#Phillip Graves x Reader fanfiction

[gravezgf]

Ain't Nothin' to It - Phillip Graves x Reader

1,159 words, fem reader with she/her pronouns. a bit suggestive but no warnings! My first time writing anything like this so please be kind. Thanks for reading!

Read under the cut!

You nervously fiddled with the lace waistline of your sundress. It hit your mid-calf, a gorgeous navy blue in breathable cotton, with lace on the waist and along the sweetheart neckline. It was one of Phillip’s favorites, and you couldn’t think of a better way to surprise him.

He was coming back home to you for the first time in a few weeks, where he’d been you had no idea. However, he suggested that you go out and have fun, get a few drinks at his favorite hole-in-the-wall before ending the night in your soft king-sized bed. 

You swear you sensed him before you saw him. The scent of his spicy cologne, the sharp thud of his boots on the wooden floor, his firm hand on your shoulder before he slid in between the stool next to you, offering you a wink and a smile. Oh, how you had missed this man.

“No hug for your best girl?” You pouted teasingly.

“More than a hug, if I get my way,” he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his larger frame.

He released you, only to hold you by the wrists and step back, taking a good look at you. He sighed, pushing you gently back onto your stool before taking a seat himself. He motioned for the bartender to come over and ordered a whiskey for himself and your favorite drink for you. With the social lubricant, you felt your emotions even harder. The joy that leapt in your stomach when he flashed that big smile, laughing freely at a story you were telling him. The flush in your cheeks as he told you for the millionth time about how much he missed you when he was gone.

When Phillip noticed you were good and soused, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out onto the dance floor. You had two left feet, but Phil, he was a dancer from way back. He could whirl you around with the best of ‘em. But tonight, he just pulled you close and swayed you to the old country love songs humming from the speakers. He hummed the lyrics lowly, leaning into you. He exhaled a breathy laugh when your feet got confused, but only held you tighter. 

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” He said it in almost a whisper as he pressed soft kisses onto your neck.

“I think so, how much?”

“A whole sky full. Probably more,” his eyes shone the most beautiful blue in the hazy neon lighting. You couldn’t help but kiss him, and if you could’ve melted into a puddle then and there, you would’ve.

He had one hand pressed into your back, the other cupping your face, as your arms rested on his shoulders, and you let yourself fall into the kiss. You were almost numb now, in a good way. The smell of that cologne, something cheap but one he had loved for years, the Zach Bryan song tumbling through the speakers, his lips against yours, his stubble scratching against your face. 

When you broke from the kiss, you swore you felt like a kid all over again. You rested your face on his chest, and you swayed there, where it felt like just the two of you, for what felt like hours.

He climbed into the drivers’ seat of the old blue pickup, after buckling you into the passenger seat. The old radio was playing the classic country station, Phillip’s favorite. He hummed to the George Strait song that was crackling through, and placed his hand in yours. He squeezed it tightly.

It reminded you of when you were kids. It was maybe your fifth or sixth date, and time had escaped you both. There you were, racing down those rural Texas roads, praying that time would slow down, just for a few minutes. You both knew well that breaking curfew would spell a grounding for you, and your dad’s displeasure towards Phil. You swear that you can still make out where you began playing with the lose threads of the fabric seats, nervously tugging at the string as a cloud of dust rose behind you. 

That time, much like this one, Phil had grabbed for your hand. He ran his fingers over your knuckles at the red light, cursing quietly to himself. 

Now, all these years later, at the red light, he pulled your hand into his, except this time he gently rolled the wedding band on your finger. Instead of damning the light for not turning fast enough, he hummed contentedly to the song on the radio. The city lights slowly turned into the occasional street light as he drove out of the city. Finally, you were heading home. 

The drive home felt quick compared to the drive from there to the bar earlier. He opened your door like a gentleman, only getting slightly maimed by your border collie, Maple. He walked you carefully up the porch steps, and you rested on the cool wooden planks as he unlocked the door. You had your hair pushed up, cool summer air brushing the nape of your neck, and had kicked off your shoes. Phillip thought you had never looked more gorgeous than you did at this very moment. 

Upon making your way into the house, you made a drunken beeline to the comfort of your bedroom. You had made the bed this morning, and you cursed yourself. You had been proud of the fresh sheets and pressed duvet, but it only made it more complicated for your inebriated self. Still yet, you were snug as a bug by the time Phillip reached your room, shirt off, pajama pants on.

“Wanna get out of your good clothes before you get too comfortable?” He said, yawning midway through. Your only response was an annoyed groan that sounded half you, half Chewbacca. Not getting the hint, or not caring, Phillip gently lifted the duvet and laced his fingers in yours, coaxing you to sit upright. He fumbled through your bedside dresser before finding one of his old shirts. It didn’t take too much begging to get you into it, and you thought about how you’d thank him for his kindness in the morning. 

He tucked you back in as sweet as he could before climbing under on his side. When he proposed drinks before coming home, he didn’t exactly imagine this outcome. Then, he looked down. You looked sweet in a silly way, mouth slightly agape, breaths even. He listened for your breathing, that soldierly part of him that he could never quite turn off. You were asleep, he could tell by the gentle cadence of your inhales and exhales. He tried to match it. In the end, he settled for wrapping his arms around you, knowing they’d be asleep in the morning. He pressed a kiss to your head. He had missed home. He had missed you.

[uglygirltrying]

bunny!reader and hare!simon!!!

hare!simon who finds himself a cute, little bunny, and takes them for himself. bunny!reader with soft, fluffy ears, and small cotton ball tail, that twitches and flutters in excitement. bunny!reader is round and soft, the sweetest thing that her mate has ever seen. all that fluff, pressed against hare!simon's abdomen when he pounds into her, and mutters into her ear about kits... hare!simon with a dirty fur and a dirty mind, scars and thinning fur, but a passion for keeping his mates pure white fur clean hare!simon who leads his bunny to calm river, taking a dip into it with her in his lap hare!simon who sniffs his bunny's neck for that sweet aroma, nipping the skin there, while his cock slips inside her. the water around them splashes while the dirty and scarred hare dumbs his load into his bunny's cunt. bunny!reader who whines at a sudden, strange, new smell that wafts through the air. hare!simon whose ears tense up at the same time, but not at her whine, but at the sounds from the forest around them. hare!simon who immediately stands up, ushering bunny!reader out of the water and behind him. hare!simon whose chest puffs out, when fox!graves stalks towards them, out of the bushes, a mischievous smirk on the carnivores face. hare!simon who's always ready to fight, kill, and die for his mate.

[bunny-jpeg]

you had how many kids? (141 + more)

long post - sorry!

captain john price -

the first time price sank his cock into you. it was game over. you are probably going to end up with at least six kids running around a big piece of land in the center of the british isle. equal split between three girls and three boys. the price genes must be strong because they all look like spitting images of their father.

price loves his wife though, he just thinks you're the sweetest thing since honey. after you put the kids to bed and you're in your bedroom, your darling husband can't help but hold onto you by the hips and maybe rub up against you. your softness, so motherly. it almost makes his mouth water. he tries to convince you for baby number seven but you just tell him that there's no way that's happening. but price is a cunning man and maybe a few mind blowing orgasms will change your mind.

simon 'ghost' riley -

your daughter was an accident. it was simon's last night at home before he got deployed again. and he spent that entire night sunk into your sweet cunt. you'd find out a month into his deployment that you were pregnant. worried about telling him, you kept it to yourself. you were anxious about the news throwing him off his game and him getting hurt. he needed to come home alive.

when he came home, he made sure he treated his missus right. while the pregnancy was a bit of a shock, he made sure he made up for lost time. and while that often had you on your back. it almost meant being spoiled by your husband. your daughter was close to being the biggest the hospital had delivered. you two would be content with your daughter, who took mostly after you. but within five years she would be going around proclaiming that she was going to be a big sister!

john 'soap' mactavish -

oh johnny was a smart man. he knew what he wanted and he got it with ease. he wanted to take you back home, settle you down in a night place in edinburgh. he was thinking in the stockbridge neighbourhood, where you and him could raise your kids in peace. the first time he held you in a mating press he knew that he wanted to be the father to your (many) children. he'd take care of ya, never let the mother of his children be without. he placed a sloppy kiss on your lips, a seal of his promise. you end up with two boys, only eleven months apart (the look you got from your doctor when she found out you were pregnant so soon). they were mactavish boys that was for sure. their father's dark hair and he winning smile.

johnny does want a daughter however, he imagined she'd be a spitting image of you. while he loved his boys, there was no question about that, he thought a daughter would complete your little family. curious eyes like yours, that beautiful smile. as he kissed your neck and dug his fingers into your soft hips. maybe he could convince you in a few years to try for one.

kyle 'gaz' garrick -

kyle never thought that he would've ever been a father. when he signed up for service, he didn't expect to be done with that role well beyond when it would be suitable to be a father. so your son was an accident. he could almost pinpoint the night of his conception. he was home from abroad and the two of you spent the entire night (and the following morning) becoming requited with your bodies. you giggled when he showed off his more toned muscles and his fingers got tangled in your hair. his dark eyes felt familiar, like home, under the soft light of your bedroom. The resulting time together produced his son.

you don't end up with a big family, while you two live in a decently sized home just outside the city he is content with it just being the three of you. he'd rather be the best parent to one then worse off to more. he was a good father to his son, proud of the little baby. even when he woke you both up at all hours of the night. it was life and kyle was happy. but when your son turned five, you had something to share with kyle. you were pregnant again. he had to admit, after that, the idea of having a few more kids wasn't a bad idea.

bonus! bonus! bonus!

phillip graves -

oh phillip wants a full house. he didn't buy that nice piece of land outside of houston for show. big yard, white picket fence, in a safe neighourhood (can't have you getting hurt!). he'd be living out his all american dream. so when you ended up pregnant five months after marriage with twins, he was beyond happy. he thought your pregnant body was beautiful, even well into your second trimester he was fucking that sweet cunt of yours. telling you how good of a mama you were.

phillip thought you were the best thing since sliced bread. even when the aches and pains of pregnancy come and go, he'd making sure that his wife is good. if he can't be around, he sends his shadows to make sure that you and the kiddos are alright. so expect a big, loving all american family. you'd never thought you'd be spending your twenties caring for almost five kids!

col. alejandro vargas -

alejandro wants you safe. and you being pregnant can cause some issues. it makes you a target, so you packed up your life and headed somewhere more quiet. most information about you was redacted from public and private records. he even went as far as to change your name and identification. it was for you, for him and for the daughter you eventually had. but despite that, when alejandro returned home. he was the shadow to your daughter. she knew who her daddy was. eventually when he can get out of the snare of the military, he was home. your little place in the middle of nowhere, he promised to protect you and your little bundle.

the times he visited while you were pregnant though. he loved to run his hands up and down your swollen middle. he smiled at you, almost proud of what he did to you. while you'd in the end have only your daughter, it was a complete home. and don't worry, after your daughter's birth he is more than willing to show how much he loved his sweet wife.

rodolfo "rudy" parra -

oh rudy, sweet rudy. he couldn't help himself. the first time you fucked, or rather made love, he knew he wanted to breed that pussy of yours. he was using a condom, but he could picture himself doing it bare backed. the feeling of your slippery cunt tight around him. nothing protecting you from accidents. he'd often daydream on his off time about the three kids you had. he had even picked names out for them, but he'd get your input on it as well. after all you were the beautiful woman who was carrying them. such a good wife to him.

he left the military when you got pregnant, as did you. life became less about the violent conflicts and more about raising your son. he was a quiet baby, and rudy adored him. he also adored his beautiful wife who worked so hard to give him his son. he reminded you of that often. you do end up with those three kids within a five year gap and rudy couldn't be happier.

könig-

oh, könig. he knew that you'd be carrying a big baby. like look at him, he towered over you and could easily bench you in your third trimester. so he wasn't expecting a whole army of children. one very large boy was enough for him. the 99th percentile. but he was there the entire time, he made sure that you were taken care of. he felt safe having his larger body up against yours, protecting it. he'd rub your belly with his large hand. even if you were very pregnant, you still were small compared to him.

he loves his son, obviously. the first time he held him, he almost cried. he was a father now. he had a wife and a child, a home to call his home and a place to feel safe. he was an attentive father, he was used to being up early. so you got to sleep in while he checked in on your son. he made sure to teach him german, english and a few of the other languages he had picked up. he was going to make sure his son knew all about the world. he was a proud father!

