One A Month, I Talk About Long Haired!knig/metalhead!knig

one a month, i talk about long haired!könig/metalhead!könig

it should be canon he was a metalhead at some point in his life. ive talked about how he'd be in a band in school, probably playing the electric guitar or drums. he appreciates goth and metal music and he'd 100% fuck you to his playlist.

be prepared for sore ears and a sore cunt, he won't be gentle ;3 🌷

So Deep In My Daydreams

PAIRING phillip graves/f!reader

SUMMARY you're in your last year of grad school and decide to research private military groups for your final thesis. a friend of a friend has a connection with phillip graves, who just so happens to deeply distract you from your work.

WARNINGS some sexism, graves is kind of a douche but a loveable douche, maybe kind of ooc because it's my first time writing about him, explicitly female reader with gendered terms and pronouns

WORD COUNT 6k words

NOTES i've been itching to write about him i love him i think he's so beautiful i want him in a way that concerns feminism. anyway send me warren kole requests i'll give you a sloppy forehead kiss.

In theory, it probably would have been a lot easier to do a research paper on a retired member of a secret military group than someone who was still on active duty. A lot safer, too. But you just so happened to know someone who’s close friends with Phillip Graves, and when you told said connection that you were writing a paper for your grad school thesis on some of the people that don’t get very much recognition in the service, you were told by your mutual friend that they knew just the guy. That guy happened to be actively serving and willing to let you follow him around for a little while to get whatever investigative information it was that you needed. 

Of course, there were rules that you were informed of the first day you met him somewhere away from where he actually worked. A little coffee shop that he seemed familiar with, though his order of tea with extra sugar made you laugh. You knew that he was a southerner, but extra sweet tea at eight in the morning made you feel a little bit more at ease with him.

He was intimidating when you met him. A typical pretty boy. Blond hair, blue eyes, dimples that made you feel like you were going to fall over the first time he shook your hand. But he also had a deep scar on his face, something that might taint the otherwise All-American good looks he had to himself, but not to you. The scar being that deep looked like it must have hurt, you couldn’t have imagined how much it hurt when he was covering. But he didn’t cover it, it pridefully. 

That all intimidated you. The battle scar on his face, his Southern charm and boyish good looks. It made you want to turn around and go home, just forget the entire grad school thing and pay off your student loans taking side jobs. But he was kind to you, albeit quick-witted, and his sweet tea and eagerness to actually show someone interested in what he did and why more people don’t know about it what his life is like. 

Graves made it clear to you from that very first meeting that there were some things you couldn’t include in your paper. His name, or the name or location of his organization, were off-limits. You could notate them, obviously, but they weren’t to be shared with anyone else. He also wanted you to keep any missions you were privy too off of the books, but it was his phraseology that made you question what you were actually getting yourself into. 

It hadn’t really set in prior to this that you were going to be working with someone who commands an active squad. Even so, you imagined that he would just leave you sitting around while he goes out. So you implored him further asked him if you were going to see any active combat. He left the answer to that up to you. He made it clear that he didn’t want to put you in any situations that were going to be too unsafe for a civilian, but he also made some comment about how his ‘mama raised him right,’ and ‘he wouldn’t want you to think you were being left out on because you’re a woman’. 

Had he not looked so pretty when you said it, you would have rolled your eyes. But he did look so pretty when he said it, so you decided that you would accompany him only once. Or twice, depending on how dangerous or not dangerous his missions were. You weren’t particularly sure you were comfortable with it, or sure that you wouldn’t get cold feet a few minutes before, but you were sure the government was not giving you access to a single camera on a plane, helicopter, base, or even a bodycam. If you wanted to know what happened on missions directly, you were going to have to go on one. The entire point of the research paper was giving a voice to those in the service who worked in anonymity - what good would you be doing if you refused to take the chance to do it right?

He seemed to understand this, and gave you a few more ground rules. Rules that men around the base followed, a paper that you needed to sign verifying that you weren’t going to go around town telling people the name of every single person in his Shadow Company. The truth was, he probably wasn’t going to tell you most of their names and you knew that. If you talked to someone, assuredly they would share it. But you were working with him, not joining the team. 

There was a certain cadence in the way he talked that made you wonder if he was just acting subdued that first morning. He showed you around but kept you close to him, he introduced you to his team but it was incredibly brief. You mistook that for him being incredibly cautious to not show you anything that you weren’t supposed to see. He was cautious, of course, he didn’t want to accidentally leak government documents to you, but he also made you sign an NDA before you left his office.

The first meeting went well, but you would be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous to work with him. Not just because this was a group of elite operatives that all could kill you in a moment’s notice, but because Graves was beautiful. He was, of course, older than you, but you didn’t see a ring on his finger. You didn’t hear him mentioning a wife or girlfriend at home, nor did you hear him mentioning the perils of raising children. In your experience, most people with children bring it up during small talk at some point, even if just in passing. He said nothing, didn’t even give the slightest hint that he had someone or something to go home to.

That, itself, gave you more to deal with than you were sure you were equipped for. Romance had been a sector of your life you neglected to begin with, but feeling an undeniable attraction to the older man that you were shadowing just felt like a mistake. There was no way that he was going to want anything to do with some random civilian that was following him around like a lost puppy, writing down everything of note that he said, and you didn’t want to be sent packing within a week because you couldn’t just keep it in your pants like a reasonable adult should.

Perhaps that was why you made an effort to dess nicely every time you left your off-campus apartment to go work with Graves. Well, ‘work with’ was a strong term. You were working with him in the sense that he was giving you information, but you weren’t really working together on the paper. The most you had gotten him to agree to do was let you learn from him, you had no expectations that he was going to help you with anything beyond making sure that you didn’t include anything that was confidential. 

