#phillip graves x fem reader

[icarustypicalfall]

Sweet Cherry Wine

Phillip Graves x fem!reader

summary: I'll crawl home to you, and if you dare to push me away, I'll break into ashes, thus my dust will fill your every space.

★ comfort (reversed) fluff/angsty/married couple/ legal age gap

notes: a sweet treat for my stars, so sorry for being away, I don't know when I'll come back, it feels too good to be here, and I don't want to leave. Ilysm for everything you had done to me, your support for the last 5 months had been incredible. I never thought I'd start this journey and honestly, it's all amazing. ty <3

★

The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine

Your husband was unusually quiet tonight. Despite being a proud man who usually took every opportunity to boast about you and his company, he remained silent throughout the evening. His arm rested gently on your waist as he absentmindedly followed the conversation. At first, you assumed he was just being protective, but there was something else on his mind.

You caught him stealing glances at your two friends dancing together on the dance floor. Sipping your drink, you couldn't help but wonder what was bothering him. He had refused to dance, citing an aching back from work. You absentmindedly traced the scar on his cheek, but he gently brushed your hand, placing it back on the table, as if he didn't want to be touched or engaged with. Finally, you understood and let go of him. Philip coughed nervously, fidgeting with his hands before deciding to step outside for a smoke. You nodded, deciding to join your friends on the dance floor. His behavior occupied your mind, but you resolved to ask him later what was wrong.

★

You slipped off your heels and fell onto the bed with a contented sigh. Philip sat on the edge, almost slumping to the ground. It was then that you noticed the furrowed brow that he wore. He was never one to easily show vulnerability or ask for help. You couldn't blame him, considering all that he had been through.

You moved closer to him, and he turned his head, avoiding your gaze. Your hand gently rested on his back, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating beneath your cold fingers. He hesitated for a moment before leaning into your touch. You sighed.

"What's wrong, Phil? Something bothering you?"

He remained silent for several moments, but then a sob escaped his lips as his body subtly shook. He turned away, hiding his face completely from you. His blond hair fell messily onto his forehead as he whispered between his hands with a broken tone, "Why me? Why did you choose me?"

You furrowed your brow, and he repeated himself, this time with a melancholic tone that couldn't be mistaken.

"I'm an old dog, nothing more than a war machine. Why me, darling? You could have had any other man— young, handsome. Yet you chose me," he confessed, gripping your hand tightly. His voice was quiet, but his words resonated louder than any shout.

"No, that's not true. I chose you because..."

He shook his head, unwilling to listen to anything. He interrupted, looking at you with a frown. "You know that I'm too old for you, right? I've got a face full of wrinkles, my hair is turning grey..." He turned away, releasing your hand and standing up. "Why can't you find yourself a younger man? Someone who can still dance with you at parties? Someone who can make you happy?"

You protested, standing up and facing him. "You make me happy."

He shook his head, looking at you once again. Affection was always present in his gaze, but fear had blinded him.

"Somebody who... somebody who won't die and leave you a widow," he said, looking into your eyes. The once bright blue of his eyes now reflected a somber shade, like a raging arctic in the midst of a storm of doubts.

"You know the end, we all die sooner or later. Why think about it now?"

"B-because you deserve better than me," he stammered.

"I love you," you said firmly.

His head snapped back, familiar with those words that were repeated daily, from dawn till dusk. But in this moment, they held more significance than ever.

"I love you. Nothing else matters to me. Why would I want another man when I have you?"

His cheeks flushed slightly, and he coughed, a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

"What about when I'm 60 and can't get out of bed without groaning?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, a smile mirroring one from long ago.

"When you can hardly walk and your hair is falling out, I'll still feel the same about you," you reassured, squeezing his hand and smiling.

He looked at you in disbelief. "You'd do that for me? Even if I became a miserable old coot who wakes up every morning with joints that creak louder than an engine?"

You nodded. "When you reach 60, that'll still be 20 years from now. Until then, we can live without worrying about it. It doesn't matter what you become; it's about the life we've had together. No one cares about later. Let's enjoy what we have, Phil."

"God, I feel like I'm talking to a poet or something," he chuckled.

His hand gently cupped yours, his thumb tracing over the scar on his cheek. "What about my s-," he began, but you interrupted him with a tender kiss on his cheek. The warmth of your lips left a burning sensation on his skin, igniting a fire within him.

"I adore it, I adore every scar you have, everything about you," you assured him, your words carrying a depth of love and acceptance.

Tears welled up in his eyes once again, and you brushed them away with your thumb, kissing away the single tear that escaped. The weight of judgment and self-doubt he had been carrying seemed heavier than any burden he had faced before.

A wide grin spread across his face, and he lifted you up, spinning you around in joy. "Something about you makes me so happy, darling... your words are like witchcraft!" he exclaimed, his laughter filling the room.

You giggled, playfully ruffling his blond locks, earning a mock frown from him. "No! No touching the hair!" he protested, but you couldn't resist running your fingers through his soft hair once more, as if symbolically removing the last traces of doubt from his mind. He couldn't help but laugh, his resistance crumbling under your touch.

"Okay, now you're asking for it, you know," he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Philip tilted your head down, gazing into your eyes with an overwhelming love. The softness of your lips enchanted him, and he leaned in, sipping from the elixir of immortality.

Your love was a delicate blend of honey and roses, overflowing with affection shared behind closed doors, a secret garden of emotions.

His warm breath brushed against your cheek, carrying a hint of alcohol from the earlier sip of whiskey. It trailed along your jawline and neck, leaving a tantalizing sensation in its wake. He whispered softly, gently setting you back down.

"You're a work of art, sweetheart... something I'll never fully understand, but something I'll forever pray for and thank God for granting me."

[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.

[mrsphillipgraves]

This is so adorable, I LOVE IT! 😭👆🩷

I love your work so so so so much 🩷☹️‼️

I would absolutely love to see a fic of Graves in the delivery room while his wife is in labor and how he takes care of her in the hospital after their baby has just arrived, I imagine he’d feed her with his own hands and would be so so so over the board with caring for her 🥺🩷

AHHH I love to hear that! Thank you so much!

Delivery Room

You had woken up this morning to a sharp pain in your abdomen and wet sheets below you. At first you embarrassingly thought that you had wet the bed, but when another wave of pain hit you quickly realized what was actually happening. 

Looking towards your left you see your husband, Phillip, still sleeping soundly beside you. Reaching out to him it only took you softly calling his name and a light shake of his shoulder for him to wake up. 

"Wha- What is it? What's wrong?" He asks with concern once he notices how you're clutching your stomach. 

"It's go time!," You hissed in pain, "My water broke and the baby's coming!" 

Without another word Phillip is instantly out of bed, and by your side helping you stand. “I’m here, sweetheart, I’m here. Let’s get you to the car now.” 

“It’s not time yet though; the baby isn’t due for another 2 weeks.” You hold on tight to Phillip’s arm as he leads you out to the car. Realistically you knew that the baby coming 2 weeks early is completely normal, and something your doctor had even brought up as a possibility during an appointment. Your pained and hormone filled brain couldn’t stop thinking about all the negative reasons the baby could be arriving early though. 

"Sweetheart, everything is alright with the baby. We're getting to meet them a little earlier than planned." Phillip says soothingly to you as he helps you inside the vehicle. Once you're fully inside you watch as your husband runs back inside, and grabs the hospital bag before climbing inside as well.  

The entire ride to the hospital Phillip was doing breathing exercises with you, and doing his best to comfort you. You didn't even realize you had arrived until your door was being thrown open by Phillip who was now ushering you to sit in a wheelchair. 

It only takes a few minutes of talking with the nurses for them to lead you both down the hall, and get you set up in the delivery room. You start to feel much better now that you're in the hospital knowing that the professionals are there to help you. 

The doctor comes in almost immediately after you've changed into the hospital gown. They say you're about 2cm dilated right now, and encourage you to try and get some sleep since it's the middle of the night. 

"Well you heard the doctor, sweetheart. Baby's not coming anytime soon, and you need all the energy you can get." Phillip sat beside your bed; one hand in yours and the other on your stomach. 

"So do you," You nod towards the couch in the room, "Get some sleep; I'll be fine laying here."

"That is not how this is going to work. I'll sleep once I know you are." He states, his voice not allowing any arguing of any kind. "I'm here to help you with whatever you need. Now, tell me what can I do to help you sleep?" 

"Just- Just hold my hand." That was all you needed right now. To know that the person you loved most was by your side during one of the biggest and scariest moments of your life. 

And for the next hour or so that is exactly what he did. Phillip didn't leave your side for more than a few seconds at a time getting whatever you needed to feel more comfortable until finally you fell into a sleep. 

You wouldn't say it was deep sleep, but even the few hours of sleep you got did manage to calm your panic from before.  Your head felt more clear, but now the pain was worse - 5cms dilated now, the doctor said. 

For the next 6 hours Phillip did everything in his power to make you comfortable, and help with the contraction pain. He put on music, gave you a massage, and even helped you with your exercises on the birthing ball. Until finally it was time to start pushing. 

"Just keep breathing, sweetheart. You're doing amazing." Phillip whispers to you. He's currently leaning towards you, and his hand is being crushed in yours. He doesn't complain once about you doing so - encourages it even. 

Phillip spends the next hour of you pushing standing by your side. Whispering praises into your ear; wanting you to know just how much he loves you. 

For as long as this whole thing was, it was worth it when you finally heard the shrill cry of your baby taking its first breaths - it's the most beautiful sound you've heard. With the baby now resting on your chest you take this chance to close your eyes and breathe. While you do so Phillip has grabbed a damp rag, and begins wiping your face of all the sweat and tears. 

"She's beautiful!" You stare teary eyed down at the newborn in your arms before lifting  your head to meet Phillip's gaze.

"She is," He instantly agrees with you. His eyes now move from the baby to you. "How did I end up with the two most beautiful girls in the world?"

You give a breathless chuckle before telling him, "I love you so much."

"I love you too, sweetheart. I love you too."

The rest of your time at the hospital was filled with you and Phillip taking in the presence of your new baby. This was something the two of you had wanted for so long, and it felt magical to finally have it. 

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

63 / 2.6k / soap soulmate au, part 12

...