[peachetteprice]

Call of Duty - Masterlist:

The Complete Masterlist of: peachetteprice.

Asks and submissions are open!

Feedback Policy

External Links | Ao3 | Wattpad: Peachette_Price

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Key

× NSFW content - ranging from sexually suggestive themes to explicit smut. This content is not to be interacted with by minors. I give you my partial trust to adhere to this, but I will regularly check the age of the blogs following me and block when necessary.

// This is an ongoing work.

< / > This work is unlikely to be completed now and/or in the future.

(REQ) This work is published as a request by a user.

TF141 Headcanons:

Driving Habits - How would the boys usually drive? What are their habits when in the hot seat?

Cheating Partners - POV: I let an anon down by not fulfilling their request and still posting it anyway. Ft. Phillip Graves. ×

Captain John Price:

42-Year-Old John Price - He isn't as sprightly as he used to be. ×

Eighth Date - John reveals to you about his profession, but you're much too taken by something else!

Speak Up, Love - Uh-oh. John's lost his voice. Wouldn't it be such a shame if someone teased him about it? ×

Stern Captain John Price - He really... really... becomes accustomed to the life of a cat owner despite his penchant for dogs. ×

How it Should Be - John's a hardened war veteran... but he still gets flustered every time you call him handsome. ×

A Deal of Cards - (REQ): How might Price deal with his gorgeous, talented partner: a spiritulist, working in the creative field with a rather earthly aesthetic? With love, of course.

What a Bargain - John is a man who loves bargains. That's it.

Jeweller!Price - Uh... John's a jeweller. That's it. Pretty straight-forward, innit. Pt. 2 ×

Accountant!Price - He's an accountant. You get it by now, right? ×

The Gloves are On - The gloves stay on, even when he's finger-fucking the ever-living daylights out of you. ×

Neuroscientist!Price - Price is a neuroscientist with a dark present. ×

Coworker!Price - don't get it twisted. This isn't 'accountant' Price. ×

Domestic!Price - He's just a little guy with fuzzy socks on.

Agent!Price - He's only ever been an Agent: what are you on about 'Captain'?

EmotionallyUnbalancedWriter!Price - He reminisces on a love lost.

The Uniform - John lets you have all the fun 'playing Lieutenant'. Don't worry, he knows his place, too. ×

CultLeader!Price - Oh, how we rejoiced!

(REQ) Neighbour!Price - John is your bird-watch loving neighbour!

Husband's Best Friend - John Price is your HBF.

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

Strangers in the Night - Simon has a waking nightmare; you're always there to provide comfort.

A Hand for Radio - You're not just on the team to dilly-dally, something that everyone, including Soap, finally needs to understand. ×

Some Days - (REQ): Simon and Reader have a spat. Reader feels invalidated and rightfully tells him so, because what a bitch, honestly.

Fisherman!Simon - it's Simon... but as a fisherman. I don't know what more you want from me.

Full-length works:

27 Hawthorn Court - Simon "Ghost" Riley finds himself in hot water after the Greater Manchester Police suspect him of murderering his family: his brother, his brother's wife, and their son. < / >

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Could Have Been - Didn't you know, Gaz could have been a professional footballer?

One of Those Nights - It's your favourite thing about him, truly. ×

Born For It - Oh, but he's just so rich and handsome, whatever shall you do? ×

Morning Brew - Kyle likes his coffee like he likes his coffee, and his mornings, entirely unlike his coffee: full of lazy sex! ×

Backshots with Kyle? - The one thing he loves to do more than anything ×

Bar Meet - You meet Gaz in a bar. Even after the night is over, he isn't done. ×

Crawley - Kyle is your flatmate in a two-bed flat share. Things are predictable, right up until they aren't.

John "Soap" MacTavish:

The Ever-forgetful John "Soap" MacTavish - Poor bastard never remembers not to use the water when you're mid-shower!

A Dream to Build a Life On - It's tough to have almost everything you've ever wanted right at the tips of your fingers, but have one thing... just one thing... that seems entirely out of reach. ×

Days of Old - It's never easy to watch something drag the life out of a loved one's eyes. ×

The Highlands - A short drabble about Johnny coming back to Scotland every once in a while to re-live the simplicity of rural life. Ft. Part 2

Charity Dinner Ball - Soap relieves his OWN Charity Dinner Balls... pause... after being drawn to you the entire evening. ×

Needy Soap - I need him biblically, I fear. ×

Phillip Graves:

Full-length works:

Mister Commander - (DBF) Winnie Collins knows better than anyone that a homestead requires up-keep. When she returns home to Texas, following the dissolvement of her engagement to the man she thought she loved, there's a stranger on her parent's ranch, during the height of May heat, in a town where nothing but dirt and sweat remain. Phillip Graves. He's her father's best friend - and he's here to stay. × //

Ghost x Soap

Two Men in a Boat - A boat bobs along the ocean. Within, there are two men.

[leyavo]

⛓️‍💥| Out on your own |

Part Task Force 141 x Tech!reader

Summary: After Graves relieves Ghost and Soap from their shared mission, Jinx is left to fend for herself in the Fuerzas Especiales facility against the shadows. (Loosely based on the mw2 video game, alone/ghost team mission)

Featuring: Graves, Soap, Ghost and Jinx (tech!reader). Graves and Jinx have history.

[Masterlist] < more tech!reader there

The glowing flickers of monitor screens, lit the dingy room. A desk pushed against the wall, surveillance and the whirring of computers filling the silence.

No natural light entering the small room. Jinx felt like she’d be digging her own grave, the one person she’d tried to dodge now stared down at her.

“Look at you, got yourself a name and everything,” Graves said, his arms crossed over his chest as he leant on the edge of the desk. His finger resting close to the trigger of his gun. “How’s that bad luck treating you Jinx?”

Luck, had never been on Jinx’s side since she was a kid. In the back of her mind, she knew that no one would come and save her, not if they knew the truth. Not if they knew where she’d come from or what she’d done.

The cuffs around Jinx’s wrists bit into her flesh, both secured to the arm rest. Her ankles tied to the chair legs, thankfully the bag over her head had been removed.

A hand twisted in her hair and forced her to look up at Graves, scalp tingling and neck aching.

Graves flicked out his dagger, blade tracing the column of Jinx’s throat and the line of a scar curving from her right ear and down to the collar of her T-shirt.

“Didn’t think I’d recognise you? Huh,” he said, adding pressure against her throat. “I’ve always been watching you, in the shadows. Someone with your set of skills would be valuable to this organisation.”

Valuable, Jinx knew that information lead to currency and safety. The more she learnt, the more they kept her around and valued her. Warmth trickled down her neck, another inch added to the old scar.

“Maybe this is your lucky day, Jinx. What do you say?” Graves leant forward, lifting the blade away.

Jinx spat, a thick blob of her saliva rolling down Graves’s jaw. The back of his hand connected with her cheek, her vision tilting as she and the chair fell to the side. Her shoulder smashing into the concrete floor, a puddle of water soaking her shirt.

“Now that wasn’t very nice was it,” he said, nodding for the man behind her to set her back up. He stepped back, ducking under the swinging lightbulb above them.

The coppery tang of blood swam on top of her teeth, heat of her cheek tender and swollen beneath her eye. “Fuck you,” she spat, red splattering Graves face.

Graves blinked, his palm smearing the blood on his face. “Imagine what the 141 will say when they realise what scum they’ve let into their task force.” The gun he’d discarded on the desk back in his grasp, the back of it slamming into Jinx’s stomach.

Jinx swore, head hanging as she tried to catch her breath. Her trembling breathes shuddering through her whole body.

“Laswell’s gone soft.”

Laswell the first person that offered Jinx a lifeline. An opportunity to make her own luck, instead of being forced to do other people’s bidding. There was no way she’d betray her team, even if they weren’t coming for her. She’d do this for Laswell. No way she’d give Graves what he wanted.

“Now,” Graves said, dragging her chair across the room. “Find me that missile.”

The door opened to the right, but before Jinx could search what laid beyond it, a harsh slap sent her head back down. Two more soldiers appeared either side of her, fingers circling her biceps as the one behind her cut the ties from her ankles. The cuff on her right wrist removed and shoved in one of the pockets of on of their vest.

“Find it yourself,” Jinx snarled, trying to escape their hold. Her cheek smashed into the keyboard, her left wrist cuffed to the locked drawer under the desk.

The shadows retreated, filing out the door one by one.

Graves sat on the desk beside her, grasping her chin, nails sinking into her cheek. “I’m sure 157 would love to pick up that investigation on you again,” he said, shoving her back into the chair and pushing it closer to the desk.

She tried not to react, the flutter of her jaw giving her away. Graves smiled, his hand forcing hers to move the mouse and click on a file.

“Find me that missile and you won’t have to worry about the task force 141 or 157. Make your own luck today Jinx. Would be such a shame to waste such potential.” He tapped the clock on the wall as he stood, the click of numbers counting down.

Jinx stared at the timer, waiting for the door to shut behind Graves. Her gaze darting to the monitor in front of her and the database of information at her fingertips.

One camera in the left corner behind her, the only scrap of security watching her. The webcam above the screen showed a green light, one way they could frame her for searching for the missiles. Either way she wasn’t coming out of this alive. If it wasn’t the shadows it was the two task forces. That or the bloody government, the military and that meant a price on her head.

No, Jinx would have to be smart. Fifty six minutes to gather all the information she could. She’d find that missile and somehow contact Laswell, the last resort being selling it to the highest bidder in order to survive. Maybe even go back to where she came from, that’s all she knew.

Clicking on the secure database, she scrolled through the numbered files. Hundreds and hundreds of data, quick flicks of text she read and then closed for the next one. Her eyes sore, head throbbing as she tried to memorise the key pieces of intel. Tried to trace the maps and the organisations profiled within the facility.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Jinx mumbled to herself, leaning forward to double check what she’d just read. She automatically closed the file and hid it within another, no doubt they would have it backed up so there was no use deleting it.

She stood from the desk, her gaze trailing the lead from the monitor to the computer tower underneath. Crawling to back she dragged it out, ripping the leads out of it and stamping on the tower.

An explosion shook the foundations, the echoes of guns firing in the distance. It was now or never. Jinx ripped the bent metal from the side of the computer tower and flinched as her finger cut on a scrap piece of metal. She pried it off just as the door flung open and a shadow lunged at her.

She tried to run, but her cuffed wrist yanked her back. The shadow’s hands wrapping around her throat, pressing into her wind pipe. Her left arm useless crushed behind her back, the man’s body pinning to the edge of the desk.

Jinx plunged the metal in the man’s neck swiping it across his throat. Blood spraying on her face, his hands flung to cover the wound as he dropped to the ground bringing her down with him. She scrambled away, watching him choke on his own blood as she caught her own breath.

The timer beeped, the repetition beep drawing Jinx back to the present. To the body lying on the floor, she got to her feet trying to kick the door shut. A sliver of light still entering the room.

She spun around tugging the cuff attached to locked drawer. The jagged piece of metal she’d used as a weapon unreachable. A cry tore from her lips, the bite of the cuff sinking further into her wrist as she tried to pull the drawer out.

“Jinx.”

The sound of his muffled voice sent a shiver up her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, brows furrowed as she stared at the two soldiers wearing skeleton masks.

Soap walked closer, jinx taking a step back. Her gaze flitted to his eyes and then to his gun.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” she blurted out. Her heart hammered against her chest as Ghost toed the wrecked computer tower, his fist silencing the timers alarm.

“You know something,” Soap said, glancing to Ghost. He yanked the small axe from his pack and swung it at the chain connecting Jinx’s cuff.

Jinx nodded, pushing the cuff down so she could run her wrist. “What if I do?”

The radio crackled, Captain Price asking for a status. Soap replied, taking up his place outside the room with the rest of the team who were approaching the next area. Ghost hanging back with her.

“Where’s the missile Jinx? Everyone knows that’s why Graves wanted you here,” Ghost said, he cocked his head to the side and looked her up and down.

Time, never seemed to be on her side either. The firing of guns in the distance reminding her to hurry up. Overthink and you’re gone. Bang.

