t find it in himself to relax. Not as the day drags on and he’s still yet to hear anything from Johnny. He’s sent three text messages and he’s checked and double checked to see if Johnny has read any messages in the group chat for all the rugby lads, just to see if it’s only Simon he’s choosing to ignore. Johnny hasn’t read anything, nothing at all.

He eats to see if that’ll make him feel better, it does a piss poor job. He tries to watch something to distract himself but that doesn’t work for very long. All he can think about is you, and in particular what you’re doing right now, with Johnny instead of him. If this goes the same way that Johnny’s ‘dates’ usually go then Simon knows that you’re probably bent over his kitchen counter top right about now, or your face will be buried in Johnny’s pillows- the Swiss ones he makes a comment about every time.

Simon isn’t the jealous type, he tries to tell himself. Not when it comes to women at least. Johnny’s appetite is ferocious, he’s unapologetic about it all the same, Simon sometimes wonders if he’d be the same way if he wasn’t the sit back and watch type. Women try to talk to him in the bars and at the pub, but Simon doesn’t usually take the bait. Again, he’s after something more, he’s had his fair share of bedmates who come and go with the rising sun. He’s passed that now. Instead he’d rather be alone, rather than pretend to be something he’s not for someone who expects too much from him.

His feelings toward you have only further shifted now after what you’d said today, talking about understanding him, you both want the same thing. It sates the guilt that sits in his chest, if he were to pursue you, it wouldn’t be for the sake of dragging you to his bed to prove a point to Johnny. It would be something more, only if you wanted to, of course. After tonight it might not matter, not if Johnny has sank his poison in your ear, telling you what you want to hear, like he does.

His thoughts follow him to bed that night, he can’t rid himself of it. He tries to think of something else, anything else, but it’s no use. Everything circles back around to you. The look in your eyes and the sharp of your smile, he thinks he knows you, just by the wordless exchanges. He wants to think you’re on the same page. That night in the bar, slipping his arm around you to stop you from falling, it had felt too natural. He’d felt the way you’d stiffened against him, holding your breath, leaning back into his chest as you steadied yourself with your hand on his- reading the tattoos on his knuckles from between your own fingers.

It ignites something in his blood, a burning lust, an itch he can’t scratch but he’ll try his best.

Simon rests his left arm over his forehead, eyes pressed into the crook of it. He doesn’t hesitate as his right hand pushes his boxers down, following the line of his hips, feeling the way his cock stiffens further in the open air. He hisses through his teeth. The circle of his fist is incomparable to anything he’s imagined about you, the softness of your hands or how wet he could get you for him- ready to take his tongue and his cock and his fingers. Still, Simon perseveres, jutting his hips into the wait of his hand. There’s enough precum leaking from the head of his cock to stop the friction of his callused hand, further solidifying his image of you- it’s you instead of his rough hand.

He jerks faster, angling his wrist, hips pressing up to follow the speed in which he wanks his own cock. His breath stutters and his chest aches with the effort of it, he’s never been one to fantasise, not this vividly, this is a whole new thing for him. You’re the one to solidify it, on his mind day and night, following him into his dreams with a whisper in his ear and a hand on his cock.

Simon cums loudly, making a mess, painting his stomach with his own spend. He watches as it runs down his skin, the swell of his laboured breathing making it skate faster and faster. There’s sweat beading at his forehead and there’s a dryness that sticks in his throat. He’s blinded by this intrigue, by the idea of you alone. He can’t shift it out of the forefront of his mind.

He begrudges leaving his bed to shower, but he hopes the relief of rubbing one out and cleaning himself up might let him sleep. If he can’t sort his head out before the game tomorrow then he’s sure he’s got no chance at winning this against Johnny, at this point, he’s sure he’s already lost. Pipped to the post because Johnny is louder, bolder in his endeavours, sauntering right up to you and asking you to go out with him just like that. Simon never stood a chance.

He’s convinced he’ll jog out onto that pitch tomorrow and see you sat in your usual seat, scarf tucked up high on your neck to hide the sting of Johnny’s teeth. Shifting in your seat because he’s fucked your pussy good and raw like he should have, he’d have no doubt soothed you with his mouth till the morning broke through in orange and purple streaks outside the window.

Simon falls asleep with his jaw grit tight, knowing it’ll hurt tomorrow.