Trapped at the base of the mountain, you spy your window of opportunity to bolt to the treeline. And you take it.

The adrenaline pumping through your body blunts the pain of the crash. You've scarcely made it into the shadow of the enormous fir trees when a bullet shears past your head and splinters a tree branch six inches away from your ear. Shit. Someone saw you.

You sprint as deep as your lungs can carry you. Then you press back into the nearest trunk. Behind you, two pairs of boots stomp through the snow.

"Saw someone come this way," one voice says. It's not KorTac. "Got a runner."

"There," the other voice says. The sound of a rifle sliding past cloth. Their steps get louder and close in on your position. The voices are low, but the snow carries them to you, crisp and clear.

"Can't let this one get away," one of the men says.

"Oh, we won't."

You tear deeper into the trees, weaving between trunks and jumping over fallen branches. Bullets spray out from behind you. One punches through your side. You stumble, fingers brushing the snow, but don't go down. Johnny's voice echoes in your skull. You'd better live.

The two men on your tail follow. They're relentless. It's clear they have no reservations about cutting down a fleeing, unarmed target. You push onwards, your breathing ragged as you run, ignoring the way your every movement sends a wave of pain down your body. You take cover again, this time behind an enormous fallen log. But you know they know where you are.  Behind you, they spread out to circle up and flank you. You grip the shard of glass still in your hand. It's all you have, and it won't be enough.

"Don't try anything," he says. "We've got you now."

Red mist explodes out of his chest. He stumbles and pitches forward to the ground. You don't have time to see where the shot came from. You lurch toward his body, pull the shard of glass across his throat, tear his rifle off him, and return to cover. You look down the scope and search for the other mercenary. You see him taking aim at the one who shot his teammate--Horangi.

Before he can pull the trigger, another single shot rings out from Horang’s rifle. Blood splatters from the man's head, and he goes down.

Behind Horangi, you see two more of them take cover and aim their rifles at the two of you. You press yourself against the fallen trunk, aim, and squeeze the trigger. It takes you more than one squeeze in the haze of adrenaline puppeteering your exhausted body, but you strike one in between the eyes. The other stumbles out of cover to run, and Horangi puts a bullet in his back.

Then the forest goes quiet. Horangi glances back at you over the top of the log. "You alright?" he says.

"Alive." You straighten up, but you don't drop the gun. "Is it clear?"

Horangi glances around "For now," he says. "Let's make ourselves scarce before that changes."

You grip the rifle harder and stare at the roll of zip ties on Horangi's belt. He's your former teammate. He took you prisoner. You let him. Maybe taking what you thought was your only way out is why you see now how things could be different.

Horangi's eyes sharpen. "Careful, rookie," he says, his voice low. "Don't do anything stupid. We're on the same side."

"You're gonna cuff me again."

"That's the idea." Bullets, blood, and shards of wood and needles litter the snow he walks through. "Don't make this hard. I don't want to have to hurt you."

"No. I'm not going back." You widen your stance, pointing the rifle at him.

His eyes narrow. "Careful with that."

You keep your aim steady on him and say nothing.

He watches you, evaluating your grip, the tension in your arms, the cold look on your face. Then he nods toward the bleeding wound on your side. "How long do you think you'll last out here with that?"

"That's not your concern."

"Yeah," he says. "It is."

He regrips his rifle in both hands, shifting his weight. This time, however, he keeps his distance.

"Drop the gun," he says. "Then we'll discuss this without the risk of friendly fire."

You don't back down.

He lets out a short sigh and glances up at the trees. "You really can't just make things easy, huh. You really gonna shoot me?" he says. "After I just saved your life?"

"Yeah."

"You're bluffing."

"I might be," you tell him. "If you wanna take that chance."

He assesses you. A long beat of silence passes.

"That's not like you," he says finally, voice flat. "Your code is quid pro quo. I saved your life. You owe me."

He walks toward you. He's calling your bluff.

You squeeze the trigger. Once, twice. One bullet lodges in his chest plate. The other finds its mark in the joint of his armor--the weak point where chest plate meets shoulder plate. Red sprays out into the gray haze of snow and pines.

He jerks as he takes the shots, curses, and staggers. You're full of nasty surprises today. But his training is the same as yours--when an asset gets mean, KorTac gets worse. He doubles down, pushing himself into a sprint.

You squeeze the trigger again, bullet punching through his armor's elbow joint. Another three pulls produce nothing but empty dry clicks. Shit. He barrels toward you.

You throw the gun aside and reach for the shard of glass, your makeshift knife, but it’s too late. He grabs you, close enough to tear the glass out of your hand, sweep your knees, shove your face into the snow, and force the air out of your lungs with his weight on your back.

Still, you struggle for your freedom, clawing the snow for any kind of grip. Ghost's knee on your back comes dimly to mind.

Before you can get free, Horangi digs his knee into the bullet wound at your side. You bite down on a scream, gritting your teeth against the pain exploding across your body.

"Enough," he says in a low voice. "You're done."

You can barely focus through the pain. Your vision blurs and your muscles tense and twitch blindly against his hold. He lets up the pressure only once the initial wave of pain subsides and you've let out a shuddering gasp.

You lay still in pain for a long moment. When he grabs your hands to cuff you, you strike.

He’s not expecting the elbow to his nose. Then you drive your fist into his kidney--between the panels of his armor--and twist hard.

He grabs you anyway. But you yank your forearm--slicked with blood from your side wound--free from his grip and take off. Blood dots the snow behind you like a trail of scarlet breadcrumbs from the crash site.

You’re on your feet and running through the trees. You’re coasting on adrenaline alone. He’s right at your heels. He catches up.

You both go down hard again, falling through open air for a moment before you hit hard, wet snow-crust. As you struggle, he wraps the cord of a zip tie around one of your wrists and grabs your other. But you slide it free again and dig your red fingers into the snow.

"Just let me go!" you wheeze back at Horangi. "Just say I died in the ambush."

"Hell no. Nothing personal, rookie, but you made your choice. We’re turning you in dead or alive."

The radio on his hip spits and crackles. Warped voices come through. Then real ones in the distance. Shouting. A rough, Scottish brogue. The cold air burns your lungs as you suck it in.

Horangi reaches forward for your other wrist again. You turn and sink your teeth into his gloved hand. He yells. Soap’s voice is nearby. Your vision blurs. The adrenaline is wearing off. You can’t get free to run.

A shout of your name. Close.

"Johnny," you say, your voice a breathless gasp. "Johnny, I'm–"

But Horangi grabs you before you can say anything else. His gloved hand clamps down over your mouth.

"Don't move," Horangi says into your ear. "You move, I put a bullet in his head."

He has to be lying. But you don’t move. You can’t make yourself do it if it means even the slightest chance of putting Soap’s life at risk.

He pulls you up to your knees. You find yourself staring at the rocky side of an eight-foot ledge. No wonder you and Horangi fell so hard. You must’ve tumbled down this drop. If not for the snow cushioning your fall, it would’ve taken you out of commission.

You see Soap coming toward you. Your chest aches with relief before something dawns on you. On your knees, even through your pants, you realize you're not kneeling on just snow. It's ice, not loam, under the layers of powder. Pure ice. The surface of a frozen river.

"Stop!" you shout, seeing Soap rapidly approaching the high bank. "Don't come any closer." The deep, echoing snaps of cracking ice echo around you as if to punctuate your point.

Soap slides to a stop at the edge. His eyes go from the gun at your head straight down to the snow-covered ice. Comprehension dawns on his face. If he drops down to the already-damaged surface below, it will break and plunge all of you into the black water underneath.

His eyes flash to Horangi. “Let her go.”

“Back off,” Horangi says from behind you. “Right now, or I shoot her right here.”

That makes no sense. He’s bluffing, you know it. But you also know Soap won’t risk your life. His expression hardens.

The ice groans again. Your life is on a timer. You can’t outrun or overpower Horangi. You need to find another way.

“Your buyer,” you say lowly to Horangi. “I want to talk to your buyer.”

Horangi's grip on your neck doesn’t loosen. His silence is all the answer you need.

"Call him up. I want to talk to him."

"You're not in any position to negotiate.”

Tension rolls off Soap like a physical force. He’s coiled like a viper. His team approaches around him, all of them trying to analyze the situation. If he weren’t outnumbered, you suspect Soap would rush forward anyway, damn the risks. He looks ready to tear Horangi limb from limb. If he had a clean shot, he’d take it. But he’s not fool enough to give Horangi a reason to hurt you, either. It’s a stalemate.

"You let me talk to him or I'll make sure this ice breaks before either of us make it to shore,” you hiss.

Horangi considers it. You can't give him the time to think his way out of this. You lean your weight onto one knee--putting more pressure onto a smaller surface area of the ice. It cracks again.

“Dammit, don’t!” Soap snaps, taking a step forward. Ghost’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

Another moment of silence. Tense. The cold wind whistles past your ears. You hear the deep groans and snaps as the ice warps.

Then Horangi scoffs. "Still trying to out-bluff me?"

He yanks you back, sliding you toward the shore, trying to keep you from putting weight on the ice. You throw yourself in the opposite direction, slamming yourself back against the cold surface. The crack of pain against your spine reverberates through your entire body.

You try to get to your feet. The crackling sound, like snapping cables, is everywhere. Horangi is cool under pressure, but he holds his shoulders more rigidly than you’ve ever seen him. He walks toward you with the zip tie still in hand.

You struggle to your feet and go at him. You drive your weight into his body and fight like hell to keep you both on the river, where you have leverage. He fights to throw you onto shore. You’re so close to getting away. You just need an opening.

Soap shouts. You don’t hear what he’s saying. Despite your injury, You use every bit of your weight and speed as if to force both of you thought the ice. You keep moving, slipping out of his reach every time he tries to grab hold of you. Every time, the ice and it shifts with a snap, threatening to break and send you both tumbling into the dark water below. In the tangle, you get close enough to grab blindly at his belt and pack. You aim to grab his handgun. Your hand closes around something else--a frag. Almost as good.

You jerk back and hold it up so he can see it. Your breath is shaky now, coming out in uneven puffs. It feels like all the body heat you have left is bleeding out of the wound in your side. But it works as intended. Everyone quiets. Even the ice stops crackling. Horangi’s eyes narrow.

