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hannies-barracks · 4 days ago

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18+, rugby!simon x fem!reader, a lot of words, hardly edited, hella porn, enjoy

you meet rugby!simon at your usual haunt, a nightclub that spilled out into a dark, narrow alleyway that connected like a capillary to the city centre.

packed with people, an interior feverish with the movement of bodies and the multi-coloured strobing lights. music vibrates through the black slab flooring, pulsing through you as you jostle amongst your friends, dancing with swaying hips.

hot, sticky. you can feel the sweat clinging to you, beneath the fabric of your clothes that cling to the natural curves of your body. moving amidst a sea of bodies, the heat of alcohol swelling, spreading— hair sticking to foreheads, glistening beads on cheekbones.

you still don’t know how he spotted you amongst the crowd of people, faces blurred and distorted by flashing lights and waving hands. but he did.

a woman has her hand on his chest when he spots you. pink stiletto nails raking down the black cotton of his shirt, toying with one of the buttons, chest pressed to the large bulk of his bicep. he could feel her tits against him, and that’s when he removed the hand he had encircled around her knee.

johnny looks at him peculiarly, a woman beside him too. the pair were in the corner of the large nightclub, tucked away in a booth that still managed to attract the attention of wandering eyes.

eyes except for yours, it seemed.

“mate,” johnny says over the music, but simon was already standing up, the woman peeling herself away from him.

he walks across the packed dance floor, eyes set on your movements. despite his bulk, he manoeuvres himself through the crowd with an effortless glide, drunken patrons bouncing off of his sides. he’s not sure what exactly it was that drew his attention away from the pert blonde at his side, whispering to him in an accent heavy with received pronunciation. it was just you.

hypnotic. psychedelic.

so utterly distracting, eye-catching, that had simon now peeling himself away from sticky bodies and encroaching, finally, into your space.

and you were even more stunning up close, an image bathed in a kaleidoscope of colours and shapes. reds and blues mottle against your skin as he pushes closer until he’s crowding you, forcing you to relent in your ignorance and turn to face him— to crane your neck, even in your pretty shoes, to get a proper look at him.

he hears your friends giggling above the music, chiding in over the drum and bass. you ignore them, though. perhaps spurred on by the buzz of alcohol in your system, tongue sweet with cocktail sugar and brain hazy with vodka. perhaps, as simon likes to assume, it was the heat of his mass, solid and immovable amongst the jostling of the club, that entranced you to the point of disregard.

naturally, simon bites the bullet and sticks two large hands out to grab at your hips. you let him, and he feels a surge of confidence swell inside of him like a white-capped wave. you’re looking up at him with shiny eyes and a crinkled smile, lipgloss drawing simon’s eyes with a few winks of the glitter.

you’d feel like heaven. he knows it.

he hunkers down, bending until he can press his head to the side of yours, his lips at the curve of your ear.

“you’re a pretty bird, aren’t you?” he utters, letting you sway in his hold. he feels the way you heat up at that, too— a flush in warmth beneath the dewy surface of your skin. simon digs further. “you got a lad here to take care’ve you, huh?”

he wants nothing more then to squeeze at the fat of your hips as you shake your head, humming a dismissal. squeeze and knead as he sticks his tongue into your mouth, memorise each point of your teeth, and leave your pussy all messy in whatever string-like thong you’re wearing beneath that skirt.

“no? s’a shame, isn’t it? pretty bird’s missing a lad to keep her safe,” simon whispers to you, and you can’t help but laugh nervously at his words. they make you squirm, heat in your belly, heart fluttering in your chest— and he knows it. knows you’re getting all hot and bothered, sweat beading on the back of your neck, heat clambering around your heaving chest.

you can’t move without touching him. your chest is magnetised, somehow, to his. you shift your hands as well, palms smoothing over the muscular curve of his pectorals, all soft but strong with the weight of trained muscle. you giggle again, simon enjoying the sound over the ringing of his ears.

you continue to feel him up, swaying your arse as you look up at him in a way that decidedly makes him want to stick his tongue in your mouth— the second time he’s been graced with such a thought of you. and he’s a man of a certain calibre. so of course he gets what he wants.