The first week went by okay, despite your worries that you were going to do or say something embarrassing. But, you did learn rather quickly that the charming demeanor that Graves had put on when you first met him was a little false. 

He wasn’t mean to you by any means, but it took him all of one day for him to start teasing you like you were old friends. Making jokes about you being a civilian on the base, about you needing to make it home for your bedtime since he knew you had class in the morning. It wasn’t that he was being mean, he wasn’t being mean. He was just treating you like an old friend, and he happened to be incredibly teasing when speaking to his old friends. 

You really didn’t mind it, especially once you were comfortable with him. You kind of liked it. You liked being involved, even if he made you roll your eyes. You liked it when he teased you and ruffled your hair (even though it made you feel younger than you wanted to feel, since he was also making your attraction toward him a lot stronger), you liked feeling like you were a part of the team even when you knew that you weren’t. Not in the sense that you went with them when there was something small that they needed to handle, because you typically hung around in Graves’ office working on homework until he got back when that happened. In the sense that he was comfortable enough to pick on you, and if he was comfortable with you, you were comfortable with him.

The second week was where things started getting a little strange, though. Because you knew you were attracted to him, and you knew there was nothing you could do to stop it, but you were also spending far too much time with him for you to even get it off of your mind. 

The thing was, if he had any issue with you spending so much time hanging around him, he didn’t make it clear. He did the polar opposite of make it clear, because he encouraged it. You, however, kept reminding yourself that he only encouraged it because he had to. He didn’t actually want to spend any time with you, he had to because you came here to learn from him. Why would he actually want to spend time sitting in his office, discussing his day with you? 

That was what you told yourself until about mid-week. He had gone out in the field Tuesday morning, it was a one-day mission and when he told you that he was going to be gone for an entire day you jumped on the chance to go with him. You had agreed that you would go with him at least once, but he continually told you that this one was too risky. After your third attempt at getting him to change his mind, the irritated look on his face was enough to get you to stop asking. 

When he came back Wednesday afternoon, you had made yourself at home in his office with your laptop and a coffee. You knew that he was coming back at some point, he had called to let you know, but you were nervous, too. He sounded stressed and exhausted on the phone, he sounded like he had been through something and you weren’t sure if you were the right person to be there when he was coping with whatever it was. 

It was when he walked through the door that you regretted not going somewhere else, sitting in a common space so he could distress rather than sitting there with your eyes wide open as you listened to him vent about every single thing that had gone wrong. Apparently, a lot had gone wrong. At first, it was terrifying. This commander was pacing around, yelling at nothing but seemingly speaking to you, still wearing his full military apparel, and you were just supposed to… sit there? Silently? 

There was no part of you that figured he wanted advice, but when he finished speaking and you offered him some, he seemed to calm down. Not because he was calmed so much by you, but because he just seemed to recall that you were actually there. That you were a civilian and weren’t used to hearing him get worked up and angry. He offered you a hand, helping you stand and bending down to pick up your things. 

He was quiet when he did it, quiet until he told you that he would get you something so you could sit more comfortably if you weren’t quite as comfortable working at a desk. Like you were going to be here for longer than the next five and a half weeks, like you were making yourself at home in his office. Graves wasn’t mean, was what you fully learned that day. He could be a dick sometimes, and he could really get angry, but he wasn’t mean to you. He was just the way that he was, and you learned that you rather liked the way that he was. 

It wasn’t so much learning that he was probably never going to be mean to you, or even the fact that when you came in the next morning he had a comfortable set up for you by the window (because the corner was ‘fucking degrading’ and ‘you’re a lady, not a dog’). It wasn’t what he did for you, but the fact that he was willing to. The fact that he liked talking to you, and he liked having you around, and he was willing to aggressively complain about his day to you like you were an old married couple and this was just his usual. 

Some part of it nauseated you. You didn’t want to be so comfortable with someone you were shadowing. Someone who you would probably never see again in the coming weeks. Someone who you knew worked a dangerous job, someone who didn’t seem to have time for family or a relationship because if he did he wouldn’t still be single without children. He was too beautiful and too charming to be involuntarily single. So, either his standards were so high that every woman disappointed him, he was a terrible person if you got to know him, or he just didn’t have the time.

You chose to believe the latter.

Which was what made it all the more difficult for you to finish that week and the next. Even more difficult now, as you’re approaching week four of your little experiment. 

This is the week that you’re accompanying him on a small mission if nothing goes wrong. He says that it’s nothing extreme, an extraction for someone who’s not in any immediate danger. Since the team is in a helicopter, it’s going to be pretty obvious when they show up so his team was called, if someone needed to be taken out, they were apparently the best at it. 

But you were also closer to (probably) never seeing him again, and you didn’t like that. Phillip Graves was a lot of things, and even if you didn’t know the full extent of it you knew that. But you were okay with it, even though you weren’t sure why. You like being around him, you liked it when he let you hang out in his office, you liked it when he made fun of you. 

You didn’t want to have to go back to what you were doing before. To write this research assignment and finish speaking to him. That’s probably why you looked so glum this morning, so unwilling to actually take down any of the notes he was telling you to take down before he got on the phone with Shepherd. 

“Do you need a coffee?” 

“Hmm? No, no more coffee.” You’ve already had two, but you still hadn’t found the energy to do much other than look at him. 

“Is there something on my face, then?”

“No, I-”

“Let me guess, one of those college boys pissed you off?”

“Ha ha.” You responded, glancing down at your empty notepad. You hadn’t even bothered to write down the date, let alone jot down the ways that Graves has been preparing for this phone call. “You know I don’t… get up to that.” 

“Aw, honey, no need to be ashamed. You’re allowed to be active in whatever way you want.” His teasing tone only made you roll your eyes, but when your smile seemed to falter he actually got a bit concerned. “Do you want me to kill him?”