So you pull the pin. You keep your finger on the switch, but you and everyone else know the explosion would blow you, Horangi, and anyone else on the ice to hell.

"Call the buyer," you say quietly. "Or you won't even have a corpse to trade."

He looks at you with a cold, even glare. You know what he's thinking: you might be bluffing, you might not. And after the way you’ve been acting, he isn't willing to bet his life on it.

The cold wind whistles between you and raises goosebumps on your numb skin.

Finally, he pulls out his phone and dials a number. He says something into it quietly. Then he looks at you, steps forward, and hands it to you.

You take it. You don't have to tell him to back off--the live grenade in your hand is enough warning for him. He walks backward off the frozen river and back onto shore to give you all the space you’d need to blow yourself up.

As soon the pressure of his weight is off the ice, the creaking ice shifts and settles again. You feel lightheaded with the loss of blood. You sway but manage to keep your balance.

"Hen, please," Soap calls. "Go with him. Just stay off the ice." Never thought he'd be saying this, but he'd rather you be in someone else's custody than dead. He wants you to come to him so badly, but he's much further up the riverbank. There's no way for him to jump down to you without cracking the ice; there's no way for you to get up to him one-handed. You won't be able to climb the icy rock and earth separating you. The only way is downriver, and while Soap's eyes sweep every part of the river in sight, he can't seem to find a solution. When you don't react, he looks to Horangi instead. "Take her off the damn ice!" he shouts.

Horangi crosses his arms and says nothing. The message is clear: he did what he could; you're the one forcing his hand.

You hold the phone up to your ear. To your chilled skin, it's warm to the touch. You hold it with both hands, leaning it against the frag and cupping the other hand around the receiver to catch your voice amidst the wind. You swallow, trying to wet your mouth enough to rasp out a few words. But it's the man on the other end of the line, your buyer, who speaks first.

"Hey, 86." Graves. You can hear him smiling around your old Shadow Company call number. "Heard you're in a bit of a predicament."

...

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part 1 / more Soap / masterlist

[yawnderu]

A/N: We made it to 3k less than a month after I reached 2k followers 🥺<3!!

I was genuinely not expecting this when I first made my account, but so far I've gotten so much support and I've met so many lovely people. I'm always reading your comments and reblogs, you mfs are hilarious JFEHJBFEHJB💕Onto the nasty sinful monkey sex now.

Synopsis: tired of working a dead-end job with no rewards, your childhood best friend offers you a job at his company, promising the stress levels are minimal and the pay is good. You accept with no second thoughts, not realizing you were tricked into becoming a stress relief toy for his men.

CW: humiliation, hard sex, gangbang, double vaginal, triple penetration, unsafe sex, creampie, 14 vs 1, cum swallowing, bukkake, spit kink, cockdrunk reader, deepthroat, handjobs, size kink, watersports.

Being a commander who saw his soldiers as family, Graves knew he always had to watch out for his men, reward them for their hard work and loyalty, and what better way to do that than with a sweet little thing like you? Their own personal stress relief toy, who was tricked into taking a job at the Shadow Company, yet so willing to please. So eager.

"You're enjoying this more than you should." He's teasing you, of course, yet his cocky expression does nothing to help the pooling warmth on your stomach. One of the shadows is sitting behind you, gloved hands hooked under your knees to keep your legs open while Graves grinded his clothed boner on your bare cunt, the fabric feeling almost painful if it wasn't for how wet you are.

"Maybe I am." You manage to reply, barely able to speak between whiny moans and soft gasps, his cock rubbing in all the right places, but the stimulation wasn't enough. No, he had been teasing you like this for the past 20 minutes, making his men watch as you became a putty mess in his hand. The shadows were men of discipline and self-control, keeping their hands folded politely behind their backs, ignoring their painful, throbbing cocks until their commander allowed them to use their brand new chew toy.

"I want you to know," He began, hand slipping under your chin firmly to force you to look up at him, hard cock rubbing faster up and down your cunt, pressing into you harder. "That I ain't playin' with you, Stray. My men will do anythin' I tell them to. Last chance to pull out." He warned and you shook your head no, his cocky smile growing even wider as his other hand went to squeeze your tit, looking for any signs of discomfort and much to his delight, seeing none.

"I can take it." The words are more of a reassurance to yourself, gaze drifting around the room and counting the men inside. 14, including Graves. You swallow thickly, nervous eyes drifting back to Graves, who simply raises an eyebrow in return, waiting for you to realize just how fucked up you are if you don't pull out.

"I can take it." You repeat, slowly believing the words more and more. He simply smiles and ruffles your hair affectionately, the same way he always did growing up.

"Attagirl." He pulled away from you and you can see the satisfaction in his eyes, knowing you'll do a good job for him. He nods to his men and they quickly get to work, hands groping you all over, long fingers entering your cunt roughly to the point you're becoming nothing but a whiny, whimpering mess. They're rough and impatient, your wrists being grabbed and forced onto their hard cocks until you're willingly jerking them off, hands barely able to wrap around their thick lengths. It's intimidating, yet so hot to be locked in a room full of hormonal, pent-up military men.

"On your knees." One of them commands, yet you're forced on your knees before you can even try to get up. Four cocks are in front of you and you begin sucking with no hesitation, eyes closing as you give into your role at the company. Your lips wrap around one of them, slowly taking him deeper until he gets too impatient and forces your head down to the base, the gagging noises your throat lets out simply making it feel better.

"Good girl." You don't even know who's praising you, but it's enough to give you the encouragement you needed, starting to bob your head up and down until you're pulled off the cock, a new one being shoved down your throat. They're using you— you know it, and you're letting them. You get passed around, tasting and sucking on different dicks while your hands keep themselves busy, deep moans and groans coming from above you. They get too impatient quick, the man you recognize as Oz wrapping his fingers on your hair, pulling on it until you willingly get up, throwing you into bed and opening your legs wide with brutal force. You look down, eyes widening as you see just jow thick he is.

"You said you could take it, ain't that right?" He uses your words against you, the tip of his cock rubbing up and down your folds, your head dropping back as a moan escapes your lips. That's all he needs for confirmation, hands firmly holding the curve of your waist before he buries his cock to the hilt in one thrust. A pained moan escapes your lips, eyebrows furrowing as your nails dig into his arm— the pretty, long acrylic nails Graves paid for earlier that day.

"Shit... S‐slow down, asshole." The way you struggle to take him is almost cute, a cocky smirk pulling on his lips as he shakes his head no once, holding onto you tighter while he slams in and out of you. You don't have much room to complain before another cock is being shoved into your face, your lips willingly wrapping around the tip, hollowing your cheeks while your tongue circles all over it. Your whiny moans are muffled as you slowly begin to suck more and more, the pleasure of being groped all over and being fucked good slowly getting rid of any hints of regret you may have.

"Fucking slut." Oz says, hand coming up to gently pinch and pull on your nipples while he fucks into you faster. All you can do is nod, tears dotting your eyelashes at the mix of pain and pleasure, using the cock in your mouth to cover up the embarrassing sounds escaping you from being a used like a whore. Your body is manhandled into another position, a different shadow underneath you who wastes no time on fucking into your cunt, filling you just as much as Oz was. Your hands are kept busy jerking off more cocks while your mouth is put into good use again, muffling the moan of protest that threatens to escape when you feel the tip of a dick teasing the entrance of your ass.

"Wait—" You manage to speak when the shadow takes his cock out of your throat to give you time to breathe, only to be interrupted by your throat being forced open again. You close your eyes tightly, trying your best to relax, the folds of your tight hole slowly being eased, the man is being surprisingly gentle for someone who holds so much power over you.

"Good girl." He praises softly, voice deep with desire, yet holding so much care. His hand gently caresses your ass as he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust before his hands rest on your waist, pulling you up and down his cock, the thin layer of skin diving your ass and cunt making the pleasure even greater. It doesn't take much before you're willingly slamming your hips down, moving in your own pace and fucking yourself into the big cocks inside you like a greedy whore, too eager to wait.

"Lovely girl, ain't she?" You can recognize Grave's voice, choosing to ignore it for now as you simply focus on feeling good. It doesn't take long until the men are taking turns with you, wet cunt leaking everywhere, yet none of them seem to care. You wince as you feel a second cock on the entrance of your pussy, nervous, yet eager to please. You don't even have to lift your head to know whose cock it is— fucking Phillip Graves. The man who got you into this situation on the first place... which you're now glad happened.

He's surprisingly gentle as he squeezes his cock into your airtight hole, the pain of the stretch only being overpowered by the feeling of a cock slamming back into your throat, nose hitting dark, curly pubes every single time the masked man makes you deepthroat him. Your whiny moans are mixed in with the lewd, wet sounds of your holes being used and abused. You lost count of how many times you were filled, mind too hazy from all the overstimulation, yet you can register the door closing behind them, leaving you alone with Graves.

''Attagirl.'' He praises, his hand running down the length of your sweaty hair as his soft cock settles into your cum-stained lips, half-lidded eyes looking up at him with curiosity. Your mouth is suddenly filled with a warm liquid and you swallow without thinking about it, eyes closing once he's done pissing into your slutty mouth. He slowly pulls out, putting his cock back in his pants and admiring the mess his men did of your body, covered in cum and small bruises from their strong hold when they were fucking you.

''I got another job for ya. Ever heard of the 141?''

[diejager]

Hello! Your works are really great could you please write a Non-Con For Philipp Graves? 🦅 EAGLE SCREECH

Shackled

Pairing: Philip Graves x fem!reader

CW: CONSENSUAL NON-CON, DUB-CON, DARK, SMUT, P in V, creampie, unprotected sex, BDSM, leather cuffs, torture/interrogation, rough sex, soft Graves, kinda aftercare?, tell me if I missed any. WC: 1.6k

You shuddered, the hair on your skin standing high from the cool air of your isolation room. You were strung up by your hands, leather cuffs wrapped snugly around your wrists with the short chain hooked over the claw of a clasp, holding your weight firmly. Two other chains linked the cuffs of your ankle, spreading you open for whoever would walk into the cell. You flushed in shame and embarrassment, naked in the cold cell, tied to the ceiling and spread open by leather and chain shackles. 