“Chicago.” She didn’t want to use her one and only way out, but there was no way she’d escape the likes of Ghost. Soap maybe yes, but not him.

“Good girl, you’ve been promoted,” Ghost said, pulling a mask out of his pocket and chucking it to Jinx. “Welcome to Ghost team.”

She caught it, slinging it over her shoulder as pushed her hair back.

Ghost patted the shadow down, pulling a pistol and ammo out of the straps of his vest. “Stick with me, Jinx,” he said, passing her the guard’s discarded gun into her hands.

Jinx hesitated, the cool metal meeting her fingertips. She raised the gun, pointing it at Ghost. “I gave you intel, you let me go.” She didn’t expect him to give her a weapon, the weight of holding it up trembling through her arms.

He didn’t even blink as he stared at her, as if he’d stared at death regularly. He closed the distance, lifting his arm and forcing the gun back to her side.

“Laswell told me where you’re from. We’re not the 157. You be good to me, I’ll be good to you,” he said, plucking the mask off her shoulder and pulling it over her head.

“I’ll be good,” she said, adjusting the mask to sit comfortably over the bridge of her nose.

His thumbs smeared over the black paint under his eyes and he held Jinx’s head, staining the skin around her eyes that were not covered by the skeleton mask.

“Come on Lucky.”

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

OMFG AGHHHH

GRAVES X READER MY BELOVEDDDDDDD

Graves is either the most dominant, rough man EVER in bed, or he's a fucking sub boy.

He either has you riding him on his lap, pulling your hair, kissing you so hard that you would be worried that you'd bruise except you're so brainless from his destruction of your cunt that you can't do anything but warble out thank yous and pleases and "harder sir~!"s, or he's laid down on the bed and you're on top of him and he can't think of anything because it feels so good and he's just staring at your tits like a twelve year old boy seeing porn for the first time.

Like the SECOND you're on top of him he's either guiding your hips and pulling your hair, or he's calling you mommy/daddy and there is NO in-between.

Like ESPECIALLY if he's had a bad day, you're sitting on his lap and you're spitting in his mouth and gently praising him for taking it like a good boy and that's the ONLY thing making his evening good.

Literally if you're one of his Shadows he'll spar with you and it'll end up with the side of your face firmly on the ground, he has your hands behind your back, and he's telling you "C'mon, darlin'... You know you lost now," with SUCH a thick accent.

Ahdusnd foaming at the mouth I love my southern men

[cutiecusp]

Finally.

BF! Graves x reader.

Now I know, Graves isn't our fave CoD operator, in fact every time I play as him I get hell in the lobbies still xD but I wanted to explore a best mate drabble I've been thinking of. We all know him as cocky, arrogant... and what if he is, but not to us? And we ask him for help with a problem... warning, this is a LONG one!

(tw. Virginity loss, best friend, hidden feelings, revealed feelings, kissing,teeny blood mention, smut, PinV. So MDNI!!)

"You want me to what?" Came the loud reply from your best friend.

Flinching at the volume, you press a finger to your lips, hoping no one else heard him.

"You know what I'm asking. You've probably done it a hundred times over." You hiss, eyes darting around the canteen.

"Darlin' you know I love you. We've been friends forever, but this, this I can't help you with, I'm sorry." Phillip backs off in his chair, his arms raised in mock surrender, his jaw tightly wound, as if he was going to say something further, but held himself back.

Your cheeks redden. You knew asking was probably the biggest risk in your friendship, but you trusted no one else, and you harboured feelings for Phillip ever since you both enlisted years ago, but always dampened it down due to his cocky demeanor.

"It's just a few minutes of your time, no feelings involved..." You bargain, leaning into the table.

"A few- a few minutes?" He splutters, gaining attention from the other table. He leans into your space, watching the blush flush from your cheeks.

"Sweet thing, the guy who takes your gift should be someone special. Someone you trust to make you feel good. Not a few stolen minutes on base. What's brought this on?"

"I think I'm defective." You admit softly.

"Defective how?" He presses, scooting in his chair, closing the gap between you two.

"No one else I know is a virgin at our age." You state, your cheeks stained pink.

"You go around talking about it with everyone?" He teases, hoping to break the mood.

"This isn't funny, Phillip. Why does no one want me?" You say, near tears.

What you fail to notice is that from the minute you both enlisted together, you've always been Graves' girl. He practically growls at any suitor interested in you, and the grapevine is adamant that you two are a thing. He's just too chicken to act on it.

"You'll find someone, doll." He says easily, like he's not worried about your status.

"Maybe I'll ask Ghost, he seems nice enough." You say, sliding your tray across the table, and standing up, dismissing the conversation.

"I'll catch you later." You call out as you follow Ghost into the corridor. You fail to see a pair of jealous eyes trailing your body as you leave.

A few hours go by, and curfew is approaching. You change into your pyjamas and grab your book, settling in for the night when you hear a brisk knock in the door.

Pulling it open, you find Graves, all dishevelled and mad.

"Tell me you didn't do it, doll." You smell a hint of bourbon on his breath, as he steps into your room.

You step back, shaking your head.

"D-do what?" You ask, but you already know the answer.

"Tell me you didn't give Ghost your body, baby. Tell. Me." He commands, eyes glossy with dutch courage.

"No, I didn't." You admit. You knew he wasn't the one when he turned you down gently and pointed out that someone else may want you and your gift. The very someone barging into your room.

You scoffed at Ghost, but it turns out his premonition was right.

"I.. i couldnt." You admit. Your eyes searching his for the unspoken question you were asking.

He steps into your space, his body close enough to yours that you could smell his cologne you brought him for Christmas. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and back up to his eyes.

Involuntarily, your tongue darts out to wet your lip, soliciting a deep groan from Graves.

His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close to him, your bodies pressed against each other.

"You know, for the longest time, doll..." He pauses, his fingers tracing patterns over your hips.

"For the longest time. I've never felt like I deserved you. I've watched you from afar take on challenges even I've flinched at. You've taken every deployment, successful in most. You are faster, stronger and far more deadly than most of the team. You are smart, funny, kind.. Your laugh makes me laugh, your heart is.. your heart is generous, and I'm glad to call you a friend."

He pauses, and cups your chin with one hand, while brushing the hair out of your face with rhe other.

"But. I'd be lying if I said that's all I want to be. Your eyes are like pools, that I could stare into for hours, your body fits into my hands perfectly... I just want to dip my feet in and taste you, to see if you taste of heaven."

"I should be the one honoured to take your gift. To pleasure you until you see stars, to give you my body as much as you give me yours. I want to own every godamn moan that comes out of that mouth. I want you." He concludes, his breath ragged in his chest.

"Please." He asks. And one word is all it takes for you to melt in his arms as he swipes his lips over yours gently, his tongue opening your mouth further.

You moan in the back of your throat as he leads you to the bed, barely stopping kissing to lay down on the sheets.

"Tell me you want this, and I'll give you all you want." Phillip whispers.

You nod, and you see him shake his head.

"Words, baby. Tell me." He insists.

"I want this, Phillip, probably have for the longest time. I want you." You admit.

Pulling back, so his body is half over you, he pulls his t shirt over his head, and you observe his body with a smile. Your fingers trace over his shoulders, down his chest and to his waistband.

"Not yet, darlin'" He admonishes gently, undoing the buttons to the top of your pyjamas, exposing the soft skin bare underneath.

He lets out a breath, his eyes darkened with desire.

"Fuck, baby. You are so beautiful." He slides the fabric off your shoulders, the cool air pebbling your nipples, as you take a shuddering breath.

"It's okay, I got you." He says, bending down to place kisses along your soft skin, before taking a nipple into his mouth, and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud, his hand playing similarly with its pair.

With the other hand, he brings his fingers up and holds your hand flush to your head, effectively trapping you against him.

A whimper tears from your throat as you feel warmth lick your lower belly, combined with the weight of him on you, and the pleasure he was pulling from you, you thought you could burst.

"Phillip, please." You beg, although you aren't sure what you want entirely.

He chuckles against your body, his hand moving from your breast to your pyjama shorts.

"Please, what, darlin'" He asks gruffly, his fingers playing with your waistband.

"I need.. I need more." You admit, eyes wide with lust.

You see Phillip pull back on his heels, and whimper at the loss of contact. He smirks, his lip lifting at the side.

"God, darlin' you look amazing right now." He says softly, almost fully devoted.

He looks at you for permission before he wriggles your shorts down your legs, the moisture between your legs sticking to the soft fabric.

"Fuck, baby. No underwear?" He asks, surprise evident in his tone.

You shake your head shyly as he opens your legs, baring yourself to him.

"Oh, she's gorgeous." He whispers, more to himself than anything but you blush regardless.

"And so wet for me, doll." His voice thick with need, his eyes darker than coal.

You watch as he swipes his fingers through your folds firmly, collecting your nectar on his fingertips. He brings it to his mouth and sucks them clean.

You hold your breath as he closes his eyes before noticing the bulge in his jeans. You smirk a little, satisfied you weren't the only one affected.

He leans down, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he licks a heavy stripe from your clit down, pulling a delicious sound out from your lips. He suckles on your sensitive flesh until you pull his hair, guiding him to where you want him. His tongue flat, he takes his time licking building you up to your first orgasm.

It hits you out of nowhere, your eyes tightly shut, your toes curled as wave after wave hits you, you try to talk, but no sound comes out of your mouth, just a flash of bright light behind your eyes.

Phillip straightens up, and kisses you, combining your taste in your lips as you return the kiss deeply.

"You OK, darlin'" He asks, a little cockily.

"You look proud of yourself." You retort.

"I just got the prettiest girl in the world to come on my face, I'd say I'm pretty proud of myself." He replies easily.

You choke on a breath you had been holding.

"Phillip!" You chastise, mock scandalised

He grins, and heads back down between your legs.

"Phillip, I can't." You protest, your thighs a little sore.

"Gotta prep you, baby. Don't wanna hurt you." He explains, kissing your inner thighs before returning to your sensitive folds. His tongue painting masterpieces over the skin.

You gasp as you feel his finger slowly work his way inside you, the feeling intrusive, but not painful.

"There you go baby, think you could take more for me?" He asks between licks.

You nod, and you shudder as you feel a second finger match the first, but this time pressing down on a sensitive spot.

"God, Phillip.. please!" You pant as he strokes the spot over and over, that familiar warmth in your lower belly as you tighten around his fingers.

"Come for me darlin', come on my fingers." Phllip insists, picking up the pace to match your hips bucking against his fingers.

You squeal as you come, your pussy clenching around his fingers, eyes rolled in the back of your head.

"Fuck." You hear him whisper, opening your eyes, you lock your gaze with his, and find nothing but admiration and pride.

"You looked so sexy, coming on my fingers like that darlin'" He chuckles.

"Almost came in my jeans."

You look down and you could see a dark patch on his jeans, he catches you looking and raises an eyebrow.

"Off. Now." You command, your hands going to his belt.

He shucks off the denim and fabric underneath, leaving him naked in front of you.

"Do you want me to?" You swallow, unable to look away.

Phillip shakes his head.

"Won't last long if you do, darlin' and I'd rather come in that pretty cunt of yours. I assume you are on the pill?"

You nod and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him to you, your lips pressed against his as he leads you both back down on the bed.

Your legs spread open as he settles between them, his soft gaze on yours.

"You ready, doll? We can always stop here."

You throw him a look, and rock your hips against his.

"Not a fucking chance." You say firmly.

He chuckles as he slides home, his length stretching you out deliciously. You gasp, and squeeze your eyes shut, and he pauses.

"You okay, baby?" He asks, concern written on his features.

"I'm good, just... adjusting." You admit, opening your eyes.

He slowly rocks his hips against yours, and any discomfort melts away as the pleasure takes over you both. You trail your hands over his shoulders and chest, feeling his skin under your touch.

"Phillip." You whisper, afraid to break the moment.

He looks down at you, your body underneath his.

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"I'm not gonna break, go faster." You urge, wrapping your ankles around his lower back.

He picks up the pace, leaning back a little, knelt at your hips as he watches where you two meet. He watches the creamy ring around the bottom of his cock, tinged with a little pink.

You are his is all Phillip can think of as he rocks against you, your body fitting against his perfectly. You pull his closer for another kiss, changing the position of your hips, taking him deeper.