_____________________________________________

The rain is blinding. It heaves from the sky in a sideways assault, stinging eyes and battering against their skin. The heavens had opened about halfway into the game, they may as well finish, not that far to go now.

They lead by ten points, it’s enough that if they can just maintain it they’ll be good to go. Through the rain and the mud all they need to do is stop the opposing team from scoring, it sounds easy enough. It’s the point of the game, but right now, Simon can’t focus on anything.

He’s done well so far. He hasn’t looked into the stands, he doesn’t want to bother himself with it. He’d rather not meet your eyes, seeing the satisfaction in yours, unknowing that he wishes it were him- knowing that it should have been him and not Johnny. Not because Johnny is a bad person, but because Johnny isn’t exactly doing it for the right reasons. While Johnny has wooed you and will now leave you for dust, Simon wouldn’t have done that, he wouldn’t have done that at all.

Simon lets someone slip past him, he misses him by the skin of his teeth, and he can already feel eyes on him before he turns around. As Simon turns, he’s met with those stupid blue eyes, Johnny takes out his gum shield and throws his arms in the air.

“What the fuck are ya playin’ at? Ay?” The malice is misplaced, Johnny knows Simon is one of their top players, he knows he can do better than this. Simon shrugs him off, speaking around the shield in his mouth.

“Don’t fuckin’ start” his eyes narrow and he brushes Johnny’s shoulder, pushing past him, it’s instant in the way Johnny’s palms connect with Simon’s shoulders- shoving him forward.

Simon is taken aback, unsure if that actually just happened, he turns on his heel, fully expecting to see that a member of the opposing team had shoved Johnny and that meant that Johnny had in turn shoved him. He’s sorely mistaken.

“Don’t start what?” Johnny’s smile is gone, as if it’s evaporated into thin air entirely. His eyes are narrow as he moves around Simon, circling around him to keep out of his way. “Is this about her?” Johnny nods his head in the direction of where you’re sitting but Simon fights the urge to look.

Simon doesn’t think before he acts, it’s muscle memory, when someone puts their hands on him- he reacts. The only difference is that this isn’t a pub brawl or a player from the opposite side- this is Johnny. Simon’s got his jersey fisted between his fingers, tightly, pulling Johnny’s face close to his. Simon seethes, they’re so close their noses touch, Simon’s eyes cut deep.

“It’s got nothin’ to do with her” Simon’s voice dips low, he can hear as the coaches and the teams react to what’s happening but he doesn’t release his hold on Johnny.

He feels Johnny’s hands tugging at the neck line of his jersey now, getting his own leverage, the height difference leaves Johnny reaching on the balls of his feet to match Simon’s cutthroat stare. Johnny smirks.

“S’that right? got nothin’ to do with me fuckin’ her last night?” His accent catches and Simon yanks him, shaking him almost off his feet. “She tastes too good Si, surprised y’cannae smell ‘er on ma breath”.

Simon isn’t one to back down, not when his mind has been in tatters like this. Whatever shred of patience he’d had is washed away when Johnny knees him in the stomach, forcing him to let go of his jersey. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but Simon is surprised and winded enough that it takes him a second to register Johnny striding back towards him.

“Fucked tha’ pretty mouth too, she takes it so well” Johnny jabs his tongue into the side of his cheek, a lewd demonstration of what he’s referring to.

Johnny is quicker than Simon, but Simon is bigger, stronger- and he punches a hell of a lot harder. Blood gushes from Johnnys nose instantly, as soon as Simon’s fist connects, but Johnny isn’t slowed by it. His eyes water and he can taste the blood as it runs down and over his lips- but he’s quick to get his own hit in, catching Simon on the jaw. It slows Simon down enough that Johnny can get some leverage, he grabs Simon by the back of his jersey and uses all of his weight to pull him down, kicking his legs out from underneath him at the same time.

It’s audible when Simon hits the ground, through the rain as it pelts down against the grass. He lands on his side and Johnny is on him in an instant, straddling his thighs, aiming his fist right for his face. The force of Johnny’s hits dislodges Simon’s gum shield from his mouth, not without cutting its way through his gums first. But again, Simon is bigger, it takes little effort on his part to unseat Johnny, he sits up and drives his elbow into Johnny’s face- catching the apple of his cheek.

“Stop fuckin’ talkin’” Simon’s chest tightens, heaving as he speaks.