You were weak and vulnerable, unable to fight off anyone or anything that’d come in the room and the low temperature made your numb, fingers and toes curling in an attempt to stave off the cold. Squirming would be useless, hips swaying and legs kicking in all ways would make you waste energy, precious energy that could be used to escape your imprisonment when - if - you were free from your restraints. You grumbled, staring at the metal door, eyes burning the hate and anger into the door. 

Sudden, loud steps heading towards your cell had you biting back a flinch, imposing and strong steps made to scare you, to intimidate their captives. You especially, the commander’s prize. Keys jingling, followed by the click of the lock, the door cracked open and you caught a foot breaching the entry of your room. 

“Shaking, ain’t y’a, sweetheart?”

The familiar drawl in his words, the cocky and teasing tone he used in every visit had you wishing he could shut up, but you were more annoyed that he was so pretty. His cobalt, blue eyes framed by luscious lashes and a caramel-like tan to his skin, glistening under the white light of your cell, thick brows and beautiful, light brown hair. Age had only made him prettier, his rough stubble and rugged wrinkles made him look sinfully appealing, and the scar that stretched when he smirked added to his appeal.

Phillip fucking Graves. 

You glared at him, burning into him your shameful anger. He only smiled, closing the door behind to give himself a bit of privacy with a lazy kick. He approached you brazenly, arms crossed over his chest as he admired your nakedness. His eyes wandered over your perky nipples and round breasts, down the valley to your navel and between your open thighs. His eyes narrowed, a lustful gleam when he placed a hand on your inner thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your freezing skin. 

“Why the frown? I thought we were getting somewhere,” Graves cooed, standing flush against you, hands wandering to feel you up. 

He ground into you as he chuckled, his cock poking at you from the confines of his cargo pants, the harsh cloth chafing your soft folds. His expressions tempted you, coaxing you to lash out, to scream and fight, to bite down on the finger that lingered too closely to your face and to curse him to hell. Against your better judgement, you let him touch you, his warm palm cupping your cheeks. The harsh pads of his calloused digits drew a line under your eye and down to your sneering lips, pressing softly on your lower lip. 

You shuddered from the gentleness of his acts, the almost loving touch with that soothingly calm voice cooing at your current submission. He pushed his thumb into your mouth, the sudden dryness of it had you sucking at his finger, swallowing what little saliva you had left. Your eyes fluttered, taking in the warmth Graves exhumed with a sigh. Your time alone in isolation had you craving warmth and attention, but the nagging part of your brain shook you awake, eyes cracking open and lips pulled back. Your teeth sunk into his finger before he pulled it out with a hiss, waving his hand around to ease the sting off.

“Fuckin’ Christ-” he growled, seeming shocked that you tried to bite him. He frowned at your laugh, the sweet, yet smug sound riling him up. 

He backed away, face flushed angrily, he pulled his hand back and backhanded you, throwing your head aside. You groaned, teeth digging into your lower lip, the force he used left your cheek pulsing, burning with the promise of a bruise. You whipped your head back, spitting at him with a red-tinted liquid. You missed horribly, landing your spit on his shoulder rather than his face. 

He chuckled, launching himself at you and pressing himself to you, his hands grasping at your scarred skin with hard, bruising grips. Your chest swayed, squirming against him to fight him off from undoing his pants. His cock sprung out, the angry, leaky tip slapping his clothed navel. His hardened length stood proudly, drooling from the slit, down the slight curve and the base, where hung heavy balls, engorged and thick. 

“Fucking bitch,” he cursed, forcing himself on you with the vigor and vitriol of a berserker, rutting against your moist pussy lips. “Who’s laughin’ now?”

You jerked, a scream retching out of your throat when you felt his bulbous head bob between your folds, drawing a line of pre up and clit and down your ass. You forgot every thought of taunting your captor, to tire him until he decided to untie you from your hooks and simply cuff your hands to the back of a chair, to be left alone and escape by yourself once Graves was tired of you. You squirmed and fought, feet kicking from their bent position and voice rising to an outraged cry, calling him names that would most likely shame Price. 

He cackled, hands holding your waist still, flush against his hard, throbbing cock that drooled over you. His hips pushed off you, pumping himself with a hand as he led it towards your wet cunt, the slipperiness easing his way in. He groaned, mind numb to your screams and cries, he was solely drawn into the heat that wrapped around him, the tightness and the wetness. 

He pushed in slowly, taking every second to enjoy the sensation until he bottomed out, hips against thighs and balls to your ass. Graves’ only thought were to fuck you and keep you, maybe drug you into a clumsy and submissive doll, but still having that bratty spitfire. He rolled his hips, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix, pulling out and slamming back in, the head bruising your ring of muscle. 

His chest rumbled with a satisfied hum, ignoring your useless struggle as he fucked you, teeth nipping at your collar, placing red marks on your sweaty skin. Every thrusts had you moaning, body jerking upwards with bouncing tits, your body burned, sweaty and exhausted. Your once cold tenure became boiling hot, the heat from Graves searing its way into you with heavy strokes of his cock. Your toes curled and legs shook, the chains holding you up rippled with the same force as Graves’ strength. 

He drove himself deeply, his angry head bruising your cervix, he groaned and grunted, hung on your cunt’s tenseness, throbbing around him with a pulse, tightening and loosening, close to coming, but never really falling from the edge. He lips trailed a line down to your nipples, lips wrapping around your perky button and sucking, the sound as equally erotic and as disgusting. He sucked as if he was searching for milk, rough and toothy, before he let go with a wet pop. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he slurred, pulling back and slamming in with a loud, dirty squelch. “Gonna come, doll? C’mon, don’t be shy.”

You hated how sensual his voice was, how it called to you and coaxed your body to react in ways that he wanted, that he willed, even against your mind’s wishes. Your back arched, cunt pulsing and clinging onto him, the knot in your navel tightening to an unbearable urge. He grew sloppy, his fast and rough pace slacking in haste but still holding on his deep and rough strokes. He was slow but deep-hitting and rough. You mewled, pleasurable sounds pulled from your throat by Graves, moaning and gasping, seemingly asking - pleading - for more, for it to be harder and faster, rougher, but never uttering a word. 

When he tilted his hip, changing the position, he rubbed against your g-spot, his bulging veins massaging you while his head pounded your crying cervix. It was all it took for the knot in your core to pop, furling outwards as you clamped down on him, milking him for his worth. You came with an embarrassingly loud cry, leaving a white ring around the base of his cock, under the thickest part of him. He groaned, curling into you as he stuttered, bottoming out as deep as he could before he came, spurting ropes of potent cum from his tightened balls, painting you with the marks of your torture, of your mistake that led to a failed mission. It was your sin, one you’d hold onto you for the rest of your miserable life like a visible scar. 

“Fuck, doll,” Graves slid out, his flaccid cock plopping between his soaked thighs. “You all right?”

You hummed, watching him untie your ankles and kneeling to place your feet down before uncurling your wrists. He hissed at the red chafing on your skin, soothing it with kisses and promises of aftercare. He wrapped a blanket around you, holding it over your shoulder for you to grasp, kneeling before you to pick you up, one hand under your knees and the other on your back. 

“You were amazing, sweetheart. Thank you for indulging me.”

You giggled softly, dried lips finding his chiselled jaw with fluttering pecks.

“Anything for you, Phil.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog

[lxvvie]

Similar to the Ghost ask, giving Graves some TLC when shit gets a little stressful leading Shadow Company.

He's reclining on the sofa and you're situated between his legs, sucking his dick and the stress out like it's the last thing you'll ever do.

Phillip appreciates it, loves how good you're making him feel, darlin', and if you can't see it in the way Graves caresses your cheek or holds the back of your head, you'll most definitely see it in his grin, flushed cheeks, and the way his voice, husky and accent thickened with arousal, praises you.

"Atta girl."

[crystlizabeth]

You belong to me..

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Shadow!femreader

Summery: she may have been a shadow and worked for graves but when your commanders friendliness becomes a bit to touchy it’s a problem, you don’t touch pretty things that belong to Simon Riley.

Warnings: possessiveness, unprotected sex, jealousy, praising, mentions of blood, not proofread

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

Simon hated watching those shadows touch you, even if it was ‘friendly’. You smiled at every praise that left Graves lips of how you did such a good job, the pat to your back to low for Simon’s liking and the way he let his hand drag as he walked away. Simon couldn’t help but wonder how Graves was towards you when nobody was around, even if he was your commander your superior he wasn’t allowed to touch you like that. Simon clenched his fist as you stood there soon turning towards him, your gaze different a look a smile that was only meant for him displayed on your pretty face.

A sweet face that he’d have buried in a pillow tears go pleasure running down you face. You saw the way his eyes watched you his dark eyes hooded dangerously staring you down. Price catching Simon’s attention was the only thing that made him look away from you, one last glance towards you before following Price.

Even with that gold ring on your finger signafying that you where his, the last name on your Files no longer yours but his. It wouldn’t be enough he wanted you to himself he had begged price multiple times to call a transfer of you to 141 but Graves always declined because you worked for the United States, the Shadows you belonged to Graves.

But jealousy gets the best of everyone right?

Simons hands grabbing the side of Phillips vest slamming him against the wall, “what crawled up your ass and died Lieutenant.” Graves groaned.

“Why is it you always find your hands on my wife.” Simon spoke his face close to Phillips, his voice dark.

An ugly smirk appeared on Phillips face the cocky twat only shrugged his shoulders a short reply “She’s nice, a good asset to me. She is a good asset.”

That right there if he could without geting put away for life would have taken his knife and silt Phillips throat, carving the commander inside out and feed it to his Shadows and Shepherd himself. Instead Ghost fist connected to his face, more than once, enough to leave blood on his hands and the shirt he wore. He let go of Graves letting him slide down the wall, “if you’re smart, you’ll keep your hands to yourself and mouth shut.” Simon spike lowly leaning down to make eye contact with him.

“I don’t see what she sees in you…” Phillip coughed wiping the blood from his nose.