the kiss is wet and hot, in the simplest of terms. a drunken mess, framed by colourful lights and tasting of simple syrup, expensive vodka and bitter tobacco; all rolling into the nauseating promise of a skull-cracking hangover. he tastes your lipgloss, a cherry sweetness that smears over his cupid’s bow as he splits your lips with the point of his tongue. he’s pulling you to him, grinding your front against his, unrelenting.

it’s not that he forgets he’s in a public place. he doesn’t forget the fact people know his name here, know what he does. he can feel the eyes, blinded by the effects of drink and drug, watching his moves, somewhat candid in comparison to the image of him on the field, a vinyl number glistening like a beacon on his back. he’s perceived here as a person over a player. but his name is still common place amongst local mouths.

the only mouth he’s concerned about is yours.

simon riley, one of the star union players of this year, doesn’t care what other people are thinking. what he cares about right now is keeping his tongue in your mouth, the fat of your arse and hips in his hands, and your soft sighs in his ears.

when he pulls back, he can’t help but crack a cocky grin at the glaze in your eyes and the puffiness to your parted lips. you stare up at him with an expression drowned in pink lights and lust.

“y’like that, yeah?” he lilts, acutely aware of your squirming form shifting against him, your nerves betraying you even as you do speak to him with assuredness.

“‘ve had better, actually,” you lie, and it’s almost endearing. it would have been, except it made his cock twitch in his briefs.

“ah,” simon said, distracted by the heaving of your chest against his and the shining spit that coated your now gloss-less lips. “guess i’ll ‘ave to give it another go.”

———

you had held out until the third date before you decided he was ready. decided he had earned it. he had done the gentleman thing, done the pining, walked you home and kissed your cheek on the doorstep.

so after the third date, the flavours of a fruit sorbet still coating your teeth, simon spreads you open atop the silken covers of your bed and splits the puffy lips of your pussy open with two large fingers. he spits, and then follows.

he kisses you there, tender. one hand squeezing the fat of your thigh, and the other with his fore and index finger parted into a V so he could press his lips to your clit. the knuckles of his remaining fingers push up against the curve of your arse, while your fingers grip at his short hair.

“been waiting to meet this pretty girl,” he utters directly into your cunt, tongue running slowly between your folds. it made you squirm, and the vibrations of him talking into and about your pussy have you wriggling against the covers.

the point of his tongue moves in narrow strokes, before unfurling flat and swiping up, up, until he latches his lips around your puffy clit— or down, down, until he curls the muscle into the hot clutch of cunt.

“f-fuck,” you whine out, embarrassment a hot presence beneath your sternum. despite you enjoying his company, you were reluctant to give him the satisfaction of revealing how bad you want this. how long you’ve been waiting.

and you tried desperately to ignore the fact he probably already knew.

simon’s eyes are on you as his tongue and lips work over the velvet warmth of your pussy, the large hand on your thigh putting indents into the pliable flesh. small grunts escape him too— bearish sounds from the back of his throat as your slick and his saliva start in rivulets from his bottom lip.

you can’t help it. his name flutters from your lips so easily, silken smooth, a sickly sweet, “simon—” as you arch off the bed, and it makes him squeeze his eyes shut, just for a moment, and groan while his tongue is curling inside you.

simon collects himself, pulling back just a centimetre to lick his lips and say, “i’m right here, baby. s’a matter?” then his mouth is back on you, and you’re not sure whether to give him a reply.

not that you probably could. he’s fucking his tongue in and out of your sopping hole, his eyes hooded and watching the way your body writhes against the bed. squirming, whimpering. you couldn’t speak if you wanted too.

and there’s a pleasure building inside you. a familiar pleasure, that of an old, faithful friend. it’s like static, making a point in building heavily in the pit of your stomach and the base of your spine. your toes start to curl, hips start to buck, and suddenly you’re pushing his face further into your cunt.

he groans, broken— either on a hiccup of pleasure or a surprised laugh —before maintaining his movements. up, down, in, out, set to cruise control, muscle-memory.