He shoves Johnny away and is quick to get to his feet, already weighing Johnny up as he watches him get to his knees. Blood slides down his face, washing away in the rain, Johnny wipes it away with the back of his hand. Simon’s face is just as battered, his lip is split and there’s a lump already rising at the bridge of his nose, swelling up beneath the gash Johnny’s left there. Their chests heave in tandem, breathless, before they can get their hands on each other again they’re pulled in opposite directions entirely. Price is shouting and their team mates hands are tugging at them even as they try and root themselves to the ground.

Everything becomes a blur. Price is in Simon’s face, screaming, waving his arms. Simon shrugs off the hands that are yanking and pushing him, he storms away, even as Price follows- his insults and threats to get rid of him fall on deaf ears. Simon heads straight for the locker room, he needs space, he needs somewhere to think- he can’t do this right now. He disappears behind the doors and he doesn’t look back.

Johnny is next, Price gets in his face, spit landing on his cheeks. The game is stilled and the crowd roars in a mixture of anticipation and excitement- this hasn’t happened in a long time. All the while Price is chewing out Johnny, he isn’t listening, instead his eyes land on you. He watches as you fight to clamber over Kyle’s knees, he watches your lips move in apology to the people you push your way past as you bolt down the steps. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes watch Simon as he retreats, even as you trip down the steps, slipping in the rain- you don’t tear your eyes away from Simon.

_____________________________________________

He comes extremely close to slamming his head in his locker. Instead, he stares at himself in the cracked mirror that sits on the locker door. Blood drips from the cut in his eyebrow and from his bust lip, he can smell it in his nose. The swelling on the bridge of his nose is growing by the second, the gash is weeping blood too.

Simon can’t pinpoint the moment that things changed, he was pissed off before Johnny even opened his mouth, so Johnny telling him exactly what he didn’t want to know was the last nail in the coffin. The straw that broke the camels back, and Simon is the camel apparently.

He hears the door open, but he doesn’t bother looking to see who it is. The steps are hurried, he assumes it’s Price, coming to finish what he started- he’s solid in that assumption right up until the locker door he’s standing on the other side of is slammed into his face. It catches him in the temple and for a split second it warps his vision, he’s already got a headache brewing as is. Simon slams the locker the rest of the way as soon as he’s out the way of it and he opens his mouth to go back at Price- but it isn’t Price, it’s you.

Standing there, fists balled, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed. He’s not ready for this, either, for you to come and tear chunks out of him for fighting with Johnny. Because now Johnny has you in his corner, ready to fight tooth and neck.

For a minute, you just stand there, wordless. As if you’re thinking of what to say, of what insult holds the most weight. He searches your face, for any of those soft lines that he knows are there, none of this harshness you’re wearing now. He looks away, letting his eyes fall back to the locker, focusing on the loose screw in the door hinge- waiting for you to just say something. Then, he hears your shoes scuff against the tiles, squeaking as you step closer, he readies himself for you to strike him, getting even for Johnny’s sake.

There’s none of that, instead your palm slides carefully across his cheek, you’re almost chest to chest. His eyes snap to yours, watching as you scan his face, noting every cut and bruise and swelling. Your lips twist, there’s something in your eyes he hasn’t seen before.

“Why would you do that?” Your voice is small, yet assertive, it echoes around the empty room.

Simon can’t answer truthfully, not if what Johnny was saying was honest, he doesn’t want you to know what was said. Instead he shrugs you off, trying to be impassive.

“I don’t know” his lip curls and you catch it immediately, the lie is told but you don’t believe it, your brows furrow.

“What was he saying to you?” You angle his cheek with your hand, making him look at you. The way he stares down at you through his lashes makes something in your knees knock loose. Simon shakes his head.

“Nothing important” Simon tries to look away but you hold him there, both with your hand and your eyes. He brings up his hand to curl his fingers around your wrist as you caress his cheek, he doesn’t even notice he’s done it.

“Simon, none of it’s true” he tightens his fingers on your wrist, blinking at you, not quite understanding. “I had a friend who was deaf when I was younger, she taught me how to lip read. Johnny lied”.

The weight of your words knocks something out of Simon’s chest, he feels it swing in the empty space, inevitably knocking him forwards until he connects his lips to yours. His palm cups the side of your neck, the kiss starts as it means to go on, it’s everything all at once. You gasp into his mouth and it gives him more leverage, more room to manipulate you how he wants to. He tastes of old copper pennies, you can feel the notch of ruptured flesh on his lip as it tries to clot.