Simon stayed silent, he didn’t need to answer that because you saw him for him he didn’t have to explain what you saw in him to someone who’s been wanting you to themselves. “I’ll give her the world a safe home and face to look at… your really think she’ll stick around you forever, please. I see her more day out of the year you do why do you think I decline those transfers from your captain. Just to spite you and help her forget you.” Phillip said blood dripping from his toothy smile.

Simon was fuming, his knuckles splitting even more from clenching them. Who did graves think he was? You stuck around someone like that, even bleeding and in pain graves still chose to test his limits.

One punch after another Simon was on top of him graves of course fighting back but a man’s rage was different few more punches and he stopped. Phillip was still alive he was gonna leave him there to rot nobody would believe him he was a traitor staying in UK soil this was bound to happen. And even then Simon had proof that it was just self defense.

Grabbing Philips hair making him look up at Him “Ya listen here, stay the fuck off my wife she can work for your or you’ll be smart and start a transfer. But may god help you if you lay a finger on her again.” Simon spoke harshly finishing by pushing Graves against the wall.

The click of your door opening startled you awake, but the figure that stood in the hall light that poured into your room made you less tense. “Simon..you can be in here..” your voice groggy, your eyes scanning over him at yuh turn your light on. He was covered in blood his mask held in his left hand as he looked at you.

You quickly got you closing your door pushing him to the bed sitting him down “who did this to you.. Simon.” You spoke lifting the bloody shirt off his head his blond hair sticking up.

“It’s not mine.”

It’s not his? Who’s was it then, who pushed him over the edge just enough. Was he gonna get in trouble for this, arrested. “Love stop the worrying..” he spoke breaking you out of your thoughts his large hands pulling you towards him.

He pulled you in close sitting you in his lap your thighs falling around his waist, the feeling of his hands grabbing your face made you wince a bit the feeling of dried blood on his hands made you cringe.

“You belong to me..” he spoke his dark eyes penetrating yours. “You belong to me.” His words stern and harsh.

“Say it.”

“I belong to you Simon.” You spoke his hands falling down your face his hands finding the bottom of your shirt lifting it over your head. You could feel the tension radiating of his skin, he was gonna take his stress and the rest of his anger out on you.

“Good girl, say it again, tell me I’m allowed to have you as I please.” He spoke his lips kissing your neck.

You obeyed “ I belong you you Simon, take me. Have me I’m yours.”

His lips met your kissing you so hungrily he was here to remind you who you belonged to. His hand grabbed the band if your panties pulling his hand back harshly snapping them at the pulling them if you your bare cunt exposed to his trousers. He lifted you up dropping your body on the the mattress as he undid his pants, quickly finding himself on top of you.

“Are you sure.”

“Take me Simon, I’m yours.”

That’s all he needed to hear, his fat head spreading your wet folds apart as he pushing into you. It’s been a minute since he’s been in you but your walls always seemed to mold around him so nicely, those gorgeous sounds you made slipping from your lips as he started moving.

The sound of skin slapping as he fucked into your poor cunt, you drooled for him. He knew how to make a mess out of you, your nails digging into his back as he bullied your pretty pussy. Even with every hard thrust he loved you so well, kissing you so tenderly as your cried out to him. You soft whimpers pleading for him drive him crazy this is how he knew you where his, his to destroy, his to love.

Your finger tangled his his blonde curls tugging on them as he made love to you cradling your head your knees pressed to your chest, he felt every inch of you. “Please don’t stop Si, god please don’t stop.” You cried out.

He didn’t the tightness of your walls staring to clamp around him was enough to bring him to his edge the moans that escaped your lips was enough to make him cum knowing that he made you this way. Your body folded into a mating press as you came on his fat cock. Your pleds for him to cum in you, that you wanted him to fill you marking you as his once again make you need him for days after. His thick seed filling up your puffy cunt, his white nut spilling out the sides as he fucked it into you.

“Common take it, yeah atta girl fucking take it.” He growled pumping in and out of you your nails digging into his biceps the feeling of his thick nut filling you making your eyes roll back.

His cock still in you as he sat up letting your legs fall down your chest falling up and down heavily, your body glistening from sweat. You were gonna be walking funny the next morning that’s for sure, “I didn’t hurt you right?” He asks his calluses hands gliding up and down your torso.

You shook your head no, “good..” he said leaning down kissing your lips tenderly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up yeah..”

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

Simon smut!! I have a Johnny one coming sooner or later!!

[awarrenswhore]

Not an Affair (M)

→ pairing | Phillip Graves x Reader

→ genre | smut, angst, domestic au! Fem!reader.

→ word count | 3,415

→ summary | You ended up getting involved with one of your parents' friends after getting back from college, had a few hot nights with him until you discovered he was married. You ended up developing feelings for him, but after finding out that he hadn't signed the divorce papers yet, you decide to throw everything in his face and end the affair. But god only knows how persuasive Phillip can be.

→ warnings |sex, Adult content, alcoholic beverages, low slang words. unprotected sex. cheating (the reader helps him to cheat or something like that)

→ A/N| I don't know what came over me, I just decided I was going to write a smut with Phillip Graves. English is not my first language so sorry for my mistakes. It's kind shitty lol

When you finally returned home, Phillip was in the kitchen, sitting at the counter with a bottle of Whiskey in front of him and two glasses. One of them was half finished, and the other was empty. As if he was waiting for someone to drink with him.

He was looking out of the window, sipping his whiskey and just staring out. When you got home he didn't even glance at you, he was just lost, trying not to think about the words you had said earlier. When he saw you enter the kitchen he looked up at you with a pained look in his eyes. He had already started drinking the whiskey hoping that it would numb the pain and make the conversation easier but he was just making things worst. He was feeling desperate to say something or get this over with because the longer it took the more the anxiety was building up inside of him. "Can I talk to you?"

You couldn’t help but feel like you should ignore him, act as if nothing had ever happened. But those sad blue eyes didn't let you continue on your way to your room. Then you walked to the other side of the counter, facing him.

His mind was already a mess of emotions, and now seeing your face made his heart beat uncontrollably fast. The anxiety he felt was at the peak and he just wanted to tell you everything so he could get this moment over with. You could see that he was trying to hide his pain but it was so evident that it would be impossible to not spot. He took one last sip of his whiskey and poured you a glass hoping you would join him.

You looked at the glass, then at him, and back at the glass, taking it in your hands and taking a sip. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"No" he said, taking a sip from his whiskey. "I just want us to get our minds relaxed. The last thing I wanna do is have this conversation while our minds are clouded, this is important to both of us."

"Okay, go ahead."

He took a deep breath in and let it out. Then he slowly began to speak. "the past few weeks we've been spending time together I thought we had something more. You felt different. But it all changed today when you threw my words back in my face like I was just using you for my own satisfaction, not once did I ever think that our relationship was just based on sex."

You shook your head, waiting for him to continue, too tired to argue.

"You didn't even try to listen to me. You just decided to get up and leave and I felt my heart crush into pieces when you said all of that to me. It's not right because what we had was not just sex. What we had was real, it was a true bond but it all seemed to mean nothing to you. I was hoping I could convince you to come back to me, but how can I do that if you refuse to believe me? You're too stuck in this stupid idea that I was only with you to have fun."

At times like this, I should use my smart mouth, but I felt like if I said something, it would only make the situation worse and we would fight again. You thought, just taking another sip of the drink and continued listening to him.

"You see the way I look at you every day, the way you make my heart feel like it's going to jump out of my chest, how could it have been only about fun? I'm sure you felt this way too, how could you not? The way my body responds to yours. We never acted selfishly or without thinking, I knew when I went in bed with you that I would get attached, I knew the risks and I knew what it meant to my life. You said all those cruel words and it felt like I've just been thrown away." He paused "I'm divorcing her... I just, i'm not the one for her. And she's not the one for me, you are. I wasn't just using you for your body. I've found someone that I felt was meant by me and it's you. I want you to be mine." Your silence was making him uncomfortable "Will you please just be reasonable and talk to me?"

You took a deep breath, staring at your empty glass. You wet your lips with your tongue before looking at him. “I Already told you how this situation bothers me and I know I shouldn't have gotten involved with you. But there's nothing I can do. You are the person who has to make a decision here, not me." you said calmly.

The moment he heard those words he felt like a sharp knife had stabbed him in the heart. You refused to talk to him and he wanted so badly for you two to work out. The marriage was already over so there was nothing stopping him from just ending it now and being with you. But now it all came crashing down on him when you said that there was nothing you could do. His eyes were locked into yours as he stood up from the chair and walked up very close to you, looking down at your face. "I already made my choice," he said softly "this whole time you were the one for me."

"I don't believe you." you said looking right at his eyes.

"Just let me show you." His eyes were filled with pain and desperation, he wasn't planning to let you get away this easily. "I'll do anything to prove to you that it was more than sex. How can you say you have feelings for me and then just shut me down at the same time? It doesn't make sense and I know you still have feelings for me too. You can't deny that. Please, let us talk about this."

"The only thing I know is that while we're having this conversation, you're still married to her. And until that ends, I won't fall for your charms again." You said decidedly. "You want me? You'll have me the day you sign the divorce papers. Until then, don't touch me." I got up.

His heart skipped a beat the moment you put the conditions so easily. "So... So you're saying you will take me back... Once I sign the papers?"

"If you sign the papers."

The excitement he felt at that moment was unbearable. He could already see the two of you together and living as a real couple. "I will." he said firmly, not even hesitating a bit.

Seconds later, they heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Your mother's figure appeared in the kitchen, smiling. "Hey, what are you guys doing? Drinking? Pour me another glass because we need to celebrate." She said laughing, grabbing a glass for herself. "I got promoted at work." She said. That whole situation, you needed to put a smile on my face. "Congratulations, Mom."

The both of you had to act like there was nothing wrong between you two and it would be one of the hardest things to do right now. Your mother was being way too happy and had her full attention on the two of you. It was impossible to have a serious conversation now or to leave. She just had the best news and she deserved to be happy so you both had to act as if nothing was wrong and nothing was about to change.

"I'd like to stay to celebrate, but Ryan asked me out today. So I'd better go." you said taking short steps towards the door.

"Oh come on, can't you stay for at least a little bit?" your mother said. “Your Father is coming to celebrate too, he will be home soon.” She was excited to celebrate, it was odd that you were just leaving all of a sudden, The idea of you going out with Ryan made him feel like he was going to throw up.