You both groan at the sensation, the feeling of fullness for yourself, and the tight vice of your pussy clamping down on his cock as he guides you to another orgasm.

He brushes your hair away from your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, and glossy eyes.

"You feel so good, baby." He admits softly, his hips snapping against yours as he feels you building up to a third orgasm. His fingers softly pinching your nipples, sending a shock wave of pleasure down your spine.

"You gonna come for me, come on this cock?" He asks, smiling at the way you nod.

"Words, doll." He reminds you.

"Fuck, yes, Phillip, I'm gonna come.." You pant, your hips matching his pace as you chase your high.

You feel like you are floating as another orgasm rips through you, you didn't care how loud you were being as pleasure burst through your body.

Phillip snaps his hips to yours, following closely, his spend deep inside you. He pulls you into his body, slowly pulling himself out as he wraps his arms around you.

Sweaty and satisfied, you look up at Phillip, who places a kiss on your forehead.

"I'll run you a bath, thank fuck we have the bigger barracks." He laughs. He pulls himself from you, as your phone chimes.

'Fucking finally. Can you hear you both down the hall.' 👻

You blush and hand your phone to Phillip, who laughs.

"He's right, darlin'... fucking finally.."

...................................

A/N this turned out to be the longest drabble ever. I know some of you are here due to the Matchmaker series, which will be resumed ASAP, but I hope this appeases the writers block Gods! I appreciate everyone's likes, comments, asks, reblogs, it all means so much. ♥️

@xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @livingoutsidethetardis @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @azxulaa @yesornowaitidontknow @enjisbf @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @evie-119

[bravo4iscool]

call of duty (simon “ghost” riley) masterlist

masterlist overview

call of duty characters as f1 drivers

he’s in denial (a simon “ghost” riley headcanon)

simon riley’s love language (a simon “ghost” riley headcanon)

return (simon “ghost” riley x fem!retired!reader)

part two

the sacrifice (simon “ghost” riley x medic!reader)

mornings with ghost (simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader)

simon riley is a chubby chaser (a simon “ghost” riley headcanon)

simon “ghost” riley/captain john price x chubby!short!reader

you’re kidnapped (simon “ghost” riley x wife!reader)

simon riley witnesses a terror attack (a simon “ghost” riley headcanon)

simon riley is the type of man to hold you when you cry (a simon “ghost” riley headcanon)

turn off the lights (simon “ghost” riley x fem!chubby!reader)

goth!ghost (goth!simon “ghost” riley x scene!reader)

goth!ghost 2.0 (goth!simon “ghost” riley x goth!reader)

model!ghost (model!simon “ghost” riley x designer!reader)

part two

(toxic!)dad!simon (dad!simon “ghost” riley & teen!reader)

part two

old man masterlist (retired!simon “ghost” riley & retired!reader)

bodyguard!simon x lawyer!reader (retired!simon “ghost” riley x fem!chubby!reader)

neigbour!graves helps you move in (phillip graves x reader)

simon and his mechanic!girlfriend (simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader)

simon and his tomboy!girlfriend (simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader)

simon and his lawyer!wife (simon “ghost” riley x fem!wife!reader)

this has no name (simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader)

birthday present (mechanic!simon “ghost” riley x reader)

ptsd (simon “ghost” riley/john “soap” mactavish x reader)

broken cycle (simon “ghost” riley x wife!reader)

too much work (simon “ghost” riley x wife!reader)

baby no.2 (simon “ghost” riley x wife!reader)

too afraid (simon “ghost” riley x reader)

bracelet (a simon “ghost” riley headcanon)

false signs masterlist (simon “ghost” riley x reader)

simon and his tall!wife (simon “ghost” riley x fem!wife!reader)

part two

crime and punishment (simon “ghost” riley x reader)

eating good (simon “ghost” riley x 141!reader)

tf141 getting pets

wayne!AU (simon “ghost” riley & older!brother!reader)

friends to lovers (simon “ghost” riley x chubby!fem!reader)

tf141!office!AU (tf141 x fem!reader)

i date to marry (simon “ghost” riley x reader)

simon meets your parents

why not love me? masterlist (tf141 x simon’s wife!reader; one-sided)

family line (simon “ghost” riley x reader)

cancel your date (captain john price x chubby!fem!reader)

vikings/call of duty crossover

part two

more to come…

[bzurk]

DARK-FIC, MDNI:

Graves puts on a show for the 141, with your begrudging help.

CW: non-con, abduction, gags, restraints, threats, noncon filming, choking, asphyxiation, spanking, non-con oral, non-con PIV

buckle up shit gets rough 💅

Your consciousness flickers back to life like a candle flame in the dark, fragile and tenuous. The first sensation that creeps into your awareness is the cold—an unforgiving, biting chill that seeps into your bones, rendering your flesh numb and unyielding. It feels as though you have been submerged in a frozen lake, the icy tendrils of the water wrapping around your limbs and squeezing out every last drop of warmth.

As your senses slowly begin to sharpen, you realise that you are seated, your back against the unyielding hardness of a metal chair. The bindings around your wrists and ankles are rough and unyielding, cutting into your skin with every slight movement. They hold you in place with ruthless efficiency, like iron serpents coiled around your limbs, their grip inescapable. Your head throbs with a dull, insistent pain, a reminder of the brutal blow that brought you to this desolate place. It is as if a cruel giant has hammered a stake into your skull, each heartbeat echoing with agony.

The gag in your mouth is a vile intrusion, forcing your jaws apart and filling your mouth with the taste of sweat-soaked cloth. Your tongue presses against it reflexively, but there is no relief to be found. The fabric is soaked with your own sweat and saliva, a bitter reminder of your helplessness. It stifles your breath, making each inhale a laborious task, and you can feel the edges of panic nibbling at the corners of your mind, like rats gnawing on the last threads of your resolve.

The cell around you is a study in desolation. The walls are stark and bare, their surfaces pocked and scarred by years of neglect and violence. The dim light that flickers from a lone bulb casts long shadows across the floor, turning the room into a grim tableau of light and darkness. The air is thick with the stench of mildew and decay, mingling with the coppery tang of your blood. It fills your nostrils, making you want to retch, but the gag stifles even that. Your muscles scream in protest as you shift slightly in the chair, trying to alleviate the pressure on your bound limbs. Every movement sends ripples of pain through your body, like shockwaves from a distant explosion.

Your skin feels like a canvas of bruises and abrasions. You try to focus, to gather your scattered thoughts, but it is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. The memory of the struggle is a fragmented mosaic in your mind – Graves, Alejandro throwing the first punch, getting slammed against the SUVs, Soap dropped by a bullet, flashes of fists and boots, your neck held in the crook of an elbow, the sensation of being dragged, sinking your teeth into flesh, the world spinning in a nauseating blur after a blow to your head.

In the silence of the cell, you can hear the faintest echoes of distant footsteps, the murmur of voices, the sound of a lock turned and a door opened. The wall to your left creaks.

“See? Yer’ colonel’s fine,” Graves’ southern drawl leaked through the gap below your door.

“¡Te mataré, traidor! No eres más que un patético perro faldero. te mataré-” Alejandro’s voice carried, full of indignation and unadulterated rage, silenced by the slam of a steel door, an echoing boom that rumbled over your skin. You couldn’t help the way that it had you flinching against your restraints.

The sound of heavy boots approaches, each step resonating through the cold concrete like a drumbeat of impending doom. Your heart hammers in your chest, a wild, caged thing desperate for escape. The door creaks open, the rusted hinges protesting as light spills into your cell, harsh and unrelenting.

Graves steps into view, a sinister silhouette framed by the doorway. His icy eyes glitter with malevolent satisfaction as he holds up a phone, the camera lens gleaming like the eye of some predatory beast. He points it at you, capturing your dishevelled, battered state for all to see. The light from the screen casts an eerie glow on his face, accentuating the cruel twist of his lips.

"Can’t say the same for your corporal, though," he drawls, the smirk never leaving his face. He turns the phone so you can hear the voices on the other end of the call, though it's muffled by Graves’ hand over the speakers. “Two hits to the head and she was still kicking. Real fighter, aren’t ya, doll?”

He approaches closer, still recording with his phone. You grind your teeth against the gag in protest as he invades your personal space, your body arching against the chair in a futile attempt to escape. But Graves remains unfazed, reaching out to ruffle your tangled hair with his free hand.

"Stitches! Stitches, can you hear me?" Soap's voice crackles through the speaker, laced with urgency and concern.

The sound of your callsign, spoken with such desperation, cuts through the haze of pain and fear. It’s a lifeline. Your team knows you’re alive.

"Get your hands off of her,” Captain Price's voice follows, steady and resolute, deep and gravelled enough to rumble the strongest of foundations.

Graves laughs, a chilling sound that sends shivers down your spine. "You gonna make me, Captain?" He leans closer, brushing the matted hair from your face as the camera captures every detail of your bruised and broken features. You glare at him fiercely, defiance burning in your eyes despite the gag and restraints.

"Graves, you son of a bitch!" Soap shouts, the fury in his voice palpable even through the phone. "If you hurt her—"

“Hurt her? Why would I do that?” Graves continued stroking down your hair, purposefully antagonizing your captain. “I’ve got her right where I want her. Ain’t she a pretty sight like this?”

His fingers stopped and gripped, twisting the length of your hair around his palm before tugging, forcing a whimper from your throat as your head was wrenched back. The pain shoots through your scalp, sharp and searing, pulling a reluctant tear from your eye. The camera hovers, unblinking, capturing every moment of your torment, every flicker of pain.

“You piece of shit!” Soap’s voice is raw with anger. “You touch one more hair on her head, and I swear—”

Graves’ smile widens, a predator’s grin. “Oh, I’m touching more than just her hair, Sergeant. But don’t worry, I won’t break her. Just bend her a little.”

The pressure on your scalp increases as Graves tugs harder, your neck straining painfully against the force. The room seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in with their cold, unfeeling silence. But through the pain, you latch onto the sound of your team’s voices, their fury and concern a lifeline in the storm.

“Graves, you coward,” Price’s voice is like a growl, low and threatening. “You won’t get away with this. We’re coming for her, and when we find you—”

Graves interrupts with another laugh, releasing your hair and stepping back. “I’m counting on it, Price. But until then, enjoy the show.” He lowers the phone slightly, giving you a moment to see the faces of your team on the screen. Their expressions are a mix of rage and helplessness, a mirror of your own emotions. Price and Gaz stand shoulder to shoulder on one half of the screen, while Ghost stands behind a fuming Johnny on the other half.

You lock eyes with Soap, seeing the anguish and determination there. His jaw is set, his fists clenched, a promise of retribution burning in his gaze. Price’s eyes are cold, calculating, already forming a plan.

Graves puts the phone in a pocket on his vest so that the camera can still see, and he grabs the back of your chair and drags it to a wall, the legs scraping against the floor with a grating screech. The chair rocks back on the two hind legs until you're forced to bend your neck, the chair tilted awkwardly against the wall. Graves steps between your knees, looming over you like a vulture ready to pick at a carcass.

The tilt of the chair strains your neck and shoulders, a burning ache spreading through your muscles. Graves' presence is a looming shadow, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure as he looks down at you. The phone camera captures every angle of your discomfort, every twitch of pain and defiance.

He leans in closer, his face inches from yours. The stench of his breath, a mix of stale tobacco and cheap coffee, assaults your senses. "You know, you’ve caused me a lot of trouble," he murmurs, his voice a low, menacing drawl.

The pressure of his presence is suffocating, his body a wall of menace between your knees. You struggle against your bindings, but they hold firm, digging into your flesh. The cold of the wall behind you seeps through the thin fabric of your clothes, adding to the pervasive chill that has settled into your bones.

Graves' hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His grip is firm, fingers digging into your jaw. "Look at you, all tied up and nowhere to go," he sneers, his eyes scanning your face with cruel amusement. "They’re gonna come get you, aren’t they?”

The sound of your team’s muffled voices reaches your ears, a background murmur of anger and frustration. They are watching, helpless and furious.

Graves’ other hand traces a path down your neck, his touch a vile mockery of gentleness. "Pretty as a peach," he says, his voice a twisted parody of admiration, your cheeks squished together under his fingers and digging into your teeth painfully. “Bet you’re as sweet as one, too. You gonna be sweet?”