“simon—ah—!” the cliff gives way from under you and you toppled into an orgasm that coursed through your entire body like adrenaline. body thrumming, shaking, you came into his awaiting mouth, whimpering nonsense as he lapped it up (with a cocky smile on his face that you didn’t clock).

he was quick to detach from your pussy. with the gush you felt, and the glistening of his lower face, you half-expected a cartoonish squelch to fill the quiet room. instead, it was filled with his voice as he finally shucked off his briefs and began fisting his aching cock.

“look so pretty when you come,” he whispers, crowding you— again —and slotting himself over you. he dips and kisses you, tongue invading your mouth, filling with taste of you. “been waiting to see you like this,” he mumbles against your lips, before kissing you again.

he seems restrained, even when the fat head of his cock pushes against your pussy. spreading your folds, opening you up, gliding through the slick that builds there. he groans at the feeling, an automatic tensing of his muscles as he leans over you, one large arm caging you in.

“soft fuckin’ pussy, too,” he starts, pulling back to look you in your pretty face, a bruised-knuckled fist around his thick cock, running it along your drooling slit. “bet it’ll take my cock like a dream, won’t it, baby?”

body on fire, you huff out at him, your hardened nipples brushing against the soft, sparse hair on his chest.

simon smiles down at you, one of his sharper incisors catching on his lip as he does so. “m’sorry, what was that? pretty girl got somethin’ to say?”

your stomach flips.

“s’too big,” you whisper, looking down over the soft mound of your belly to watch him nudge at your wet cunt with the leaking head of his cock. ruddy and bruising-red, too, with it’s velveteen skin rolled back. trapped blood, burning up hot, with pearly-white precum beading on the slit. thick from top to bottom, a thatch of brown-blond hair at the base, trailing up to his navel, but also down to balls that twitch as he pushes in just a bit more, his tip kissing your hole.

you feel your heart flutter in your chest, morse-code beneath your ribs you think, anticipation building like clouds before a storm.

simon tuts at you, then slowly, slowly begins to push in. “don’t be silly, baby—” the flared head notches inside you, hot and warm, right on the silly, making you gasp out. “—s’gonna fit real nice up in here.” he splays a large hand across your stomach and gently pushes down, and you see stars in the shadows of your room.

“simon,” you whisper. “oh, god.”

bit by bit, he’s considerate in slowly feeding his cock into you. his eyes change, watching your face, then watching your pussy, and then back again. you feel sparks in your belly, and you twitch where you lie spread out, sparks of pleasure firing off inside you.

“takin’ this big cock like a champ, baby. doing so well, being so brave…”

there’s condescension in his tone, a flirtatious line between mean and dirty— and, the bastard, he’s successful in the latter, as his words have you reaching out for him, gripping at the thickly corded muscles along his back, whining while you do it.

he bottoms out and you dig your nails into the fat above his scapulas. he freezes for just a moment, panting like he’s chasing his breath, and then he’s off again.

pulls back, then shunts forward. repeatedly, hitting deep inside you, stretching you out.

you whine out for him, his cock nudging the best part inside you over and over, curling up and kissing towards the base of your cervix. it feels like he’s in your guts, moving them around while his hand lays flat on your stomach. moulding your insides to the shape of his cock.

your pussy is wet as he moves. wet squelches, not quite cartoonish, but comical enough it makes your ears ring. wet enough that you can feel it dripping down the fat of your arse as his balls smack against the curve, the thickness of his cock pulling you apart.

“fuckin’ hell,” simon grunts, pulling out to circle the wet tip around your leaking hole. you whimper at the emptiness, but he quickly pushes back inside. “pussy’s an absolute dream, sweetheart. tight as fuck.”

he’s crude, and it makes you moan. filthy mouth. it’s a shame he uses it so damn well.

he smirks. “oh, yeah? you like that?”

you grunt, then groan. it comes out breathy and embarrassingly loud, making him chuckle while he’s balls-deep inside you, bed shaking.