“Why do you sound serious?” You commented, finally letting a small smile cross your lips. “No, no. There’s no one to kill, it’s not- I don’t know, I’m just not feeling… I don’t like it when- I guess I’m just not at my best today.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously, darting them at the time before standing up from his desk. “Let’s take a walk.”

“But you have a call?”

“In thirty minutes, were you paying any attention?” Admittedly, you had not been paying any attention. 

“Uh-”

“I’ll take that as a no. Are you going to get up, or am I going to drag you?”

“Alright, alright. Fine.” You stood up from your chair, pushing it into his desk as you walked out of the office with him. You weren’t sure where he was taking you, he never really walked you around the base unless you were just following him to conduct business. That was most of what you did with him. He conducted business, you followed him around. You just also happened to engage in conversation with each other, more conversation than you probably should if you wanted to keep things entirely platonic. 

“Where are we going.”

“On a walk.”

“To where?”

“Wherever I feel like walking.” 

Whether he actually knew where he was going was becoming unclear. So, while you started formulating the conspiracy theory in your head that he actually wanted to take you on a ‘walk’ so he could wear you down and get you to admit what was bothering you, he ended up actually bringing you somewhere that you had never actually been before.

It was a small room that required clearance to enter, but he quickly grabbed your arm and drug you in after him. It looked like a tiny records room, but the only records seemed to be of whatever missions they were currently working on. It had nothing to do with you, and you shouldn’t be in here. But you doubted that he brought you into this room to show you classified information.

“What are we doing in here? Is it legal for me to be in here.”

“No. And we’re playing a fun game called-”

“I don’t want to play seven minutes in heaven, I’m not 15.” 

“I can… see how your mind would go there, that’s my fault.” He seemed a bit surprised by the quick response, and how you had even gotten there. But a small smile spread across his face, a cocky one that you had gotten a little bit too used to. “Is that your only objection to that? That it’s immature?” 

Rolling your eyes, you backed away from him but felt his hand on your shoulder holding you in place. “Stop it.” 

“I’m gonna need you to tell me what’s buggin’ you, because you’re gonna be up in the air in two days and I need to know if that’s going to be a problem.” He almost sounded genuinely concerned, and you almost wanted to go ahead and tell him what it was that was bothering you. But, then he opened his mouth again. “If it’s just your time of the month, I’m sure we-”

“Fuck’s sake.” You pulled back from him again, moving toward the door and stopping to turn back at him. “It’s not my time of the fucking month, I just… forgot an assignment that was due last night until the last minute and I’m exhausted.”

“And you’re sure it’s not your time of the month? Because that’s no way for a lady to speak.”

“How do you know how a lady should speak?” You opened the door for him, walking out behind him as he started walking you back to his office. Fighting the feeling of disappointment, the feeling that this was your only chance to get him to engage with you in some way other than platonic, you followed him back to his office. You knew he was on a time constraint, you knew that you needed to take notes on his call with Shepherd and then redact them with him right after. And you knew that it needed to be done soon. 

“I know exactly how a lady should speak, want me to teach you?” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

A part of you struggled to understand why you liked the man as much as you did. Sometimes, he said the absolute most rude things he could possibly manage, but other times, he was nice to you. You never really thought he was trying to hurt your feelings, just that he might not be too broken up about it if he did. He never did, though. You liked the teasing, as much as you claimed that you didn’t. 

“What are you doing later?” You didn’t notice how close behind you he was until you felt his arm on your forearm, your head tilting toward him as you opened the door to his office. He made you feel caged in, and though it made your heart race, you did your best to act as normal about it as you possibly could.

“I don’t know, probably sitting in my apartment and watching… something. I never know.”

“What are you eating?”

“Probably pasta or… something. You’re awfully curious.” You walked into his office, attempting to create some distance between the two of you before your heart tried to jump out of your chest. But he stayed close, his hand remaining on your arm. His grasp wasn’t firm, you could pull away from him if you wanted to. But you really didn’t want to. 

“I’m curious because some of the guys are trying to convince me to go to the bar with them tonight, I thought I’d ask.”

“If I’ll go to the bar with you? Or are you not convinced?”

“I could be convinced.” Was he flirting with you? Was that what was going on? Or did he naturally have a tone when he spoke that made you feel so hot and bothered that you just presumed that he was flirting with you because you wanted him to be? You weren’t sure. You were just sure that you almost felt like you were going to pass out right then and there.

Still, you kept your composure and nodded. “Sure, why not? Could be fun.” 

“Good, okay.” He let go of you, checking the time again before sitting back down. You pulled your chair up beside him while he explained what you were going to need to write down, and it was like that upset that you had been feeling earlier that kept you distracted had gone away entirely. Granted, it probably should have been a lot worse now that you were actually going to be spending some more time with him than you needed to be spending with him outside of this place. 

But for the time being, you were content to listen. Content to sit next to him and watch him, content to wonder what it would feel like trailing your finger along the scar on his cheek even though you knew that was never going to be possible for you. You were happy just to look at him, even though you felt like you didn’t have the right to. Even though you worried that you were being too obvious, that he was going to notice at some point because you really weren’t trying to hide it. 

Well, you were. You were in the sense that you weren’t saying anything, but you weren’t in the sense that you weren’t quite sure what to hide. If you distanced yourself, it would look odd. Sticking by his side at all times is literally what you’re there for, so running off would make you look like you have something to hide. Staring at him, at least right now, could be explained away if you simply wrote observations about the way he was acting within your notes and claimed that it was something hat you felt the need to have documented down for when you go ahead and write your thesis. 