He patted his hand over the thigh holster on his leg, holding a deadly, mean-looking bowie knife. A clear warning. You nodded so frantically that your head kept smacking against the wall, exacerbating your spinning head.

The sound of metal teeth unzipping fills the room with an eery, cold silence.

“Enjoy the show,” he had said. He wasn’t going to- to do what you thought, right? Surely, he can’t be that cruel.

Your thrashing resumed, now more frantic and feral, your wrists and ankles scraped raw and bloody by the zip-ties holding them in place and your muscles screaming in agony at every move. His hands held your head still.

Behind your closed eyes, you could sense the ominous presence of his shadow expanding, feel the way it engulfed your hunched, curled-up form like an oppressive storm cloud. Your skin, cold and clammy, was peppered with goosebumps and quivering with involuntary shivers. Yet, paradoxically, sweat beaded at your pores, and your breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps. His hands slid from your cheeks, dragging the fabric gag down with them, and you inhaled deeply, desperate for air, urging your eyes to open again. You had to see what was coming, had to remain vigilant.

But your gaze was transfixed on the small, glossy blackhole of the phone camera, no matter how much you willed yourself to look away. It was closer now, nestled in Graves’ vest. He had swung his legs over the sides of the chair, his thighs framing yours, his unzipped fly at eye level. From this vantage point, the commander loomed like a monolith, a dark titan eclipsing the single overhead light. You had never felt so diminutive - a mouse ensnared in the paws of a lion, trapped with no escape, its sharp canines bared in a sinister, malevolent smirk. You were about to be devoured, and he would enjoy every second of your suffering.

In that moment, you felt more like prey than ever before, ensnared in a game where the rules were set by a merciless predator. Your mind raced, searching for any possible escape, but the options were bleak, and the weight of your predicament settled over you like a shroud. The world had narrowed to this claustrophobic bubble of fear and anticipation, where every second stretched into an eternity.

His proximity was suffocating, a tangible force that pressed against your very being. Every inch of your skin crawled with the awareness of his presence, the heat of his body seeping into yours, the faint, almost imperceptible scent of his sweat mingling with the stale air. You were acutely aware of every detail: the coarse texture of his vest, the roughness of his stubble, the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes as he toyed with you.

One of his hands reached over you, stopping so close to your neck that you could feel its warmth radiating. His forearm tensed in your peripheral vision, gripping the back of the chair that was pressed against the wall. His other hand seized the phone, and your heart seemed to freeze.

“Turn it off,” you rasped, your voice barely more than a desperate whisper. His hand inched closer to your throat, the side of his thumb grazing your fragile skin.

“You gonna tell me where they are?” he hummed, his tone casual, almost amused, as he watched you clench your teeth in defiance.

“Never,” you spat, finally tearing your gaze from the camera to the commander, delivering your most scathing glare. Graves merely chuckled, a low, chilling sound, turning the phone around before tucking it back into his vest.

This was infinitely worse than the back camera.

The fabric of his pocket obscured the bottom half of the screen. You wished it covered it all, wished it would disappear into the darkness that surrounded you.

You could just make out the upper portion of Johnny and Ghost’s feed, the gloom of the unknown house they had bunkered down in shrouding their surroundings. The recordings were severed horizontally, the top half belonging to your captain’s feed. Every pixel of his and Kyle’s figures was sharp and distinct, bathed in the cold glow of the screen. They were situated in what appeared to be an office, standing rigidly behind a wooden desk stripped of any belongings. The room was plunged in darkness, the only illumination emanating from the screen’s spectral light.

Kyle was teetering on the edge of panic; his brows were knit together in a tight, anxious furrow, and his eyes darted back and forth between Price and the screen, unable to settle. His body language betrayed a barely contained fear, a coiled spring ready to snap.

In stark contrast, the captain was a statue, eerily still, his face a mask of unyielding stoicism. If not for Kyle's visible distress, you might have thought their feed had frozen. The captain’s eyes were locked onto the screen with an intensity that seemed to cut through the darkness, a sentinel unwavering in the face of an impending storm. The silence was heavy, oppressive, as if the very air in the room had thickened, pressing down on them with the weight of the unknown.

Graves’ hand tensed around your throat, his thumb digging into the hollow of your windpipe, “Last chance to speak, peach.” He palmed himself through his pants with his other hand, the movement visible in your peripherals but you refused to look, refused to acknowledge it. This wasn’t happening.

“I don’t know anything,” you wheezed out, the awkward angle of your neck impeding coherent speech. It wasn’t a lie. You really didn’t know anything.

“I know you don’t. But your captain sure does.” The commander pressed against your neck again before rubbing his thumb in short strokes up and down the thin skin.

“You’re fuckin’ sick-” You heard Soap growl, the speakers muffled by the commander’s vest.

Your eyes scrunched shut impossibly tight when you saw the first glimpse of flesh, pressing your lips tightly together and trying to angle your head away. You focused on the sound of blood rushing through your ears, the throbbing of your heart too fast, thudding loudly in your skull.

“Open up, corporal,” Graves commanded, prodding at your cheek with something hot, smudging your skin with a bead of liquid.

Your stomach roiled, threatening to expel whatever it held. He dragged the smooth heat over your lips, and you held your breath to avoid breathing him in. You’d surely be sick if you did.

Your team would have a front-row seat to you throwing up. They’d think you weak. They’d worry, do something hasty. Like giving up the bombs’ positions.

You swallowed it back down. Graves could feel your throat bob beneath his hand and laughed.

His fingers clamped down over your nose, cutting off your airflow with an iron grip. You thrashed in a panic, eyes snapping open to stare into the cold, unfeeling lens of the phone camera. Each second without breath built a relentless pressure inside your skull, an unbearable vice squeezing your temples and pressing against the backs of your eyes. Refusing to surrender, you clamped your lips shut, a silent vow to suffocate yourself rather than give in to his sadistic whims.

But defiance has its limits. Your lungs quickly ignited with searing pain, a primal agony that clawed at your chest and sent your nerves ablaze. Tears welled up, blurring your vision, and your eyes throbbed with each pulse of your racing heart. The world around you faded, your senses dulled to nothing but the thunderous drumbeat of your life force hammering against your eardrums. Every cell in your body screamed for air, a desperate chorus of survival that you could no longer ignore.

Involuntary spasms wracked your frame as your body's betrayal became inevitable. Despite your ironclad resolve, your lips parted in a frantic, gasping surrender, drawing in the sweet, cursed oxygen with a ragged, shuddering breath.

You hardly got more than a couple of lungfuls of air before his heat landed on your tongue, prising your jaw open.

You gagged, fighting the intrusion, but it was no use. The commander was impossible to budge. The salty tang of the man on your tongue made bile rise up your throat again, burning the back of your nose with its pungent foulness. Swallowing it back down took all your willpower, and you felt tainted, soiled in a way that not even a thousand showers could wash away.

“That’s a good girl,” Graves crooned, his voice disgustingly condescending. His grip on your jaw and throat loosened, content to just rest it against your windpipe. A warning.

Your breaths came in short huffs through your nose as you tried to regain control over your raging emotions, desperate to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. Tears left shining trails down your cheeks as you glared at him defiantly. The smell of his aftershave lingered, coating your senses with a sickening film that made your throat spasm more.

He was unforgiving as he shoved himself further into your mouth, making your gums flood with saliva. Graves starts pumping in and out, his cock embroidering a burn in the hinges of your jaw.

His wiry hair meets your nose, and you realize - an idea buzzing in the very back of your brain, a stupid, stupid idea - there’s one thing you can do. He takes up your whole throat, and it threatens to suffocate you once more, to deprive you of oxygen for his own selfish gain. Between the throbbing in your skull, the burning in your lungs and the ringing in your ears, you managed to sink your teeth down, just fast enough to dent flesh before Graves squeezed at your throat with both hands and pulled himself out.

You could hardly make out his yelling and swearing over the pounding in your head. A dark vignette was creeping into your vision, blocking out the corners of the room. There was so much pain and pressure in your head you swore both your eardrums had ruptured - why else couldn’t you hear anything but static? His fingers press and press and press, but you can’t feel it, just the phantom pressure your brain thinks it should be feeling.

Suddenly, the world flashed back to life like an explosion of confetti, a burst of lights and colours shimmering around you. The room snapped into sharp focus, every detail hyper-real and jarring. The harsh overhead light cast long, stark shadows that danced erratically with every movement. Graves’ face, twisted in anger, loomed over you, his mouth moving furiously, though the sound still reached you as a muffled, distant echo.

The pain in your head ebbed slightly, enough for you to register the rough texture of the floor beneath you, the cold, unyielding surface grounding you in this nightmare. The oppressive heat of Graves’ presence was a tangible force, his fury radiating off him in waves. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy against your skin, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and sweat in the air.

The room seemed to pulsate with a sickening rhythm, each heartbeat pounding in your ears, syncing with the residual throbbing in your head. Your vision wavered, the edges blurring as you struggled to maintain focus. Every nerve in your body was alight with a dull, throbbing pain, an all-consuming ache that left you breathless and disoriented. You fought to hold onto consciousness, to keep the encroaching darkness at bay. The world around you was a chaotic symphony of sensations, each one more overwhelming than the last. The cold bite of the floor, the harsh glare of the light, the oppressive weight of Graves' anger - it all crashed over you like a relentless tide, threatening to pull you under.

When the world finally stopped spinning, you took stock of your body. The cold, unyielding floor pressed against your chest, your tied hands resting in the dip of your spine, the uneven surface underneath your stomach and hips. The chill of the air gnawed at the bare skin of your ass, an added cruelty to your already tortured state.

You turned your head, wincing against the sharp protests of your muscles, the cold floor a shock against your damp cheek. Every movement felt laborious, each breath a reminder of your vulnerability and the agony coursing through your body.

Then came the crack of skin on skin, a sharp clap that sliced clean through the air and echoed off the four walls. The sound reverberated, stark and unforgiving. You couldn't hold back the sob it wrenched from your chest, the sting against your rear smarting and burning with a fierce, unrelenting intensity. Your body tensed, muscles tightening involuntarily as pain surged through you. A forearm weighed down your back, forcing you to remain in place.

With a whistle and a clap, his hand came down again. The second blow was even more brutal, the impact radiating through your body, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. The sting deepened into a throbbing burn, and your cries filled the room, a testament to your suffering. Each strike, each sound, each breath became a stark reminder of your powerlessness, the brutal domination exerted over you. The room seemed to close in, the walls pressing tighter as if to contain your torment.

“M’ sorry!” You blubbered, your cheek smushed against the floor, your body jolting forward with each slap. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“That’s what we like to hear, doll.” Graves drawled from your side, smoothing his warm hand over the burning skin.

“Stop,” you hissed out between clenched teeth, resting your forehead against the cold concrete. Your chest was resting against the floor, but your hips were resting over his thighs, his stomach pressing into your arm.

“I didn’t mean to get so angry with you,” he cooed, placating, demeaning. His hands slid from your bottom down to your knees, running up and down the sweaty skin of your thighs. “Let me make it up to you.”

You gasped and struggled anew when his fingers grazed the apex of your thighs. You clenched your lips, trying to hold back a whimper that threatened to spill past. He chuckled, low and menacing, purposefully pressing his erection into your arm.

“No,” you spat between clenched teeth, but there was no venom in your voice. His touch sent a shiver down your spine that you couldn’t control. You clenched your fists at the twinge of arousal and humiliation surging through you. Graves chuckled darkly, his fingers continuing to tease lightly, sliding between your slit, touching your entrance with the tip of his middle finger. Without warning, he sinks a finger into you, easily following your hips when you try to squirm away.

The noise you make sounds wounded, and you only become more distressed when you see the way Graves’ eyes are trained are yours, his desire palpable.

It’s harder than you’d admit to keep from moaning. He’s skilled with his fingers, the three of them - because he’s shoved another, then another inside of you, ignoring your squirming. His wrist is bent at an awkward angle but it doesn’t seem to bother him as you squeeze your thighs around his hand.

“Feel good, hmm?”

“No,” you say on a moan, your hips working against your will as your peak rises in you, your heart stuttering in your chest.