"it's just a little celebration, it'll be fun." Graves tried to stay calm, not wanting to show the jealous in his eyes. "Once we finish, i'll take you to him."

You looked into his eyes. "No need, I'll take a cab." Phillip has no right to be jealous of me. You thought.

"I insist." He replied firmly "I'll take you."

"I'm just going to take a quick shower and come back." Your mother said going upstairs, leaving you and Graves alone again.

"And i said that i don't need you to take me, Phillip."

He was fighting the urge to scream internally. His fists clenched tight and he had to force his mouth from saying things that he would regret. "just listen to me for a minute. I know you don't need me to take you, ok? Just let me do it. I insist."

"Why? Just so you know where I'm going? For what? So you can show up there and ruin my date?”

The words were cutting him like a knife. He didn't even deny the reasons you gave him because they were true, he was going to ruin the date. He was jealous and you just made him acknowledge it. "Yes... That's why."

"You can't do that. I already told you, I will be yours the day you sign the divorce papers, until then, you will not touch me. But other guys will. Because if you can fuck her, I can fuck other guys."

That hit him like a bullet to the chest. Your words hurt him way more than if you had just slapped his face. The jealousy and the anger were making him furious, to realize that you could possibly meet other men made him feel sick to death. He couldn't let that happen, he wanted you, only you. Suddenly a wave of anger invaded his body and Phillip let his intrusive thoughts control him. He grabbed your throat and pushed you against the fridge, putting one hand behind your head so it wouldn't hit the fridge and hurt you. His breathing became heavy, and he placed his forehead against yours, lowering his face to your neck, smelling you, smelling your scent before pressing himself against you, trapping you between him and the refrigerator. He moistened his lips and pressed them together, alternating his gaze between your eyes and your mouth before focusing on your eyes.

"If you ever let another man touch you, I will kill them."

You couldn't help feeling excited by his actions, your entire body shivering with his words, the possessiveness that you had never seen in his eyes gave him even more charm and the desire you had to open your legs for him and let him ravishes you was almost uncontrollable. But you wouldn't let him think he was in control. “I don’t believe you.” You provoked him.

"You will." he hissed between his teeth, his voice sounding threatening as he pressed his lips and caressed your neck, with this eyes locked onto yours. You started to feel dizzy from his touch, and the smell of whiskey was heavy on his breath. His mouth was so close to yours and it made you feel so hot and weak. His body was pressing even harder against yours, and the air was becoming thick to breath. "I own you." he whispered against your lips "Don't you forget that." He said before kissing you passionately.

You felt like he had manipulated you, but when his lips met your, you forgot everything, your mind went blank and you could only press your body against his, desperate for more contact. Moaning against his lips, your hands went to his hair, and Graves's free hand went to your thigh, lifting it and fitting between your legs. His kiss was aggressive and breathtaking, and his right hand squeezed your throat using the right pressure to not leave you completely breathless, while his left hand stuck his fingers into your skin, the pain causing you more pleasure.

Your moans sent him over the edge, causing his grip to become tighter, his movements becoming rough and his kiss more urgent. As his fingers pressed into your skin you felt the intense sensation of his hand exploring your body. The combination of the pain and pleasure was making you feel all sorts of feelings that you never felt before. His mouth was still locked with yours and the sensation of him kissing you was getting more and more intense. Your mind was starting to blur and there was nothing else but the sensation of his touch and your body. He was getting close to kissing your neck and exploring everything and the thought of him exploring your body like this was making you shiver in pleasure and anticipation. He was losing control over you and he was making you his, there was no other way to explain it. He didn't think about anything else in that particular moment but being as rough as he wanted with you. His hands squeezed your skin and your body with all his force, not stopping till he felt like he had drained the last drop of your pleasure and desire for him.

Your cell phone started ringing on the counter, looking over Phillip's shoulder you could see that the caller ID was Ryan’s name. "I need to answer."

The ringing of your phone was the last thing he wanted to hear. He was so consumed by his desire to make you his again that the thought of another man calling your phone, or you answering it, was causing him pure rage. A wave of jealousy started to overwhelm him. Ryan, he couldn't stand the thought of your date still happening. He had to do something to stop it. And he would.

Graves didn't waste any more time, he let go of your throat, and unbuttoned his own pants and lowered them along with his underwear just enough for his hard cock to be free, he took advantage of the fact that your thigh was still around his waist and slipped his hand under your dress, pushing your panties to the side before pushing his cock into your soaked entrance, making you moan loudly as he filled you completely. He started to pound hard against you, so hard that the fridge behind you was shaking and banging against the wall behind it. It was impossible to control your moans, throwing your head back with your eyes closed, the feeling of being filled by him was too strong and you could barely breathe without letting out a grunt of pleasure.

Phillip smiled, ecstatic at that scene, seeing you so at his mercy. He then reached back, taking your cell phone, and without stopping his thrusts, he answered it. "(y/n)'s cell phone, who is it?" He asked and you immediately opened your eyes, widening them, letting out a loud moan when he gave a hard thrust, hitting your spot. You couldn't think of anything, you didn't even try to take the cell phone from his hand.

"Who are you?" The male voice on the other end of the line asked harshly.

"Do you hear that noise, asshole?" Graves said through gritted teeth. "That's the sound of my cock making (y/n) cum. Don't ever call her again, she already has an owner." And so he turned off the cell phone, throwing it on the floor and using his arm to hug the you, kissing you furiously while thrusting with speed, strength and skill. Graves grabbed your other thigh, pulling towards his waist having complete control of the situation, grunting and thrusting into your pussy like it was the end of the world.

And it didn't take long for both of you to reach climax.

You were breathing heavy, trying to normalize, your hearts beating in sync, sweat running down your bodies.

"What the fuck did you just do?" you asked, your arms Around his neck, hyperventilating.

"Nothing" he replied between his breaths "I'm just letting him know to stay away from you. I just claimed what was mine. I don't need another man bothering you." His breath was heavy and his voice was still filled with anger.He was leaning his body towards yours, his breathing was extremely heavy and you could feel his breath hitting your face, making you shiver. "That was a very pleasant feeling." He said with some difficulty, his voice was rough and his breath was full of desperation. "Do you know what else is going to be a very pleasant feeling? I will break anyone who dares come near you and that includes Ryan there. You are mine and mine only you hear me?" he said pressing his head into the side of your neck.

"Yeah, i hear you." You whispered. All your defenses were down and you felt like you were fucked.

A wave of pleasure and excitement had overwhelmed him and the thought of you giving in to him had made him feel so strong that he couldn't contain himself. "Good girl" he then began kissing your neck and caressing your back, pulling you towards him. You felt his finger trail down the back of your leg and pull up your dress. This was a feeling you loved and it made the both of you want each other even more. If only he could make you feel this way all the time...

"Fuck! My mom is upstairs." A wave of realization washed over and you pushed Phillip away, feeling his juices spill down your thighs. "Shit, if she finds us like this, she's going to be pissed." I picked up my phone from the floor. "Damn, what if she heard?"

"Shhh... She didn't hear anything." his voice was whispering close to your ear. The thought of your mother walking into this scene made him nervous as well, he didn't want to make this situation worse. "Just go to your room and clean yourself up. I'll clean the floor here." he replied hastily as he pulled up his pants and buttoned them. His body was sweating and his breathing was still heavy due to the intense pleasure the two of you had just experienced. "But don't even try to sneak out of your window to go to that stupid date."

"Well, it's not like I can now, you seem to have made it pretty clear to Ryan that I already have someone, he won't ever want to talk to me again, you idiot."

"Good" he grinned, satisfied at the fact that Ryan would no longer be a threat. "Besides, you're better off without him. You would be just another one in his long list of ex's. You don't need that. You need someone who is going to love you and take care of you and I am the only one who can do that."

"I'm not even going to try argue with you right now." you rolled my eyes and runned to the second floor.

While he cleaned up the mess that the two of you made inside the kitchen, he thought about what had just happened. The thought of that guy taking you out on a date and probably trying to do something intimate with you had filled him with so much rage that the thought of him touching you had made him go crazy. The jealousy and the desire had overwhelmed him and you didn't even fight back. You enjoyed every second of it, and he made sure that this feeling would continue and you would never have to worry about anyone else touching you. He smiled, satisfied that you had agreed to cancel your date and that you were going to be at home that night. The feeling that he had accomplished his mission made him want to jump and kick his legs, like a child. He was feeling euphoric and the only thought that was crossing his mind was having you to himself, without any other man in the picture. Graves was finally feeling like a human again.

all rights reserved — no reposting and/or modifying of any form on any medium is allowed. no translations allowed.

[icarustypicalfall]

Hallway

Phillip Graves x Fem!Reader

MASTERPOST

Summary: Based on MW3, where you give the Arrogant Commander a cold shoulder as he teams up with your unit in the purpose of catching the bad guys.

Warnings: Cod usual violence, based on MW2 and MW3, mentions of Graves betrayal.

"Each day you rise with me , know that I'd gladly be the Icarus to your certainty."

Graves had returned.

The enthusiasm was tainted by the memories of his past actions. There was a time when he had almost taken the lives of everyone in the room. The tension was palpable during the call with General Shepard, and it lingered in the base as everyone awaited his arrival.

During his absence, you had been on a side mission. You never truly believed that Graves had died, knowing that he was not the type to go down so easily. If he were to meet his end, it would be in a more dramatic and tragic way, perhaps with a dagger piercing his heart, just as he had pierced yours when he nearly killed your teammates. Despite your disdain for the man, you couldn't help but longe for his presence. He relished in the power he held over you, ordering you around and demanding extra gym sessions to "maintain your strength".

Graves was back, "the American bastard" if you ask Gaz and an "the arsehole" as Soap added. Captain, unable to contain his contempt, had burnt half of his cigars to prevent himself from snapping the man's neck every time he opened his mouth. Ghost, true to his name, shot Graves his usual icy glares, though fortunately they were not lethal, or else Graves would already be rotting in hell.