So, when you did review what you had written with him after the phone call, maybe it seemed more normal to him that you seemed to be watching his reactions like it was your professional job. Maybe he didn’t assume that you were staring at him for the sake of staring at him, and not because you actually felt the need to monitor his reactions to every little thing that happened. If he didn’t assume that, he didn’t say anything about it. Knowing him, you were sure he would have.

That, however, did not stop you from overthinking when you went back home to change. It didn’t stop you from feeling like you were getting yourself into something you shouldn’t be when he sent you a message to let you know where to meet him, and it definitely didn’t make you feel any better about things as you were on the way there. It was definitely a step further than what you were used to for you to be going to a bar with him, not on the request of any of the other Shadows but because he had asked you to.

But it wasn’t just that, not really. It was also the fact that he had seemed to imply that you agreeing to go could convince him to go as well. That your presence made him want to be there. It was easier to convince yourself that meant nothing, either. If anything, he probably just wanted to get to the bottom of why you were acting so strange this morning and didn’t actually believe that you were just exhausted. He knew your schedule and what work you needed to do because you told him, because you worked in his office. You didn’t have an assignment due last night that was stressing you out, and telling that kind of a lie was probably not the best idea considering the fact that he would probably knew if you did. 

By the time you did get there, you almost wanted to turn around. Truthfully, you didn’t know most of the other people here very well. You assumed that was by design. Though you were doing research on them, you understood the boundaries being placed here. It wasn’t like you were enlisting, and they weren’t technically something you could enlist into if you wanted to. You were an outsider, and these things were secret for a reason. You knew Graves, and you knew the names of some of the other men here, but beyond the one man that you knew personally, you knew very little about the other people that were going to be here tonight.

Still, you walked through the doors and did your best to not act like you were incredibly nervous. You knew that you only had a few weeks left of this little research assignment before you were cut loose. If you didn’t have very much longer to speak to the man, and you were already getting a bit lethargic about never seeing him again since you didn’t even know he existed before this, what was the harm in spending one night getting to know what he was like when he wasn’t working? 

Walking through the door, you managed to spot him after only a few seconds. He had his head buried in his phone, and the thought of approaching him made you make a beeline to the bar. He had invited you here, but he had invited you because everyone else was going to be here. Had it even been his plan to invite you here? Was it someone else that suggested it? Had you just been overthinking every little thing earlier and he was just extending an invitation from someone else? 

The feeling of a hand on your shoulder as you told the bartender your order brought you back to reality. You didn’t need to go into fight mode as you recognized the warmth of his hand the smell of his body. 

“Graves.”

“I was starting to think you got lost.” Turning around, you finally got a good look at what he was wearing. He was dressed casually, his t-shirt making the bulk of his arms look just a little too distracting. If you had more time to look without seeming creepy, you would have spent more time trying to memorize the way that the freckles lining his body looked. Instead, you poked your finger gently into a spot on his arm.

“How’d you get that?” 

“Where’d you learn your manners?” He questioned, reaching behind you so he could grab your drink. You didn’t notice until it was too late that he did this so he could pay for it, and though your brain was starting to short circuit, you still tried your hardest to stop him from doing that. 

“I can pay for my own drink-”

“When I first started out I got shot in the arm, it went across.” He responded, his hand lightly covering your finger that was placed on his skin for a moment as if to tell you what he was referring to. But he dropped it quickly, motioning for you to join him at the table he was sitting at. The table he was sitting at alone, but you recognized the Shadows that were playing (or observing) a game of pool just a few feet away from you so you were sure that he wasn’t going to be alone for long. 

Following him, you tried to sit across from where you had seen him sitting but felt him sitting beside you. “You seem clingy.”

“Not clingy, it’s just fucking loud. And they’ll be joining us, at some point.” 

“Why don’t you play with them?” You questioned, watching him as he slid his drink over to the side of the table that he was now sitting at. He felt too close, his thigh nearly pressed against yours, but you liked it when he felt too close. You liked the way it felt to be beside him, to not have the space that separated you when you were sitting in your desk chairs beside each other. To not need to write up some notes while you’re sitting with him. Just to be here, and it was overwhelming.

“They’re lucky I’m here.” 

“You act like you hate them.”

“I don’t hate them, I just have better things to be doing.”

“That’s kinda rude.” You mumbled, smiling slightly at the glare that you felt meeting your face. “Sorry for boring you, Commander. Won’t happen again.”

“You know, sometimes I regret letting you follow me around.”

“Asshole.” 

“I don’t think you have the authority to speak to me like that.” He commented, bringing his hand up to pat you on the head. “You know I’m fucking with you.”

“‘Course I know that.” You grumbled, taking a sip of your drink. “Thank you for paying for it.”

“You’re in grad school, I’m sure you’re broke.” 

“Somehow, you still find a way to ruin a nice gesture. It’s amazing.” You replied, but you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling. As much as you couldn’t place why you liked someone who was so cocky, someone who teased you as much as he did, you knew that you did. You liked being around him, and you liked being friendly with him. “You don’t regret having me around, you fucking love having me around.”

“You’ve had shit to drink and you’re already cocky?”

“I’m just honest.” 

And you pre-gamed with a shot of vodka, but who’s counting?

“Tell me why you were so upset earlier and I’ll tell you if I love having you around.” You sighed and shook your head, stirring the little umbrella in your drink as you glanced down at it. “‘Cause I’m positive it’s about me.”

“And I’m the cocky one?”

“Never said I wasn’t.” He retorted, leaning over a bit. He was closer than he was before, too close. Close enough that you were almost positive that you felt his breath huffing over your forehead as he leaned over to stop you from aggressively stirring your beverage. “You should just tell me.”

“I was… just thinking about how we’re more than half way through this thing.”