“Pretty girl,” you hear him coo, a big and warm hand smoothing unruly hair behind your ear. Your eyes fly open as you pant, nearly cross-eyed with pleasure. “Oh, you’re right there aren’t you? C’mere,” he huffs, and you hold back a whine when he removes his fingers, pushing at your shoulder and side until you roll onto your back, crushing your arms. The cold floor stings your sore ass, but the pain doesn’t matter when his fingers dip into you again, straight back into his brutal pace and bringing you right back to the edge.

“Look at them when you cum, baby,” Graves urges, leaning over you fully, pulling the phone from his vest to angle it right over your face. Your eyes burst open, your mouth prepared to protest, but it’s too late.

It rocks through your body, sending shocks from your toes to your scalp. Your eyes roll back in your head as your entire body goes tense, Graves not giving you a moment of rest as he finger fucks you through your orgasm. A moment later, he pulls his fingers from you. You can’t help but wince, at both the loss and the way he pats the meat of your cunt before pulling his hand away completely, replacing it with the head of his cock.

When you try to kick out at him, the room is buzzing, still spinning. “Don’t,” you whimper, weakly pushing your boot against his shoulder. “Please, stop.”

“You didn’t enjoy it?” He mocks, reaching down to spread the lips of your pussy, showing the camera how they glisten. “Sure looks like you did.”

You’re openly sobbing now, your cheeks slick with both sweat and tears, hips bucking against the floor as he pushes inside of you. He’s slow at first, almost languid, then pistons in a slow, hard thrust that makes you wail from both the sting of the stretch and the raw overstimulation. It hurt so much, it felt like he was splitting you apart at the seams.

“That’s it, good girl,” Graves moans into the air as he slides in and out faster, harder, and you can do nothing but scrape your nails along the floor beneath you as a second wave of pleasure washes over you. You can see them now, through blurred vision and tears - they’re watching.

“Goddamn, doll,” Graves groans, his motions becoming more erratic as he grinds against you, “you feel so fucking good.” His hips smacked against your abused ass, and you could only whine uselessly, biting back a moan that threatened to escape your lips as he hit just the right spot. You buck up into him involuntarily and his grip on your hip tightens.

“Stop it, stop it- hah-” you panted wildly, struggling weakly against the hand pressing on your stomach, inching closer and closer to your clit.

“Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight,” he punctuates his point with a hard thrust, shoving your body upwards along the concrete. “You don’t want me to stop, do ya? If you did, you’d tell your boys to give me what I want.”

Your boys.

You barely managed to crack open one eye, face-to-face with the back camera again. A small mercy.

Why hadn’t they stopped this?

Your legs were shaking uncontrollably as Graves rested them against his shoulders, rising up on his knees and folding you in on yourself. He watches you squirm as you adjust to the new angle, spread impossibly wide around him, his cock bludgeoning a new space inside of you.

“C’mon, baby,” he grunts, hips rolling into you in a slow, sensual rhythm that makes your toes curl. “Show them how good it feels. You know you want to cum again.” The hand resting against your pelvis dips further, his fingers brushing against your clit torturously.

“No-” you begin to whimper, but it catches in your throat as he presses down on a sensitive spot, once, twice, thrice sending pleasure up your spine and stealing your breath away.

“That’s it,” he coos, as if he’s praising a well-behaved pet instead of fucking the very life out of you. “You can do it, come on, show me what I know you can do.”

The humiliation of it all makes you see stars, and you use whatever willpower you have left to keep yourself from cumming again.

“Look at you,” he scoffs, angling the phone with one hand so the camera could get a better look at your stretched pussy as he slammed into you from above, “You’re gonna cum for me again, aren’t you?” The shame that seared through your veins burned hotter than any bullet ever could. You shake your head no, but the motion is weak, half-hearted. “I know you are,” Graves growls, panting right in your ear, hot and heavy. “Tell them how good it feels. Go on, tell them.” He pistoned into you with renewed vigour, his balls slapping against your ass as he picked up speed, his breathing harsh in your ear.

“It- it feels- haah,” you panted, “Graves, it feels-”

“Say it.”

“So good, so good!” You moan, the walls of your pussy clenching around his cock as another orgasm tears through you, and the last semblance of pride you had left vanished. “Feels so good, fuck, so good.”

Graves’s grunts became louder, more aggressive in your ear, his pace relentless as he drove into you like a pile driver, his cock wringing every last drop of pleasure you had left to offer while you spewed a litany of cock-drunk praises.

You’re vaguely aware of Graves groaning his own pleasure as he came, collapsing on top of you like a dead weight. His cock twitched inside you, and you could feel the warmth of his spend filling you up. You lay there, catching your breath as best as you could, hiccuping and completely fucked-out.

When it was over, Graves pulled out of you with a wet sound, leaving you feeling empty and wrecked. Exhausted. You collapsed onto the cold concrete, tears staining your cheeks as your eyes wandered to the camera again.

You couldn’t bring yourself to feel ashamed, too exhausted. Your brain was a puddle of mush in your skull, sloshing around uselessly.

“Fuck, look at that…” Graves groaned from above you, spreading your pussy with his fingers. You could feel him leak out of you. “Maybe I’ll keep her after all. Didn’t care enough to stop me from ruinin’ her.” He sloppily scooped up whatever escaped before shoving it back into your cunt.

You knew what you signed up for when you enlisted.

The greater good above all, putting your life on the line for the sake of the mission.

So then why did it hurt so bad?

Why had none of them stopped Graves?

He turned the phone around for you one more time.

“What d’ya say, doll?”

Your eyes flickered over the screen, passing over the four boy’s faces. All stoic, still and stern. Kyle and Johnny looked significantly paler, ill, but neither had given in for you.

You nodded dumbly at Graves, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.

[captianprices40thson]

Just read you're other story, it was awesome. Can you write one with male reader being married to graves and ale and rudy flirting with m/n, but every time m/n is like I'm married but never tells hes married to graves. And one day they are making out on the couch and ale and rudy walk in and are like " NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WHY HIM OF ALL PEOPLE. " and " THAT SHOULD BE ME. "

Do you have a man? I don’t see a ring on your finger

Word count: 2.3k

Requested: Yes

Warnings: Graves (jk) None really. A lot of fluff, Los Vaqueros and Graves have beef, Alejandro complains about white people (as he should), 

Notes: Wrote the vast majority of this in class while listening to IT GIRL. You know this is gonna be good. And yes, if you've submitted a request the last three days after I posted my last fic, I’ve started to work on it. Gotten a lot more than I’ve expected so I’m trying my best lol. And Anon, if you want me to rewrite this or make something different, please just ask me to, I really don't mind. I'm not too proud of this one, but I hope I've satisfied you.

(Takes place before the Graves betrayal. Reader is not part of the 141, Shadows or Los Vaqueros, but a secret fourth thing.)

“Come on, Guapo. You’re bluffing.” Alejandro smirked, crossing his arms as he spoke. You chuckled, leaning back against the truck that Rudy was loading up. This wasn’t the first time he had accused you of lying about your relationship status. If you had a dollar for each time, you’d have enough to have another wedding.

“I’m telling you, Alejandro. I’m a married man. How many more times do I have to tell you?” You confirmed for the millionth time, a stupid grin on your face. Truth be told, you didn’t half mind their flirting, it made you feel better about yourself knowing that you still got it. The fact that they refused to believe that you were married, it was sort of funny.

“I don’t see a ring.” Rudy added in after he loaded the final bag onto the truck, a know-it-all look on his face as he walked up to you too. You rolled your eyes, refusing to move from your position because you thought you looked too cool not to. “No one wears rings during active duty, Rodolfo. You see Soap and Ghost wearing theirs?” You spoke back, pushing yourself off your spot on the car for two reasons. Them being, you thought it would be cooler and Rudy was moving to open the door your foot was suffocating.

“No, Ghost wears his ring around his neck. Also I’m pretty sure Soap lost his.” Alejandro commented, making eye contact with you. It wasn’t for long because you immediately closed your eyes as you scoffed.

“Well, that’s Soap for you. I guess I just prefer to not wear mine.” You reasoned, looking over to Rudy, to Alejandro and then over to a whistle that just sounded American. That always made you smile, seeing Graves whistle his Shadows like they were dogs.

“Oh great, it’s the gringo.” Alejandro hissed, causing you to turn your head and shake it a bit.

“Hey.” You scolded him like he was a child and had just said he hated something, which was kind of true. Los Vaqueros had a sort of special hatred for Graves, perhaps it was because he was the most American man you’d ever meet, perhaps it was because he was just kind of an asshole. You’ve been trying to get them to get along, but so far it would only work on Rudy. He was the kinder of the two, it was clear.

“Alejandro. We talked about this.” Rudy chimed in, causing Alejandro to hold out his arms in disbelief. He dropped them to his sides and pointed over to Graves.

“Is it my fault he’s so white? I’m literally being blinded every time I look over at him!” He protested, causing you to chuckle a little. Rudy didn’t let himself smile, although he was internally.

“I know. It is very painful to look at him.” Rudy nodded, placing a hand on Alejandro’s shoulder and shaking his head like he was sympathising with Alejandro after he had been shot or something, not like he was complaining about white people. A valid complaint in most people’s eyes.

“I don’t even say it to any of the 141.” The taller man whisper-shouted, searching for sympathy from you. You smiled, shaking your head as you walked over to him and placed a hand on his other shoulder so you were now one big line.

“Oh yes, you’re very strong, Ale.” You patronised him, talking down to him like he was a toddler. Before he had time to punch you, Graves walked over. Sorry, not walking, strided like the sassy man he is.

“Alright gentlemen. Let’s get this show on the road. You coming with me, Y/N?” Graves smiled, looking over to you. Both Alejandro and Rudy looked over to you, knowing that you always travelled with Graves when you went to go do something. Not belonging to any of their groups, you preferred to travel with your husband.

“Ye-”

“Actually, Y/N will be travelling with us for this mission, Graves. He’s been with you every other time.” Alejandro butted in, placing his arm in front of you like you were going to run off to the man at any minute if he didn’t step in.

“You can’t just decide where he does and doesn’t go, compadre.” Graves tried to argue, but you gave him a look to say it was fine. He nodded, making a little symbol with his hands to tell you that you were to make it up to him later. You had created a lot of those symbols, knowing that it would be hard to communicate all your incredibly affectionate thoughts for one another.

Graves walked away and the three of you turned to the car. Rudy tossed the keys around in his hands, indicating you were to sit in the back because of course Alejandro always had to take shotgun if Rudy was driving.

“Who used this truck last?” Alejandro asked as he opened the passenger’s seat door, sitting down while you buckled in and Rudy turned the keys.

“Uh, It was you last, right Y/N?” Rudy asked, turning back to you. You gave them a thumbs up, your mind replaying why exactly you had used the truck last time. Makeout sessions were not easy to go on base, and the trucks had tinted windows.

“Wait what the…who the fuck did you have in here? W-Why is the seat back like that?” Rudy asked as leant back in the seat only to realise just how far back it was positioned. The taller man held the lever that would pull the seat back up for Rudy and before you could deny anything, Alejandro had something to ask..

“AND WHY DOES THIS CAR SMELL LIKE JAPANESE CHERRY BLOSSOM? WHO THE FUCK DID YOU HAVE IN HERE?” He yelled, causing Rudy to laugh to himself at seeing your guilty face.

“THAT'S JUST HOW I LIKE TO DRIVE!” You lied, trying to come up with an excuse for why the truck was like this. You were sure they didn’t believe you, but they didn’t say anything about it for a moment.

“Sureee, we believe you, love.” Rudy smiled, starting up the car and beginning to lead the rest of the group to the relocation point. You looked over at your hand in the backseat, wondering why you had chosen not to wear your wedding ring. Sure, it was impractical as hell to have on the field, but you could easily attach it to something else, like a necklace. 

“What’re you thinking about, carino? Tryna make up a personality for your fake husband?” Alejandro asked, looking back at you from his chair. You frowned, like a full on cartoon downturned face.

“He isn’t fake, forehead. And what I’m thinking of is none of your business.”

“Oh I get it. It was sexual. You were totally thinking about Rudy and I.” “Don’t drag me into this Ale.”

“You helped me dig this hole, Rudy. You’re coming in with me.”

“Why do you make everything about sex?”

“Why do you not?”