His free hand brings you closer by your hip, reeling you close. Pulling you flush to him as your other hand comes up to cup the other side of his face. He’s met with no resistance when he curls his tongue over your bottom lip, you welcome the challenge, smiling against his lips and into the kiss.

Simon doesn’t have restraint, not after what’s just happened, not after everything he’s been thinking about. This, this exactly is what he’s been thinking about none stop for weeks since laying eyes on you. You’ve plagued his dreams and his nightmares and his waking thoughts, he’s caught off guard by it, and knocked even further off kilter.

His hands roam and you squirm in his grip, ultimately breaking the kiss to speak. Your lips are gaped and your breath rushes past them in quick succession, trying to steady your lungs.

“Can we? Here?” You can’t look him in the eye, palms sliding from his neck and down his chest, nails scraping against his jersey. It seems he’s not the only one who can’t wait, who’s perhaps been thinking about this for a while.

Simon’s lips creep up, a filthy smirk. You see his hand dart into his locker, fishing something out and digging it into his pocket. You don’t get a chance to see it before your wrist is in his hand, tugged further into the locker room, heading straight for the cubicles of showers. He pulls you with him, kept tight against him as he locks the door behind you. You don’t have time to catch your bearings before his lips are at your neck, teeth sinking, pulling your scarf away and letting it fall to the floor.

“Thought about this” it’s murmured against your skin, your hands skate up his back, feeling as his muscles move underneath his jersey.

Your heart jumps in your chest, you can’t tell if it’s the wet of his tongue or if it’s his blood, but there’s something warm and wet against your skin.

“So did I” it’s an admission he wasn’t ready for, he assumed it was just him, how wrong he was. He smiles against your skin.

Simon pushes you back against the wall, his hands roaming, skating up your sides, cupping your ribcage in his wide palms. He pushes your coat off of your shoulders, shedding another layer, in turn he lets you tug his jersey over his head, your hands immediately flattening to the muscles you find. Fingers gliding through every ridge and divot in his flesh.

You capture his lips again, letting your tongue slip past his lips as he fiddles with the button and zipper on your jeans, feeling as he uses both hands to tug them down till they’re low enough that he can slot his thigh between your legs- opening you up. Your hands reach around to his shoulders, sliding up until they’re looped around his neck, pulling him closer. Your teeth catch the tip of his tongue when he presses his fingers against the lips of your pussy, feeling the wetness there. Soaked already, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Fuck” it’s sighed out of his chest as he breaks the kiss, looking down between your bodies, watching the tips of his fingers tease your lips apart. You moan in his ear.

Simon’s compelled to fix Johnny’s lie, he wants to taste you himself, then he can be the one to know exactly how you taste on his tongue. He’ll have you cum on his mouth to solidify it, to prove a point.

He kisses you again, letting his lips trail from your jaw and down your neck as he begins to get to his knees. Your hands slide up as he descends, ultimately landing in his hair, fisting the strands between your fingers as he teasingly blows air on your cunt. You moan his name, stuttering nonsense, little noises escaping through the seams of your lips as you try to swallow them down.

Simon pulls at your jeans as he kisses the mound of your pussy, signalling you to step out of them, you do as you’re instructed- not fighting when Simon then lifts one of your legs till it’s hooked over his shoulder. He doesn’t hesitate to taste you then, letting his tongue part your folds, feeling how wet you really are against his lips and the tip of his nose. You fuss at him, briefly, worrying about him.

“Simon your face- careful” your voice jumps, reacting when Simon plunges his tongue into your hole, wanting you to give it up, nothing is going to pull him from this now.

You’re practically gushing, squelching against his lips as they move, it’s lewd in your own ears, your cheeks are red beyond belief. Yet, he doesn’t let up. Even as your hips squirm and your fingers tug at his hair, Simon doesn’t stop. Not now he’s got you here, right where he wants you. So close to cumming on his tongue, painting his mouth, the very thing that’s kept him up at night.

“F-fuck” your chest stutters, punching out the words, “so good Si” your voice drifts and Simon hears you knock the back of your head against the tile.

His fingers press into the backs of your thighs, holding you steady, not letting you press away from him. You’ll have bruises in the shapes of his finger tips, branded spots as a reminder of this, he hopes you wear a short skirt to the bar tomorrow- he’ll bring Johnny along for an apology drink.

Simon can feel it, the pulsing of your walls, the way your hips are meeting the friction of his mouth, practically rubbing yourself all over his face. Where’s the concern for his injuries now?