“And you’re gonna miss me? I knew you were gonna miss me. Was that so hard to admit?” You turned to glare at him, but felt your breath hitch as how close his face was to yours. “I do love having you around, you should stay. The random civilian woman that sits in my office, could be a nice position for you.” 

“You want me to be your… office wife?” 

“Woah there, we haven’t even been on a date and you’re already taking the title of my wife?” He feigned offense, but you could see a smile on his face. He had a nice smile when he used it, and dimples that made you went to melt into the gaps in the floorboards. 

“How did you get that one?” You mumbled, momentarily distracted as your pointer finger traced over the scar on his cheek. 

“I’ll tell you,” He responded, taking your hand that was on his face into his. He slowly lowered it, but you were too distracted by the way his eyes held your to think much of the way that he placed your hand back on his lap; like he was insecure about the wound for whatever reason, or maybe just triggered by it. “Just not today.” 

“No fun.” 

He grinned again, your eyes once again becoming fixated on his dimples before feeling his mouth against yours. The feeling was shocking for a brief second, your body reacting incredibly slowly to it before you returned the kiss. It wasn’t strange, it felt right, even though you knew you didn’t know as much about him as you would probably (typically) want to know about someone that you were kissing. 

But it really didn’t matter, because he tasted good and he smelled good and even though he was kind of a douchebag you still liked him way more than you liked anyone else that you had ever had the pleasure - or displeasure - of flirting with. 

The feeling of his hand on the back of your neck, his thumb stroking over your skin, it was too much and it was not enough. You moved a bit closer to him, your hand grasping his arm. His skin was rough, slight bumps from scars in certain areas, but it also felt warm and comforting. Comfortable. You liked being around him, you liked feeing entirely consumed by him like this. 

He was the one to break it, chuckling at the dazed look in your eyes before leaning over to take a sip of your drink. “I’ll tell you in four weeks.”

“But-” 

“You said you wanted to be my little office wife, didn’t you?”

“That was a joke, I don’t want to live in your office.” 

“We’ll figure something out.” You noted someone moving toward the table out of the corner of your eye, quickly bringing your finger up to wipe the tiny amount of smudged lipstick from his mouth before leaning back in your seat. You would figure something out, because he absolutely could not have you privy to confidential information as much as you were now and he also couldn’t try to shield you forever with you hanging around his workplace.

Maybe, if having you as his live-in office wife was going to be prove to be too dangerous - especially in the instance that you found out that his job wasn’t as moral as you were under the false impression that it was - , he figured he could eventually just go for the real thing. Just… not for a little while.

simon finally back home after being away for nearly a month. his body is sore, aching with each movement as he unloads his duffle bag. it's silent throughout the house, his throbbing headache thankfully easing up now that he's home.

the shower in your attached bathroom turns on, your signal to simon that you're ready for him to join you. he takes off his hoodie, throwing it on the bed before walking to the door. he pushes it open, revealing your clothes on the floor and you leaning against the counter naked. a pair of tweezers plucks at the space between your brows. "that was irritating me," you say as he observes you.

he huffs in amusement, shaking his head while he starts to undress. simon watches as you walk into the shower, hips swaying beautifully. your subtle sexiness drives him insane, never able to comprehend just how attracted he is to you.

cold hands wrap around your waist as he joins you, his bare body flush against yours. his lips on your neck send shivers down your spine, goosebumps erupting on your skin. "feels s'good to be home," simon mumbles on your skin, his huge hands softly rubbing your tummy.

"missed you a lot," you sigh, melting into his touch. "i don't want you to leave again."

his hands move along you, massaging your chest as he covers you in his kisses. he loves the way you twitch and gasp when he pinches your nipples, knees buckling at the sudden sensation.

"wanna wash you, dove," simon says, one hand reaching for the bottle of soap on the shelf next to you.

he switches places with you, the hot water quickly easing the tense muscles in his shoulders as it pounds against his back. lathering it onto a fresh cloth, he starts to wash your back, foamy soap covering your skin.

"are you actually going to wash me or just tease me?"

"maybe both. we have time."

"the water will get cold."

"i'll keep you warm, just relax," he chuckles, "no rush."

simon takes his time washing every part of your body. he builds you up until your legs are trembling, a silent beg for him to stop teasing you. but he takes such good care of you the entire night, fully satisfied and clinging to his side in bed until you drift off to sleep.

Break up with your boyfriend

John Mactavish x reader x Kyle Garrick

Requested by @bunnyreaper

Summary: Johnny and Kyle are hardly pleased with the news you're dating someone who's not them, and promptly decide to remedy the situation.

Word count: 1.5k

“Sorry can’t, I’m calling my boyfriend tonight.” Your words reverberate through Soap’s mind even hours later, a neverending loop as he dazedly tries to make sense of the Earth shattering revelation. My boyfriend. Boyfriend. 

The heinous word mocks him, causing him to scowl at his plate murderously as he stabs the slightly undercooked vegetables with his fork hard enough that it’s a miracle the plate doesn’t shatter under the force. 

Gaz, who had been staring warily for a few minutes decided it was time to finally speak up, “You alright mate? Didn’t think the food was that bad,” he attempted to joke, smile dying when Soap’s imperious glare turned to him. 

“Did you know?” Ominous words aside, Gaz quickly manages to get to the root of Soap’s ire, finding himself joining the petulant club of disgruntled men stabbing their food and imagining it’s your boyfriend. He’d probably squeal like a little bitch after only one punch Soap mused. Not at all the type of man worthy of you. 

Still, they grit their teeth and wallow in their jealousy and rage because you just seem so happy, even if they both privately think you’d be so much happier with them. These thoughts are never vocalised to one another but it’s clear in the way Kyle clenches his jaw when you smile at your phone, and the way Soap is constantly raring for a spar to expend the sudden rush of agitated energy, that neither of them are truly happy about the boyfriend. 