“I’m a human that respects everyone around me, Alejandro. You don't…” You decided to tune them out, it was just the same bickering every time that somehow got you roped up in it. You’d heard it all before. They’d argue about something or other and eventually they’d make up when you forced them to, which made them want to flirt with you even more. You didn’t mind the flirting…it just got a bit tiring sometimes.

________

“Hey baby.” Graves smiled as you entered the small section of the base that was dedicated to the shadows while they stayed for the time being. You smiled, walking up to him and embracing the American man in your tired arms, just wanting to hold him.

“Hey Graves.” You mumbled into his shoulder, your voice being muffled by the fabric of his shirt. It was one of your favourites, a dark blue that suited him well. Graves reached a hand up, holding the back of your head and slowly swaying from side to side.

“How were your little cowboy friends? Better drivers than me?” Graves asked, making you groan, remembering how they were flirting with you all trip. The American chuckled at your response, continuing to hold you close.

“They just can’t seem to understand that I’m married. They think it’s impossible…I don’t know whether or not it’s a compliment and at this point, I don’t care.” You groaned, lifting your head up to meet his eyes. His smile, no matter how much of an asshole he was being, was always kind to you.

“Aww, baby.” Graves frowned, holding your face in his hands. You smiled and placed both your hands on his waist, both of you leaning forward to kiss. The two of you had missed the touch that you never seemed to get, this was a rare time.

You both went down to the couch, Graves on top of you as you made out. He moved one of his hands to hold you from the back and you put another in his hair, holding the platinum blonde locks as your passion rose to the surface.

“What the fuck?!” The accented yell caused you and Graves to pull apart and look where it came from. A very very shocked Alejandro and Rudy stood in the doorway, both caught off guard by the situation.

“W-What are you two doing here?” You asked as Graves pushed himself off of you so you could speak to the two men. They never visited this part of the base on purpose, avoiding Graves and his shadows like the plague.

“What are you doing here?” Alejandro retorted, pointing to the two of you with a confused look on his face.

“I’d say its pretty obvious what my husband is doing here.” Graves butted in, pointing to you with his thumb, causing both Alejandro and Rudy’s jaws to drop. You almost let out a laugh, instead choosing to hide your reaction and just look at them blankly.

“W-What did you say?” Rudy questioned Graves, looking over at him and then back to you. It was like he couldn’t believe that someone as sweet and kind as you…was married to Phillip Graves.

“Y/N is my husband. He wasn’t lying about being married, y’know?” Graves smiled a stupid shit eating grin at the two men’s reactions. They both looked over at him, then back to you seemingly in unison. You could only lift up your hands a bit and give a ‘sorry smile’ to them. 

“B-But if not us…why him?” “COME ON, Y/N. YOU CAN DO SO MUCH BETTER!” Alejandro added in, more fond of shouting than Rudy would ever be. You made eye contact with Graves while they yelled, trying to figure out why he was the one you were romantically interested in,

“D-Do you just have a thing for Americans?”

“Is he lying to you about how good of a person he is?”

“What type of car does he drive?” 'HE'S THE WORST, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

“Fuckin white people, taking everything anyone else wants.”  "WHY HIM OF ALL PEOPLE?"

While the two Mexican men started rambling and guessing why you would be with Graves and not them, you and Graves decided to share another kiss while they argued, effectively shutting them both up.

“You two,” You started as now you finally had their attention. “We’re with each other because we love each other…simple.” You smiled, watching them take in the fact that you actually might just love Graves.

There was a silence while they processed that, a deafening silence and if anyone came past the room, they’d assume there was no life in there. It stayed for a minute before Alejandro spoke up.

“This isn’t over, white boy.” He vaguely threatened, making ‘watching you’ hand gestures and walking out of the room backwards, maintaining eye contact with Graves the whole time. 

“What he said.” Rudy added on, quickly walking after him, just keeping his head forward. When Alejandro bumped into the wall while trying to exit, Rudy grabbed his shoulder and they both muttered something to one another, Alejandro rubbing his head as he left.

“Were they high? What was that?” Graves asked, completely confused on what just went down. You didn’t know whether to defend them or not, because to be honest, you thought they were as well.

“I have no clue…” You whispered, turning back to Graves and laying back down on the couch in the position you were in before. The blonde saw this and smiled, laying down back on top of you, not kissing you, just laying there.

“We can deal with them later.” He whispered, closing his eyes and just laying there with you. You smiled, placing your hand in his hair and mentally preparing yourself for whatever the dynamic duo were going to try next. You had no idea what it was going to be, but you just hoped they wouldn’t resort to trying to kill Graves. But, there was no saying what those men would stoop to to win your affection.

[neoarchipelago]

I’m not sure if you’re still doing the sex pollen stories butttt I just read the one for Price (holy shit🔥)and I thought I’d ask for a Graves one🫠

Ah yes... GRAVES. First time writing for him... Damn ... Hope you'll like it...

Philip Graves on Sex Pollen (GN!reader)

Graves would be cocky. Probably would brush aside any worry you threw his way. He'd joke about it, saying he'll have a great night or something. You'd eye him suspiciously, keeping an eye from far away. That man is proud. So when the symptoms start to truly break him, he has to step away from his shadows. You know him. It's been a long time and you know every little manners of this man. You dart behind him.

You walk amongst the dark base hallways until you hear a muffled curse. You slowly peek around the corner just to feel a wave of heat crash over you. The sight of graves, pants and boxers around his thighs as one of his hands holds his shirt up, perfect abs clenching with every stroke of his other hand around his hard member. You feel yourself lick your lips as you watch him pump himself, drops of precum glistening.

You look behind you before finally stepping to him. You watch his eyes widen immediately as you come into view. He should have asked for help. He should have said something. Proud bastard. You drop to your knees in front of him as he lets out a choke of your name.

The salty taste makes you hum as he hissed, throwing his head back. His hands meet your hair, helping you move your warm mouth on his shaft.

Between curses and hisses you can practicality hear the smirk on his face as he mumbles a few words.

"fuck... You just wanted this huh?" He chuckles. "Didn't have to follow me... Could have just asked..." He teased again.

Your tongue circled his tip making him gasp in between words, a silent reminder that right now, you were the one in a position of strength, whether you were the one on your knees or not.

His first release was quick, warm salty at the back of your throat, little 'thanks' and praises falling from his lips.

Eventually, and you don't know by what miracle, you found yourselves in his bed, his hips ramming into you harshly. You were glad you had managed to find some place more private because the pornographic noises from you, him and your pussy made could have fallen in unwanted ears.

"shit... You feel so fucking good... Damn... Should have done this sooner..." He grinned while his cock buried itself faster into your pretty hole.

You could only whine at his taunts, the exhaustion and overwhelming feeling of your previous orgasms making your mind buzz.

"do you think they can hear us?? Fuck... I hope they do..." He teased, his hips faltering.

You threw your head back, another orgasm hitting you harshly as he released himself inside you.

He was more than desperate. It was complicated to keep his strong facade, cocky and proud, he was too lost on you. Lost in the pretty sounds you made and the way your body reacted to him. The way you clenched around his cock perfectly. He'd be embarrassed in the morning, fuck... But right now, he had his face hidden in your neck, kisses and bites muffling moans and begs for you to let him cum inside you again.

If you'd tap out and you'd give him consent to keep fucking you, he would. No hesitation. His large hands on your hips as his eyes wouldn't look away from where the two of you connected. The view only sending him to the edge again.

You'd blink your eyes open, the feeling of his thick cock twitching inside you as he looked down at you with something in between need and appreciation.

In the morning, he'd be gentle for you, in the secrets of his room, soft aftercare. However he'd gloat about you being his now, even though you hadn't even talked about it. Wouldn't deny anything to the shadows talking to each other about strange noises.

[sp0-t]

Your camera roll if you were married to…

PHILLIP GRAVES

[faerybones3]

Me and the Devil

Simon interrupts your prayers. You mistake him for someone else.

simon x fem!reader | read on ao3

2.4k wc

cw: canon typical violence, blood and gore, a bit of religious psychosis for funsies, simon is a dick, religious imagery, simon manhandles you

The only sound you could hear was the hammering of your heart as you sprinted across the street, keeping yourself as low to the ground as you could in order to stay out of sight.

You just had to make it to the church. You knew you’d be safe there.

Rain sloshed around your ankles, soaking your shoes.

You turned a corner and halted, ducking behind a car, when you saw a group of men dressed in all black tactical gear and helmets. One of the men, their leader if you were to guess, was speaking in halting spanish to another man kneeling on the ground before them. You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle your cry as the leader kicked the kneeling man in the head. 

You didn’t stick around to see what happened next. You knew all too well what happened to helpless women on these streets in the dead of night, and you had no interest in becoming their next meal. If they found you, they would not spare you an ounce of their wrath. 

When at last you came to the large church at the center of the city, you quickly checked the area for threats, and quietly slipped in through the front door.

For the first time in what felt like hours, you felt your body relax. Those men, the ones in all black, had invaded Las Almas, had invaded your home, overnight. In a matter of hours, they had turned the city into a feast of violence, gorging themselves on the blood of your friends, your people. 

But you had made it to the church. You were safe now. You were protected. 

Deft hands gripped the rosary tucked securely into your shirt as you pulled it out and over your head. You wrapped it around your hands as you approached the altar at the front of the church. A large stained glass window loomed over you as you kneeled. You quickly glanced up at it. The image of Jesus, bleeding and dying on a cross, looked down at you. The rain from outside warped the depiction, and he seemed to regard you with a kind of commiseration as you stared into the blue glass of his eyes. 

You bowed your head again and started to pray. 

You were so engrossed in your prayer that you didn’t hear the door creak open several minutes later. 

It was the heavy footsteps that echoed along the walls that finally made your head turn. A hulking figure, shrouded in shadow, stood in the far corner of the room. He blended so well into the darkness behind him that you wouldn’t have seen him if not for the tiny glint of white coming from the area where his face should be. 

You stood from your position on the floor, fearing the worst. 

He mumbled something you couldn’t hear and then began to walk forward. When he stepped into the light, you screamed. 

What looked back at you was something, someone, from your nightmares. Your childhood boogeyman. The one lurking in darkness, who would “get you” if you disobeyed your parents. Hulking and dressed in all black; his face, a mask of ivory bone. The priest would speak of him with wariness, warning you not to believe his false tongue, for his gift of temptation was a siren song. 

And he stood before you now. The devil had come for you. 

He held up his hands as his footsteps toward you quickened. You quickly unwrapped the rosary from around your fingers and launched it at him. It had no effect as it bounced off of his chest, landing with a dull clack onto the floor. Unfazed, he continued his march towards you. You frantically backed away from him, tripping on the steps up to the altar and landing on the heels of your hands. It was all in vain, he was too quick. He caught up to you in two strides and yanked you to your feet. It wasn’t until he covered your mouth with a large, gloved hand that you realized you had still been screaming.

“You need to shut the fuck up,” he said in a low, rough voice.

What had you done to deserve this? Had you offended God in some way? You had always tried your hardest to be good and faithful. Why was he punishing you now? 

Under his hand, you sobbed. Too paralyzed with fear, you couldn’t fight against his harsh grip. Hot tears ran down your cheeks and seeped into the fabric of his glove. The two of you stood like that for another minute, him looking at you with cold, dead eyes, until he spoke again. 

“Not gonna hurt you, but you’ve gotta be quiet. Can you do that?”

He wasn’t going to hurt you? It had to be a trick. But his grip around your face was near suffocating, so with wide eyes, you slowly nodded. 

His eyes squinted from behind his bone-white mask, clearly not believing that you wouldn’t try to scream again, but eventually he dropped his hand. 

You stood stock-still as he stepped away to mumble something into what appeared to be a radio in his vest.

Radio?

A man on the other side answered almost immediately, voice gruff, and you heard snippets of their conversation. Words like “shadows” and “graves” touched your ears in between the grinding radio static. 

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked when you found your voice. 

He mumbled something else into his radio before looking back to where you stood, still frozen, in the aisle. 

“Not really in the business of killin’ helpless women.”

You kept your eyes trained on him as you took a few steps and retrieved your rosary from where it had landed on the ground when you threw it at him. Bunching it in your hands, you glared at him. 

“You don’t fool me, diablo.”

His eyes narrowed at you from underneath his mask. 