“just tellin’ you how it is, pretty girl. cunt’s stranglin’ my damn cock— holdin’ on real tight. bet you’ll feel me for a while, won’t you?”

arsehole. and it’s annoying that he’s right.

his thrusts are deep and measured, like he knows exactly the spot inside you to hit so you squirm under him. your skin is boiling hot, slick with sweat. you feel moisture on the small of your back, and under your thighs, and resting on your forehead and cheekbones— a testament to his damn crowding.

large man, thick shoulders, broad chest, strong arms. you have nowhere to go. it makes your pussy flutter. mean in the best ways, but gentle too.

something contracts low in your belly as pressure begins to build, clit thrumming with your heartbeat. you whine, his name and unintelligible sounds, as you scramble to hold onto him as your release builds into a flurry. a tempest in a bottle, cork ready to pop.

“yeah, baby. tha’s it,” simon pants, two hands either side of you now, pumping into you with a steady speed. there’s sweat on his forehead, and a couple of strands hanging loose towards his eyebrows. “mm, yeah, tha’s it, tell me what you want— let me give you what you want.”

you moan, crying out for him, arching off the bed until your tits are pushed up against his chest, heartbeats syncing effortlessly. “simon, please— oh, fuck. please simon, need to come.”

“okay, baby. okay, baby,” he mutters over and over as his thrusts become rapid. desperately chasing release for both you and him. his eyes are on you, though, and his lips parted. he knows you’re close somehow, and you can see it in his shining eyes.

“simon,” you call for him as the band snaps. springs apart like elastic. splits into countless ribbons of pleasure.

he’s mumbling something to you as you come. the world around you flashes white, hot with pleasure and dotted with stars, as you come around his cock. you feel yourself gush, all wet and warm, some splashing out with his hurried movements, which continue to rock your bed against the wall, shaking the framed picture above your bed.

you finally kiss him again, too. plant your mouth right to his, and he moans as your tongues collide. it’s disgustingly messy, spit and slick dribbling out of the corner of your mouth as you mash your tongues together, desperately searching for words unspoken.

he catches your lip, and then pulls back with his forehead against yours. his hips are working, lower back muscles flexing much like those in his thighs, and he ruts deep into the tight hold of your cunt. poor simon, a rumbling groan caught in his broad chest, fingers dimpling the flesh of your sides as he sits up and plows into you.

you shudder. “fuck, simon—”

he manhandles you on his cock, his high dangling in front of him like something on a wire. it’s right there. so close.

“m’gonna come, baby,” he tells you, panting. “m’gonna come so deep in this pussy. so fuckin’ deep y’gonna be tasting me, baby, all— fuckin’— week.” thrust, thrust, thrust.

nasty bastard—

you moan loudly.

“‘course you’d like that,” he whispers, cocky and assured. “just need me to fill you up, huh? been so desperate for this cock.” his thrusts become sloppier. “just— ah, fuck, baby, just take it— be good and take it for me.”

he tenses up and pulls you tightly down onto him, his cock as deep inside you as it could go. then, you feel it— his cock twitches and then warmth fills you like liquid gold. he groans out your name, and it’s the sexiest things that’s come out of his mouth tonight— honey-warm and tender between his teeth.

it tastes amazing on his tongue.

———

simon traces circles on your bare back, your chest pushing up against his side. rather blankly, he stares at the ceiling, breaths coming in deep, soothing movements as you run your fingers across scar-tissue that mars a portion of his abdomen.

“i…” he’s the first to break the silence, yet the words are still underdeveloped, unripened and therefore bitter on his tongue.

“hm?” you look up at him, the two of you a lot cleaner after a comfortably silent shower.

“that… was really nice,” he says. then, “you sure i wasn’t too rough with you?”

you had expected something pointedly cocky, but this was a nice surprise. no point in giving him your rehearsed answer, then.

you pat him softly on the chest, then kiss a small scar just above his nipple. “no, simon. you were great. it was great.”

he sighs through his nose and says nothing else. he doesn’t need too. a kiss to the top of your head follows before you find yourself drifting off to sleep.

#YUMMMMM GOOD SOUP #saved

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