The fragilely maintained peace doesn’t last, shattering barely a few weeks after they’d recieved the news, because they finally meet him. It’s during an outing at the local bar that often housed soldiers during their down time. The team had been waiting for your arrival, Soap’s knee jiggling as Kyle repeatedly checked his phone. You were thirty minutes late, you were never late, and just when the boys begin to fear for the worst, you arrive, only with a man’s arm wrapped around your waist. 

Instantly Kyle’s smile dies and Johnny’s clutching his glass so tightly that it’s a miracle it didn’t smash into a million pieces. You seem a little harried, usually immaculate appearance a little messed and the rumples in your shirt give the team a perfect idea of why you’re late, not to mention the stupid smug smirk that’s painted on your asshole boyfriend’s face. 

While Kyle at least tries to be a little magnanimous, though the petty remarks do slip through, Soap doesn’t even try to hide his dislike. “This him then? Shorter than I’d pictured” Soap says with a predatory grin, shaking your boyfriends hand so hard that something pops. Those words set the tone for the rest of the night, and it’s only thanks to Price sensing the underlying tension and keeping your attention on him and Simon that you don’t truly notice and get upset. 

Stuck between the full force of Kyle and Johnny’s charm turned to the max, your boyfriend barely gets a sliver of your attention. Especially when Kyle’s hand migrates to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing circles that feel like fire as you try to focus on anything else. (Later you’ll try not to feel sick when you just narrowly avoid moaning Kyle’s name instead.) 

By the time your boyfriend is practically dragging you out of the establishment with gritted teeth and a strained smile, it’s been decided. There’s no discussion, it’s a completely silent transition, but upon finally meeting the douchebag, him and Kyle are suddenly on the same page. That being to get you to leave your loser boyfriend, using whatever means necessary. 

It starts small, neither of them want to scare you off. They’ve both always been naturally flirty with you, touches that already bordered the line of inappropriate, but they need to get you used to the thought of them, both alone and together. As much as Johhny wants to pin you to the bed and fuck you stupid, Kyle convinces him its not the best route. They needed to get you reliant on their touch, their words, their praise until you could barely think of anything else, let alone the supposed man calling himself your boyfriend. 

Johnny hugs you every morning, inhaling your scent and crushing you against him far too long to be normal. Kyle asks you how you slept, cheekily commenting that you’d have slept better in his arms. They pull your focus from your phone, subtly sliding it out of sight or straight up pouting when you won’t pay attention to them. Spars always inevitably ended with them grinding against you, acting like they weren’t hard, smirking smugly at you when your eyes were drawn to their erection. 

It pays off, because it doesn’t escape either of their eagle eyed notice when you start to seek them out more, the way you lean into their touches, how you seem almost surprised yourself when you start to initiate, desperate for their touch. 

That’s when they start to kick it up a notch. 

You’ll never know that it’s not an accident, Kyle leaving his door open wide enough for you to hear the way he moans your name, to see his hand desperately jerking his cock. Though he’ll later ask if you liked the show, watching the mortification flood your face when you realise he caught you watching. “I don’t mind, you can watch whenever you like, if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you touch,” those damned whispered words haunt your every waking hour, filtering into your dreams so much that more than once you wake up achingly horny. 

Never one to be shown up, Johnny stumbles into your room, alcohol on his breath and cheeks flushed as he collapses ontop of you. He uses his bulk to squish you into the mattress, nuzzling into the skin of your neck and pinning your arms to your side with his own muscular ones.

“What are you-” you shriek out in surprise, only to be cut off when he shushes you. 

“Calm down. ‘S just me,” he murmurs, as if that was the only issue. Further protests fall on deaf ears as you’re forced to accept that Johnny is your blanlet for the night. (You don’t fight nearly as hard as you should.) 

It’s the worst sleep of your life. Not because its uncomfortable, no, Johnny’s body against yours is too comfortable, feels too good. Then your night turns straight into hell when he starts to grind against you in his sleep. You can feel everything, his cock is slotted perfectly with your groin and his moans and whimpers filter directly into your ear. In your panic and guilty arousal you don’t know what to do and just when you go to wake him, the ache between your won legs becoming too much to bare, he stills. Your heart roars thunderously in your ears, throat dry and senses dialled to 11 when you hazily realise that he’s cum. 

Too keyed up from a restless night and unwilling to look Johnny in the eyes, you miss the victorious smirk he shoots at an equally proud and jealous Kyle. If one was bad enough, now the two of them are always together and they are insistent on not leaving you alone. Hands on your hips, around your shoulders, brushing your ass as the other stands moves to fill whatever free space there is. Not to mention the relentless use of pet names, babe, lovey, honey, bug, darling, everything’s been given a go until they settled on the things that flustered you the most. 

The final straw is when you walk into your room to see Johnny and Kyle sloppily making out on your bed. You don’t say anything to them at the time, unwilling to speak or do anything that you might regret while you’re still with your boyfriend. You refuse to be that person. 

The fate of your relationship is decided barely three months following its inception though its not as difficult to break it off as you thought it would be, especially not when just before he tells you that he didn’t want you hanging around Johnny and Kyle anymore. It was him or them and wasn’t it a little funny that he genuinely thought you’d pick him? 

It’s the fastest breakup of your life, not even a five minute phone call. Though you had hung up when he’d started to scream at you, all but running back to your room where Kyle and Johnny were waiting with matching grins, pulling you down between them like they’d practiced. 