“The fuck are you on about—“

Your heart dropped to your stomach as suddenly, a loud boom sounded from the front door of the church. The devil’s head whipped around at the noise. In a single moment, he closed the distance between you, grabbed your arm and threw you down like a rag doll between the nearest pews.

“Stay down,” he growled. 

Having no choice but to obey, you shoved your head between your knees and scrunched down, willing yourself to become as small as possible. 

In the next moment, you heard the sound of the church doors crashing open with a resounding bang. Heavy footsteps followed. 

A booming voice sounded from the other end of the room. 

“Found you, asshole.”

And then, gunshots. 

Bodies thudded to the floor, someone screamed, and the sound of a blade cutting through flesh rang in the air. You clapped your hands over your ears, praying for all the world that this was all just a nightmare that you would soon wake from.

As the noise died down, you craned your neck to look up. Half a dozen bodies littered the floor, looking more like pincushions than people. There, in the center of the room, the devil stood in the middle of it all. With the strength of ten men, he had savagely cut them down as if they were nothing but insects. Bile rose in your throat at the sight, but you quickly forced it back down with a groan.

Assuming the worst was over, you attempted to rise to your feet, only for something large and heavy to crash into you, bowling you over. Your back ached as it hit the cold wooden floor. You cried out in pain and shock. Something, no, someone had pushed you back down. 

Before your brain could process what was happening, a man came into view above you and used one giant arm to pin you to the floor. His other arm was raised above your head, and you noticed the glint of a knife clutched in his hand. 

You screamed. Your arms shot out and you desperately clawed at the man, using all the strength in your body to fight him off. But he was twice your size. You were nothing to him, useless in defending yourself.

His body suddenly went slack as a bullet lodged itself in his throat. Hot, sticky blood poured out of him, leaking onto your face, your nose, your mouth, suffocating you. The knife fell from his fingers and clattered to the floor. His heavy head dropped to your chest and you desperately scrambled to shove him away. You rose on unsteady feet for the second time, gripping the back of the pew for balance. You wiped frantically at your face and your hands came away covered in scarlet gore.

When you looked up, you saw your infernal savior staring back at you, gun in hand. He regarded you for a moment; he seemed to be thinking hard about something. His eyes then raked over your ragged and bloodstained figure, and you felt small and weak under his intense gaze. 

You broke eye contact to retch onto the floor. 

While you spilled the contents of your stomach, he barked something into his radio again and then set to work removing a plate carrier vest from one of the many bodies strewn about the place. As soon as you sat back up, he thrust it into your arms. 

“Put it on, we’re leaving.”

You stared at him for a beat, vest in hand, your breath coming in croaking gasps. Surely he didn’t mean for you to go with him? Was he kidnapping you? 

“Now!”

You flinched. Once again, he left you with little room for argument. You couldn’t stay here; surely there would be more of those men coming now. You could already hear the faint sound of gunshots in the distance. 

The one place you thought you would be safe, now ripped out from under you. 

With shaking hands, you slipped the vest over your head and attempted to tighten the straps, but it didn’t do much good. The vest was huge, and you looked and felt ridiculous in it.

You followed your devil protector out the front door, walking quickly to keep pace with him. He held his gun to his chest, eyes searching constantly for hidden threats. More gunshots sounded in the distance, getting closer with every step you took. 

As you reached the gate surrounding the church, you spotted a man on the outside.

“Ghost!” He yelled when he spotted you both. 

“Soap!” 

Ghost? Soap? What kind of names were these?

Your devil, Ghost, grabbed your arm and mercilessly pulled you along. Once through the gate, he shoved you in front of him and, ever the bodyguard, caged his body around your own as the three of you ran down the steps. 

“We need a vehicle, on me-!” He was so close, you could feel the sound of his shout reverberate through his chest. 

You ran across the street, ducking behind abandoned cars for cover as the boom of gunshots surrounded you on all sides. You had never been more terrified. The only thing keeping your body moving was the adrenaline pumping through your blood and the unrelenting hand gripping your shoulder. 

Up ahead, you saw a truck with the lights still on. The other man had seen it too, and yelled. The three of you sprinted to it. Approaching the truck, the pressure on your shoulder subsided as you were released. He threw open the backseat door, grabbed you again by the vest, and unceremoniously threw you into the back of the truck. 

You landed on the backseat, but quickly rolled over to the floor. You kept your head down as you felt the truck back up, hit something, or probably someone, and then stop. One of the men shouted again and you heard another gunshot. You didn’t dare lift your head to see what had happened. You learned your lesson from last time. 

The truck started moving again and the men remained quiet up front, catching their breath. You didn’t rise from the floor for another few minutes. 

At the sound of you climbing up to sit in the backseat, the second man looked back at you. His eyebrows scrunched up and a brief look of shock passed over his face, as if just now processing your presence. 

“Who the fuck is this?”

Ghost’s eyes met yours in the rearview mirror briefly before he turned his attention back to the road. 

“Civ,” he said quietly.

The man looked aghast.

“We babysittin’ now?”

There was a tense moment between the men. The air in the truck felt stiflingly hot. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you remembered the drying blood that still coated your face and body. You wished they wouldn’t talk about you as if you weren’t there, but you bite your tongue. 

“She’d be dead if I left her.”

“She’s no safer with us, L.T.”

Ghost didn’t respond.

You opened your mouth to speak, but an uncontainable giggle burst from your lips as sudden realization dawned on you. 

“Lieutenant,” you said as another, louder laugh escaped you. 

You doubled over, fully cackling now at your own stupidity. Of course he was no devil. He was just a man. How foolish and afraid you had been. 

Of course your God had not forsaken you. He had sent you a savior. Albeit a very strange and terrifying savior, but a savior nonetheless. The devil had not come for you. At least not yet. 

The two men silently watched you as you laughed. Tight concern pinched the face of the man riding shotgun. When your laughter died down, he twisted fully in his seat to face you. There was an almost cautious smile on his face, as if you were a wild animal that would bite him if he made a wrong move. 

“Name’s Johnny, miss.”

You wiped the heel of your hand across your cheek and told him your own name. He nodded politely and turned to the other man. 

“And, eh— Ghost,” said Johnny, gesturing awkwardly with his hand. 

You scoffed under your breath. “Weird fucking name,” you said quietly. 

Ghost’s eyes darted up to yours in the mirror again, and Johnny barked a laugh of his own.

���You sure know how to pick ‘em, L.T.”

[undervalentina]

Konig x Reader

Enemy’s to lovers nsfw type shit

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konig and y/n had something out for one another, some people guess maybe it’s because they were both competitive in their jobs, and others thought it was childhood enemies shit, but in reality, it was way more than that. Shit started to get worse the more time passes but now Especially when they were in the same friend group it was worse. Each time when their friend group would talk to Y/n, Konig would just stare her down like she was just a small bunny, and Y/n would just roll her eyes at him each time he did that. He would sometimes make some remarks each time she finished talking to the others in the group, whispering in his low voice “Of course” or “Whatever you say” mocking her, making her feel dumb. She turned her face looking up at him (since the high difference) annoyed and embarrassed on her face “the fuck are you trying to say” he looked down at her amused and smirked *you know what I mean bunny* dragging the last word. he knew how much that name teased her. “You bitch” stepping towards him but before she could get closer a few of their friends would intervene grabbing her back “Come on don’t start again you two”. “Let me fucking put him in his place” leaning forward towards him. He chuckled seeing how desperate she was. “You fucking wish bunny” He stare her down one last time before walking off. Their friends released their grip after he walk away “You need to figure this out its getting old now” “yea this shit is getting out of hand” the other friend agreed looking annoyed and crossing his arms. She walks away following Konig .” fuck another fight again” the friend plam his face. The other one signs “I’m too tired to stop them they need to figure it out” looking at his friend “yea you’re right”.

Y/n followed konig where he was entering his key into his door lock. She puts a hand on his shoulder before he can step into his room. “What’s your problem with me?!” he quickly turns facing his body toward her towering over her. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t frightened by his firm figure. She quickly tries to take her hand back from his shoulder. Before she could his hand quickly reached over grabbing her risk and tightening his grip. She quickly shut her eyes “Ah konig let go” she whined, he ignored her then quickly grabbed her other risk and pushed her body against the door locking her risk down on the wall. His body is towering down at body. his eyes looking down at her emotionless. He lean in close and whisper down at her neck “You are the fucking problem whore” Her body shivered from his reply “If I’m a whore why don’t you do something about it” she said coldly trying to push him (mentally). “Gladly” he replied in a whisper suddenly she felt one of his leg pushing up between her legs gap. “konig-g“ his knee now putting pressure in her sweet spot. She bites down on her lip trying not to moan “he continues whispering in her ear teasing her “I’ll show you who’s in charge” he leans in kissing her roughly. His tongue tries to enter but she quickly denies teasing him. He puts more pressure on his knee grinding it on her sweet spot. She moans opening her mouth for a quick second giving him enough time to use his tongue to explore her mouth. The soft moans escaped from her lips, her body feeling vulnerable against his touch she couldn’t help but love how rough he was on her. His hands let go of her risks and started to travel all over her body, one hand groping her breasts another hand traveling behind her neck to her hair. pulling her hair between into his fist. Causing her neck to tilt up. He stopped kissing her lips and started to kiss her exposed neck, still pulling her hair back in a firm grip. he puts more pressure on his knee grinding even harder. her body couldn’t take this euphoric feeling. her hand found its way to his back clawing her nails through his outfit, he softly moans feeling the pressure. His lips kiss her lower and lower giving her red and purple hickeys all over her neck and chest. Her muffled moans try to escape from her close lips. He breaks away from her chest and looks down at her with his cold eyes “I can’t punish you out here let’s take this more private” he whispers. Releasing his grip from her hair and removing his knee between his inner thigh. She whined not feeling the tension “Fine”. He grabs her waist and puts her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing. She gasp at this sudden move “Come on slut” opening the door and stepping in.

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Um tell me if I should continue it orrrr whateverr

[peachetteprice]

I swear none of you guys understand just how 1960s AU ex-Vietnam vet coded Phillip Graves is. Can you imagine him with a flask on his hip, smoking a cigarette, flicking open and shut a lighter at a bar beyond dusk, re-tuning the radio on his piece of junk Ford just so he can sing along to his guilty pleasure, The Beach Boys?

Spending all his weekends fixing up his pride and joy, a 1961 racing-red Chevy Corvette (convertible), hosing down her tires and making her body shine with a little spit and chrome polish? Are we... are we seeing the vision?

[galaxysweets]

Homebound hero

(Phillip coming home to his wife ❤️)

The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the suburban landscape. Phillip Graves, a seasoned soldier, stepped off the plane with a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. The weight of his military gear was replaced by the heaviness of his heart as he made his way through the bustling airport. The familiar faces of loved ones reunited enveloped him, but his focus was fixed on one person – his wife.

At the doorstep of their cosy home, Phillip hesitated before unlocking the door. He took a deep breath, letting the scent of familiarity wash over him. As the door creaked open, the soft murmur of voices reached his ears. His heart quickened.

In the living room, Phillip found y/n surrounded by photographs and the comforting hum of a kettle on the stove. She turned at the sound of the door, her eyes widening in disbelief. The room seemed to stand still as they locked eyes, emotions swirling between them like a hurricane.

Without a word, y/n rushed into Phillip's arms, her tears of joy mingling with his overwhelming relief. The tight embrace conveyed more than words ever could – the fear of loss, the months of separation, and the enduring love that had kept them connected across the distance.

Over dinner, Phillip recounted tales of the battlefield, sparing no detail in his desire to share every moment with y/n. She listened intently, her eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and concern. As the evening progressed, laughter replaced tears, and the weight of war slowly lifted from Phillip's shoulders.

Later, in the quiet intimacy of their bedroom, Phillip and y/n found solace in each other's presence. The dim light revealed the traces of weariness etched on Phillip's face, but his eyes shone with a newfound appreciation for the simple joys of being home.

Wrapped in the warmth of their shared history, they lay side by side, recounting dreams, fears, and the moments they had missed. The night unfolded like a love story, where the hero returned not to a battlefield but to the sanctuary of home, reuniting with the love that had sustained him through the trials of war.

As they drifted into sleep, hand in hand, the echoes of distant battles faded, replaced by the quiet serenity of a homebound hero finding refuge in the embrace of his waiting wife.