It does catch him off guard, when you finally cum, loudly. Shrieking his name, letting it reverberate off the tile, rubbing yourself on his nose, like you’re scenting him with your juices. Claiming territory. Simon laps it all up, every last bit, lathing at you with his tongue- he wants you pliant for what comes next.

You meet him half away as he comes to stand, making him still for a moment, needing your lips on his. You follow his movement as he stands fully, standing on the balls of your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue is something new, something you’d never thought of, your filthy mind says you’ll get used to it.

He lets you kiss him, but he guides your hands down from around his neck, using your fingers like puppets and pulling his shorts and boxers down to his knees. You break the kiss, unapologetic in the way your eyes snap downward toward his cock, watching as it springs free- wagging between your bodies. Your hands need no guidance now, Simon watches you gather your own juices against your fingers and smear them onto his cock, pumping him tightly in your fist.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but this is everything and more.

Simon lets you do this, lets you sink your teeth into his pec as you jerk his cock, flitting between slow and fast movement, adjusting your pace. He could cum just like this, but he wants the first time to be different. He takes your chin between his fingers, cupped in his hand, pressing his lips to yours, clashing teeth- desperate for more despite already having everything you have to offer.

He digs his hand into his pocket and you watch, curious, when he pulls out his gum shield- you raise a brow.

“Trust me love, walls are thin” he slants his mouth to yours a final time, he watches you open your mouth, not questioning as he slots his gum shield over your teeth. You try it for size, running your tongue along it.

Simon kisses you, it’s not as tricky as you thought it’d be, if anything, it’s more filthy. He presses harder, making sure you can feel the pressure of his tongue still.

Your neck dips, observing as Simon does the same, spitting against his cock as he takes it into his hand. Pumping it a few quick times, gathering his spit before he arches forward and presses into you. The burn is there, splitting you, he’s girthier than anything you’ve had before. Yet, as he slides deeper, nothing has ever felt more right. Your nails scrape against his shoulders and you grit your teeth against his mouth guard, but this is better than you’d imagined. Better than you thought it would be as you fingered yourself between the safety of your bedsheets, wishing it were Simon’s fingers- this doesn’t even hold a candle.

Your breaths twine into one as he bottoms out, pressing impossibly deep, chest to chest with you. His rhythm evens and you find yourself keen to meet it, ass pressed to the cold tile, almost lifted off your feet entirely- you feel drunk off it.

Simon takes the opportunity when you toss your head back, moans quieted by the mouth guard, sinking his teeth into the open plain of your neck. He sucks your skin into his mouth and you keen, arching into him, pressing yourself into the pressure of his thrusts as he fucks you harshly. You fight to say something but he can’t understand you, he laughs into your skin.

He can feel himself rising closer, right at the edge, close to the precipice of all of this. He’ll be damned if he’s not dragging you there with him. He frees up one of his hands, bringing his fingers to your lips. Eyes narrowing when he watches you suck his fingers into your mouth, tongue licking each crevice of his skin, lathing him up. He presses his fingers to your clit afterwards, watching your face, gaging your reactions. He watches you come apart, pushed over that edge until you’re free falling for what feels like forever. Your teeth are grit tight against the rubber, strained as he hears it creak in your mouth.

Your cunt squeezes him impossibly tight as you cum, thrown over that arc, hands reaching out for him and pulling him with you in the process.

Simon cums inside of you, his hips continuing to thrust, fucking into your poor sopping pussy. The sound reaches his ears, between your whines and his own breaths he hears as he’s fucking his cum back into you. It’s obscene, really, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He fixes his teeth into your flesh, into any he can reach, your neck and your shoulder- still stuttering his hips into your sore overstimulated pussy. You whine and cry, something that sounds like his name, he soothes you, holding your face in his hands as he presses his lips to your lashes.

Everything grows stationary. You both catch your breath, needing to allow your racing hearts to return to their normal pace before they break free from the gaps in your ribs. Simon grows soft inside you and you hold him close, fingers rooted into the flesh of his lower back. His thumb strokes across your cheek and his other hand smooths over your hair. He presses his thumb into the mouth guard, popping it loose before he fits his mouth to yours once more. The lingering taste of yourself and his blood is present on his lips when he kisses you, it makes you pull him closer- then the peace is shattered.

“Si? Ya in ‘ere? Can we talk?”

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