Tags: @juvenillia @ghostslillady @tokusho @ohworm-writes @kmi-02 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jumpofmyclif @tiredmetalenthusiast @cooliofango @101crows

fem!john price; her pussy tastes like pepsi cola

fem!john price x gn!reader

the sapphic brainrot has started 🙃 inspired by @iciclesses’s post on fem!john

| face riding, mild breath play | gn!reader

wordcount; 1073

Jane takes a long draw of her cigar, the butt glowing orange in the dimly lit room. Her heavy breasts rise as she fills her lungs, her face disappearing behind her pink nipples. She’s careful not to hold it over you. Your bare skin vulnerable to hot cinders.

You watch, waiting. Fingers along the back of her thighs, tracing the tracks of her stretch marks.

She hums, releasing the smoke in a long, powerful exhale. Her lips puckering in the way thats made you stop in your tracks. The fog curls around her plump lips, framing around them. You want to crawl up and kiss them, but her body keeps you pinned to the bed.

You sniff, trying to catch a whiff. She refuses to let you smoke it. Putting the thing away whenever you bring it up. You know better than to ask right now.

You’ll convince her to breathe it into your mouth one day.

She shifts, leaning to put it on the ashtray she keeps at her bedside table, weight leaving your chest for just a few seconds. Her dark bush hovering over your face, so close to your mouth- but she sits back before you can do anything.

“You did well this week.” Her husky voice always makes a shiver run down your spine. Hand running along your jaw, thumb dusting across your cheek.

You’d certainly tried. You’re still not the best cook, used to throwing together quick and inconsistent meals. But you feel a sort of pride whenever you have a warm, hearty meal waiting when Jane comes home. Her laundry folded and hung up in the closet. A clean bathroom, with a candle already lit for her bath.

You want to make sure you’re pulling your weight. You'd reassured her you’d look for a new job as soon as possible when they'd let you go. Teary-eyed and afraid of the future.

“There's no rush.” She’d said.

You’re mouths already open, tongue out, when she sits on your face.

Wiry hair fills your nostrils as you nudge between her folds. Warm, hot flesh as you drag your tongue over it. Dipping briefly into her but continuing to her clit. Wanting to feel the puffy nub. Roll it around a little, tease her for as much as she'll allow before you slide your tongue into her waiting hole.

Her hitched breath is the best sound in the world, second only to her coming.

Curling inside her, like you’re trying to scoop out as much of her juice as possible. Greedily drinking every drop from her war torn body.

Her hips shift and you know to take a quick breath before her thighs clamp around your head. The world muffled and dark. Only able to smell her musky scent, taste her dripping hole, and hear her thudding pulse against your ear.

Arms hooked over her thighs, your fingers dig into her soft flesh, possibly bruising her skin. She never seems to mind them.

Her hole flutters above you and you want to stuff something inside it. Stretch it out. Your fingers maybe. A dildo if you had one. You have a girthy hairbrush handle but she forbade you from ever using it again.

If she wanted something inside her would have let you know. She keeps your arms firmly stuck to your side with her calves.

She rocks her hips, dragging her wet cunt over your face, pulling at your lips. You try to chase it, following her grinding pattern as best you can. Her clit rubbing against the button of your nose. It’s almost painful, bending cartilage, but you hardly notice.

You stop trying to mouth at her, instead, letting her just grids to the dips and curves of your face since that's what she seems to want to do. You stick your tongue out, hopping to catch against her hole.

The beds starting to shake, creaking with every movement of her large body. You can hear the slap of her breast against her soft skin.

She grinds every stress, every annoying inconvenience, every frustration, into your face.

You want her too.

You’ve seen the weight she carries. The lives that still haunt her. You’ll happily take it. Stagger behind her, carrying her burdens in your arms for a moment so she can have some well-deserved peace.

A sound comes out of you, greedy and animalistic. Muffled by her plush cunt. You know she likes the sound of it because her hole clenches.

She eases off, but only just. You breathe a little easier. Panting open mouthed, still keeping your face against her. You’re not sure when you became so desperate. Chasing her after her warm cunt like a kitten. She knows it too.

Your lips only seal around her clit for a second, she must have been waiting, as she completely sitson you. Pushing your head deep into the mattress. You feel like someone possessed. Sucking her nub into your mouth. Abusing it with your tongue the way she likes. Devouring her as a tightness begins to grip your chest. She doesn’t buck, doesn’t grind, doesn’t move, but you can feel her clit pulse, her legs starting to tremble. She wants you to be the one to make her come.

Your fingernails dig into her skin, a delirious need to feel her come undone over you. However, you’re not sure if it’s from arousal or your lack of oxygen.

Her cunt clenches and you know you have her. Sloppily mouthing over her, flattening your tongue- refusing to stop even as you run out of air- you chase it, relentless, until you hear a moan rip from her lungs. Even from between her thighs it’s a beautiful sound from the near silent woman.

Her body bucks uncontrollably, muscles spasming as her orgasm overtakes her. Her clit throbs in your mouth, gently pinned between your teeth. Her come leaks from her fluttering hole. Dripping a milky trail onto your chin, down your neck.

Her weight disappears from you all at once. Air fills your lungs, smokey and warm.

You see her looking down a you, a flush over her cheeks, the roll under her chin. Her fingers push aside the hair at your temple and you lazily lean into her touch. You’re only a little dizzy.

“how we doin love?”

Can you be in love with someone’s voice? You certainly think so.

You give her a crooked smile, “I’m fantastic.”

Part 5 of Obsessive!johnny

(CW: extremely dubious consent; I’d go so far as to say straight non-con. No violence. Please be safe, beans! 💕)

It’s your own fault - or no. That’s a dangerous way of thinking it not your fault. But you got complacent. Got desensitized to that looming sense of danger, the threat hiding in the shadow of his eyes. That little voice in the back of your head became background noise, not the guide it used to be.