Graves hadn't changed a bit. He still served that smug demeanor and spoke with a southern drawl that he seemed to inject into every word that fell from his lips. He smirked shamelessly, his eyes fixated on you before he confidently asked, "Missed me, darlin'? I know you did." Your heart tightened at his words, torn between wanting to slap him and kiss him senseless. However, you managed to maintain a neutral expression as he continued, "Where's my welcome back, sugar?"

Gaz, clearly unimpressed, intervened and pushed you away from Graves, dismissing his extended hand for a handshake. "Shove it up your arse," Gaz retorted, unyielding in his dislike and anger for the man.

Graves had been captivated by you ever since he joined TF141. You were a remarkable young woman, fierce and unafraid to speak your mind, earning the respect of your superiors. He couldn't help but feel drawn to you, despite his annoying smugness. His attempts to gain your attention often manifested as mockery and taunting. Deep down, he longed to hold you close and feel your touch. However, when you began to warm up to him, betrayal struck, driving a wedge between you.

He was determined to repair that breach.

"Aren't those weights a bit heavy for you, darlin'?" Graves remarked, his eyes fixed on you as you let the barbell fall to the ground. You hadn't even noticed his presence, so focused were you on your workout. Your chest tightened, reminiscing about the old days when he would taunt and annoy you. Though you had promised yourself to ignore him completely, he had broken your heart once, and you couldn't afford to let him reopen those wounds.

You ignored him, shooting him a cold glare before lifting the barbell once again. Graves smirked, amused by your icy demeanor. It was a challenge for him to see how much he could push you before you broke down and let your guard down. He relished in getting under your skin, even though it pained him not being able to approach you in any other way.

The room was thick with the scent of sweat and the heat of intense concentration. It was deathly silent, save for the sound of your shallow breaths and light paintings.

Graves stood there, unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on you like a predator stalking its prey. He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke with a mockingly confident tone, his southern drawl becoming more pronounced. "You're hurting your hands, sweetheart. You're meant to look pretty and keep quiet, not fight men three times your size," Graves added.

Your eyes gleamed with a surge of adrenaline. You turned to face him, dropping the heavy barbell and walking towards him with a fiery glare. You snapped, your words laced with a fiery passion, a storm threatening to consume his very existence. "Want to see what these hands can do too?"

Graves smirked, folding his arms and exuding an air of confidence and arrogance. Yet, there was something else in his gaze. He yearned for your attention, scanning your figure from head to toe, as if watching you train or work countless times wasn't enough to memorize every inch of your skin. "Yeah, I'd love to find out," he replied eagerly.

In a swift motion, you tripped him up and landed a light punch, causing him to fall to the ground. The smirk never left his face. You pressed your knee against his ribcage, applying slight pressure as a warning. "I wouldn't hesitate to knock you out if you say something like that again," you warned, your voice filled with determination.

Graves let out a sharp gasp, feeling the weight of your presence pinning him down. His body tensed, his blood racing through his veins. He couldn't help but revel in the fire burning in your eyes. "I suppose I crossed a line, darlin'," he rasped, his voice low.

As you moved away, returning to your workout, Graves took a deep breath. He couldn't help but yearn for you even more, despite the cold shoulder you gave him. His eyes followed the contours of your body as you worked on the pulldown machine. Leaning against the wall, he shamelessly continued to stare, captivated by your every move.

He made no attempt to conceal the desire burning within him as he glanced over at you. Despite the potential risks of breaking a few rules and facing the consequences, he mustered the courage to speak up.

"Wouldn't you appreciate my help, darling? You seem quite confused."

You let out a sigh, raising an eyebrow as you observed the man. His face displayed an assured smirk that hinted at a superiority complex. His lips curled slightly, forming a subtle, knowing smile that added to the smugness radiating from his countenance. Clutching your water bottle, you muttered in frustration.

"Don't you have meetings or reports to attend to instead of wasting my time?"

"It won't take me long to finish those reports and meetings. Care to swing by my office and see for yourself?" Graves added with a teasing wink.

Your attempts to ignore him only fueled the fire burning in his heart and warming his soul. He folded his arms, leaning back against the wall as he watched you gather your belongings. A slight twinge of pain coursed through him, not wanting you to leave.

"Just leaving me here like that, sweetheart? You didn't even say goodbye."

"Why would I?" you scoffed, walking past him.

The scent of your perfume tormented his senses, and he found himself staring at the open door in shock. He followed you, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over him.

Why were you so distant now?

He longed to hold you, to kiss you, to embrace the burning sensation he felt. He called out your name, trying not to let his voice betray the desperation that consumed him.

"Darling, I..." Graves spoke softly, his eyes filled with pain.

You let out a sigh, finally stopping in the middle of the hallway. You didn't turn around, ensuring he wouldn't see the fire in your chest or the pain etched all over your face.

Graves experienced a mixture of emotions. His pride yearned to command you, to force you to face him and express your emotions. But he knew it was a losing battle, considering you had been ignoring him for the past few weeks. No one had ever treated him this way. He commanded, watching your calm figure in front of him.

"Look at me," he whispered, and you could swear you heard a hint of shyness and shame in his words. "Please...?"

You faced him, the venom and pain mixing in your heart, extinguishing any other emotions that remained in your mind.

"Of course, Commander. Why wouldn't I look at the man who once betrayed us?"

Graves gritted his teeth, his emotions in turmoil as anger and guilt battled within him. He was so close yet so far away, feeling himself being pulled towards you.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Graves finally met your eyes, his blue orbs filled with both desire and pain. A bittersweet serenity enveloped you both.

"You want me to acknowledge you as if you hadn't done anything. You've lived a long life, yet you still have no clue about the consequences of your actions."

Graves took a deep breath, his anger resurfacing, accentuated by his southern drawl, making him sound even more threatening.

"That was an order from Shepard. We had to take the base to ensure we could find the terrorists and make sure there were no survivors. As for Alejandro..." Graves hesitated for a moment but decided to be as honest as he could. "We were following orders. I didn't have a choice."

"They trusted you. I thought I could trust you," you whispered, your eyes piercing him with a cold, angry gaze.

Graves fell silent for a moment, feeling the sting of your words pierce his heart like a dagger. He cleared his throat before muttering, his tone tinged with weariness.

"I had to make choices I didn't want to. I couldn't refuse, not when hundreds of lives relied on me. Refusing meant their death. Someone had to die. This is war."

"Next time he asks you to bomb our base, you'll comply, won't you?" you challenged.

Graves's heart sank as you spoke. He hesitated for a few moments, trying to find the words to answer, but he had nothing to defend himself with. He spoke in a tired, exhausted tone, the fire that once burned within him now extinguished.

"No," he paused, his tone quiet and filled with despair. "I would rather end my own life than hurt a single hair of you."

Your head snapped up, confusion evident in your eyes. "What do you mean?"

Graves couldn't bear your cold words any longer. He turned away from you, his shoulders slumped as emotions began to overwhelm him. In his mind, he replayed all the moments he was forced to hurt and kill. His past and the pain he had caused were eating away at his soul. His voice was weak when he spoke, his Southern drawl a mere echoGraves couldn't hide his burning desire as he looked at you. Despite the potential risks and consequences, he mustered the courage to speak up.

"Nothing is more precious to me than you. I requested your captain to send you for gathering intel before my mission. I knew Shepard would use you as a threat, and my soldiers would try to detain you. Dralin, you are my only weakness, and I wish for nothing more than to protect you from harm," Graves said quietly, unsure if he was speaking to himself or to you.

You were completely shocked, taken aback by his words.

Was this his confession? What had you done to cause such a reaction from the usually composed commander?

Your mere presence seemed to have pushed him to the edge. But if it meant that you will embrace him and kiss away his sorrows, he was willing to accept that fate.

Graves continued, guilt evident in the way he cupped his left elbow. "Shepard is... influential. There was no time to ask for help. Besides, it was just me and my team against that army." He turned to look at you with a solemn expression. "It was impossible to fight them and survive..."

You looked down, your hand hesitantly reaching for his calloused palm, gently cupping it in your own. You squeezed his scarred flesh, silently murmuring.

"I believe you..."

Graves' gaze remained fixed on you. The warmth in your voice and your attempts to comfort him stirred something deep within his heart. He stepped closer to you, speaking softly.

"I was afraid of losing everything... I couldn't bear to imagine what would have happened to all of you if I had chosen to side with you instead of Shepard." Graves whispered, his words sounding like a confession.

Standing before you, he felt vulnerable. The touch of your cold hand in his made shivers run down his spine, reminiscent of the feelings of young love. Graves had fallen for many women, but none had ever made him lose his mind and experience the intoxicating bliss that you brought to his life.

"I'm sorry, darlin, my decisions are never perfect... I have blood on my hands... so much blood... I just..." he murmured, his head lowered and his eyes downcast.

Summoning the little courage you had, you brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen on his face and leaned in to join your lips together. At first, he was still, shocked by the gesture, but soon his warm lips met yours, and the two of you became lost in a passionate embrace. It was enchanting, like two intertwined swans, their souls merging into one.

As you pulled away for a breath, your lips still lingering close to his, his hand cupped the back of your head, gently stroking your locks.

"I forgave you... a long time ago..." you whispered against his lips. A small twitch at the corner of his mouth revealed a genuine smile, not the usual smug grin or fake laugh. It was a smile that only appeared when you complimented his hair or his skills.

He hugged you tightly, holding you close to his chest, seeking solace in the curve of your neck. Finally, he let go of all the painful emotions that had been eating away at his soul, allowing you to embrace him and experiencing a sense of peace that he hadn't felt in a long time.

You kissed until you were breathless, leaning against the wall and savoring the eternal elixir of each other's lips. It was a divine moment, shared in the empty hallway.

Graves cupped your face, a smile spreading across his flushed features, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Nothing else mattered to him now. Once a sorrowful man, believing he had lost everything, he had come back to life with you in his arms. Your sweet face smiled softly as you continued to kiss him, over and over again.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Congratulations in 5K, wow that's amazing and I'm so happy for you!

Could you please write a Graves drabble (he doesn't get enough love) where he's just so absolutely in love with his SO? Like standing back, leaning against a door frame, and watching his partner do something as mundane as the dishes or drawing? Him softly smiling as his SO hums or does something subconsciously??

I love your writing. Thank you for being my comfort writer.