All it took was a slip of your carefully crafted mask understanding Johnny’s “love” for you. Just one careless comment, a tone too honest.

You don’t even remember what you said now. Just that the feverish light in his eyes changed instantly. Like a shift in sunlight through colored glass. What frightened you was how his expression changed, shut down hard. His jaw tensing, brows going deceptively smooth.

“Is all this not enough for you?” he asks, taking big, measured steps towards you.

You start backing up, heart tripping over itself. “That’s not-“

“How many ways do you need me to prove it, hm?” he asks. “I’ve apologized a hundred times, bonnie, haven’t I? Is that not enough for you? I’m still not worth it to you?”

You put your hands up, all your carefully crafted and scripted responses fleeing in the face of this new, unfamiliar Johnny. He’s - he’s angry at you. Not because of you, or for you, but at you.

“I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” he continues, low voice wavering with something frightening. “Do you know how hard it is, seeing you cry for a life that wasn’t good enough for you? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying?”

You swallow thickly, try to rally your scrambled thoughts. He just working himself up more and more and that voice that fell so quiet is screaming now. So loud it’s hard to make your mouth work.

“I-I know. I’m sorry,” you manage. “Im just… I lost my temper and said something I didn’t mean…”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, no, hen. I think you meant it.”

He up close to you now, barely a centimeter of space between your bodies. The heat of him is suffocating. You’ve never been so aware of how much bigger than you he is. It thrilled you when he’d loom over you at the bar, cocky confidence and easy smiles.

You meet his eyes.

And for a moment, he softens. You have the briefest golden flicker of hope.

And then he sighs. Deep and resigned. Your stomach flips.

“It’s my fault,” he mutters finally, shaking his head. “Haven’t been treating you right, have I?”

You don’t dare answer.

“Treating you like you’re one thing when you’re really everything.”

You open your mouth, try to speak, to reason with him. He just shushes you with a hand on your cheek, thumb pressing your lips closed.

“Always spoiling you like the princess you are, when sometimes you need to be treated like a slut.”

He jerk’s you around and shoves you onto the bed, plants a big hand between your shoulder blades and presses.

“Soap!”

“Hush up, baby, it’s alright. You don’t have to pretend to be all prim and proper,” he soothes, knocking your feet apart. “I don’t think any less of you for needing cock. Only natural.”

Your underwear rips like wet paper, accompanied by your high-pitched squeal of alarm. He makes a low, rough noise. Pure, animal lust. The fabric of his pants chafes against the backs of your thighs.

“Oh, there she is,” he purrs, “just like I thought.”

You cry out as rough fingers drag through your slit, gathering the slick you can’t believe is leaking from you.

“I’ve been so bad to you, bonnie, not treating you the way you need. No wonder you got all fussy and snappy.” The hazy thought that he might not he talking to you at all anymore burns through you. When you shift, trying to close your legs self-consciously, a sharp slap to your clit collapses your knees.

“We’re gonna set you right, babygirl,” he growls. “Won’t be able to worry your pretty little head anymore.”

He plunges two fingers into you without preamble. The stretch is vicious, but it doesn’t hurt. Not really. You’re too wet. Still, you scream - because Johnny’s spent so many hours playing with you, learning you, that he knows exactly where to press and curl and rub his fingers.

“Wait, wait,” you gasp, tears already collecting in your eyes because he’s being mean about it, twisting to grind his thumb against your clit. It’s too much, you’re not ready no matter what your body says. “Soap, don’t- ngh!”

“Gonna show you why you’re better off here. Right here. Gonna give this pretty cunt what it needs.”

The third finger is a stretch. You try to get away, try to crawl onto the bed to run, but he stomps a boot onto the chain around your ankle and flattens you to the mattress.

“Keep pretending if you want, baby,” he murmurs, “I know what you really need now.”

He’s withdrawing his fingers while you’re still pleading and babbling. You’re horrified to realize you don’t know if you want them back. It doesn’t matter though. Because Johnny’s cock is splitting you open before you can decide, thicker and longer than you’ve ever taken. He curses and groans as he pushes into you, inch by hot inch. Until you feel the fat leaking head tap at your cervix and he grinds, balls kissing your clit.

“T-too much!” you sob. “‘S too much!! Johnny, Johnny, please!”

Heat floods you as he shudders, hips jerking hard and rough. By your head, his fist is white-knuckled in the sheets.

“Did… did you just…?”

“Say my name again,” he snarls.

You blink wetly. “W-wha…?”

“Say. It. Again.” Each word punctuated by a brutal thrust. Something drips down your thigh.

“J-Johnny,” you keen, trying to beg for mercy.

“Jus’ like that.” He’s still hard. Still so fucking hard it’s like you’ve been edging him for hours. Like he didn’t just flood your poor pussy with cum.

“Been dreaming of you saying my name. Haven’t all this time,” he pants, rocking into you hard and fast. Any semblance of restraint is long gone. “Now I know why. Finally fuckin’ earned it. Gonna keep earnin’ it from now on.”

He fucks you so hard the bed leaves dents in the wall. Forces a hand beneath your pelvis to pinch your clit between two fingers and hurtles you shrieking into an orgasm. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause for a single beat. Just hitches your knee up onto the mattress and somehow fucks into your harder, faster, deeper. His fingers rub cruel circles into your oversensitive clit and you burn.

“No, no, wait, Johnny- ah! No, I’m gonna - it feels like-”

Wet heat gushes from you, spilling down your thighs, all over the bed and floor. You - you -

“Fuck, you squirted everywhere, good fuckin’ girl, princess.” He slows just a bit, presumably to appreciate the mess you’ve made. You’re too far gone on shock and awful pleasure to do more than sniffle and hiccup pathetically.

And then a death sentence.

“Do it again.”