—Love Echoes In Silence

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You can feel him watching you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a small smile. Humming to yourself, you listen to the birds outside the window.] ❞

You dip your soapy hands back into the water, grabbing another plate before moving it over to the side to rinse its white porcelain face—finally setting it down in the plastic dish rack. Shifting back over, you hum under your breath and grab another, snatching up the washing rag as well to get rid of any residual germs. 

You’d only been at this for about ten minutes; the dishes from last night were left for this morning on account of Phillip coming home early. You’d both had a soft supper with a few glasses of red wine before retiring to bed, where the man was still asleep in the ruffled sheets as his bare skin lay in the rising sunlight; his stomach to the mattress and his hair sticking this way and that. It had been a chore to sneak out from under his arm, but you’d done it nonetheless even if it had taken a few minutes. One delicate kiss to Phillip’s forehead later, you’d slipped into his large t-shirt and padded to the kitchen. 

So, here you are, cleaning up with a smile on your lips and sleepy heat under Phillip’s shirt. A slow hum echoing through the air. 

Another dish is added to the clean pile, and as you grasp one of the dirty wine glasses, you miss the small creak of the floor leading to the kitchen as you listen to the birds outside. 

Phillip rubs at his face with the palm of his hand, yawning slowly before he pushes back his hair and watches. He’s only in his sweatpants—the gray color bunched as the un-tied waistband hangs at his hips. Blinking at you, a slow twitch goes across the man’s lips as he leans to the side, his shoulder to the door frame. 

He doesn’t speak—doesn’t utter anything as his arms cross over his chest and you continue your shapeless tune. Phillip isn’t a good man; he isn’t worthy of care or compassion. He’s done things that will follow him to his grave, the one he’d been digging himself since long before he met you. But there were moments like these where the light hit your body just right; where the house was silent and the floors were soft underfoot. 

Tiny moments that echoed like a call to home. 

You place the wine glass upside down to let the water drip out, wringing out the wash rag and unplugging the sink. You’d only begun washing your hands when your ears twitch to movement. A smile peels your lips.

“Mornin’,” Phillip mutters into your hair, hands sneaking around you until you’re held back to a bare chest. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, flicking off the water on your fingers. Your heart is light. “Sleep well?” 

He hums, squeezing you gently. 

“Come back t’bed.” Your chuckle makes him smile, eyes crinkling. 

“Phillip, I just got up.”

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” he pleads but doesn’t give you time to respond, arms bending to capture your legs and the span of your shoulders. You laugh as he hikes you into his hold—carrying you before your arms snap around his neck; curling into him. “Up ya get.”

“Really?” Your amused voice makes him look at you, raising one of his pale blows as he smirks softly. He brings you back to bed, tendrils of hair bouncing along the way. 

“Up and disappeared. You always leave the men with cold sheets and a yearnin’ in their hearts?” You roll your eyes, giggling into his neck. “You’ll be stickin’ right beside me today, Doll. That’s an order.”

All you do is kiss the corner of his mouth before he drops you both back onto the mattress.

[penelopepine]

Mini Me

Phillip Graves x Fem Reader

Summary: You surprise Graves by having your son show up dressed like him. Content: Fluff, implied sexual content, Dad Graves Word Count: 1106

You couldn't wait to see the look on your husband's face when you and your son arrived at the base. The first grade class had asked all the kids to come dressed as their hero today, and of course your son had begged to go dressed as his dad. 

He already was a spitting image of Phillip; dressing him in clothes resembling his father's military wear only added to that. You even managed to find one of Phillip’s old shadow company patches to make the look perfect. 

It also happened to be the day Phillip would be returning home from some mission. He unfortunately wouldn't be able to return home right away though, and had asked that you both stop by after picking up your son from school. With that in mind you decided to not tell your husband about your son dressing like him; choosing instead to let it be a fun surprise. 

"Are you ready to surprise daddy, baby?" You ask the six year old practically vibrating in his seat the closer you get to the base gates. 

"Yeah!" He exclaims back to you, "I'm going to surprise him so good!" 

You couldn't help but lightly chuckle at how excited he was for this. His initial disappointment about not being able to show Phillip this morning was quickly thrown out the window when you explained how much fun it would be to show not only Phillip, but the shadow's as well.

He absolutely loved his father's shadows; many of them being seen as family. 

You’re quickly passed through the gates with a quick wave and smile from the soldier at the gate. He also lets you know that he'll radio Phillip to let him know you've arrived. 

The walk from the parking lot to Phillip's office is fairly short distance wise, but that doesn't mean you get there quickly by any means. Not when every few steps you're getting stopped by a different shadow who wants to say hello to you both. Many of them make the instant connection that your son is dressed up like his dad today, and address him as 'Commander Graves'. 

Every time they do you swear your son's face seems to glow with how bright that smile is. You can already tell you're going to have a hard time convincing him that he can't dress like this every day. That's tomorrow's problem though for now you're just going to enjoy seeing him so happy. 

It wasn't until you ran into Erikson and Dipaolo that your walk was truly stopped though. 

"Commander Graves is that you?" Is the first thing Dipaolo asks before stopping right in front of your son.

"I think so," Erikson says, stopping next to him, “Certainly looks like the Commander to me.” 

"Well then Commander Graves, do you have any orders for us sir?"

This entire time your son is giggling to himself as the two question if he is or isn't the commander, but upon hearing the question about orders he's immediately shouting out, "Push Ups!"

"Wha-"

"PUSH UPS!" He yells once more. You lightly shush him, but you know that he's just excited to truly act like his dad.

The two soldiers give each other a brief look before seemingly admitting defeat and getting into push up position. 

The six year old is then yelling ups and downs to them. Even going as far as to stand as straight as he can with his hands behind his back. Trying to replicate what he's seen Phillip doing. 

It takes you a few minutes of watching this scene to realize that Phillip is now standing beside you as he silently watches his son command two of his best soldiers up and down. The look on his face is nothing short of amusement and pride. 

Seeing that you have finally noticed him he now directs his gaze to you with a devilish grin before whispering, "This your doing, sweetheart?"

"Surprise," You step closer and give him a quick kiss, "I'm so happy you're back."

"I'll always come back to you - to this." He says as he looks towards his son once again. "He's a real mini me ain't he?" 

Before you can respond though it seems like your son has also noticed that Phillip is now present, and is immediately running towards him yelling out, "Daddy!" 

 Phillip kneels down with arms open as your son slams into him before lifting him up. "Hey buddy, I'm liking your look. Any reason for it or just cause?"

"We got to dress like our hero today for school!" 

And that right there was the real surprise. The revelation that out of anyone he could have picked he chose his dad. It seemed to momentarily shock Phillip before he broke out into a wide grin, "Really! I'm honored, little man. Your mama did a good job of making you look the part, didn't she?"

"Yeah, Mamas the best!" 

Phillip is then pulling you into his side. Everything he's ever wanted is here right now in his arms. He directs his attention to the soldiers still in front of them for all but a moment, "Erikson, Dipaolo you two are excused." He is then turning around, you still nestled into his side and your son on his arm, walking towards his office. 

Once in there he's setting down his son to let him around the room, and dragging you over to his chair; putting you in his lap. You're relaxing instantly into his chest as he wraps his arms around your waist as you watch your son roam around the room. 

"Ya know him dressed like my mini me has got me thinking," Phillip murmurs into your ear.

You give him a questioning glance before asking, "What about?"

"About how nice it would be for you to have a mini me as well." 

This has you taking a pause because at first you're not sure if you heard him correctly, or if he's really implying what you think he's implying. "… Are you saying you want another baby?" 

"Baby, I'm begging you for another baby." He nods his head towards the little boy excitedly messing around with the bookshelf. "Look at how perfect he is. We need to make more - replicate. Make the world a better place, and all that." 

Well when he says it like that, who are you to refuse, "Let's do it; let's have another baby!" 

He looks you in the eyes with a heated gaze and smirk, "I'll call the babysitter for the day I'm out of here because I'm not planning on wasting any time then, sweetheart.” 

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

64 / 4.1k / soap soulmate au, final part

...

"You doing okay?"

Hearing Graves’ voice knocks what little breath you had out of your lungs. It's been months, but that's him. Your old boss. You never thought you'd hear his voice again.

"I've been better," you say finally. "Been awhile."

"Yeah, it has," he says. "Wish you'd've called me to catch up sometime, rather than under the circumstances. You don't sound too banged up. They treat you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask how you feel. I asked if they roughed you up."

You feel your own temper shorten in response. "I need you to call KorTac off."

There's a pause. You can imagine his frowning face, the way he's thinking that one over. "I'll take that under advisement," he finally says, but you can tell he's not going to do what you ask of him. "Puttin' me in a predicament here, kid. You're giving those boys a hard time, and here I thought I was helping you out. Paying your bail, so to speak."

"It’s more complicated than that."

"Always is. Let’s just have you dropped off back on base with us. You can clean yourself up and we’ll talk."

He waits for your crisp yes, sir, but it never comes.

He speaks again. "You got somewhere else to be?"

"I can't go back."

"Can't or won't? You got something you ain't tellin me, soldier?"

"I said I can't go back. And I'm not your soldier anymore. You're not my boss. I don't work for you."

"You know Shadows don't leave one of our own behind. Not to rot in some CIA prison cell. So lose the attitude," he says, voice like iron. "This ain't a good time to play games, kid. You're comin' back with me because I spent a pretty penny on you. You owe me. You have your personal business, fine. Come on back to base and let's talk this out face to face before you go makin' any hasty decisions."

You're so frustrated it's hard to form words. You should be grateful. You know that. Graves doesn’t pretend to care about his men. He cares enough to lead from the front. But you met your soulmate, and you can’t act like it didn't change you. You need to make things right. You also can’t exactly tell Graves you kind of sold him out.

"Hey. Focus up." He doesn't raise his voice to a command. Still, the order is in his voice, and you have been long trained to follow your commander's orders. Then he sighs. "What happened to you, kid?"

"You betrayed the 141. You killed innocent people in Las Almas, looking for them."

You can almost hear his jaw working behind his clenched teeth, the muscles in his face tight. He does not allow this kind of disrespect. "You think I like what I had to do? General Shepherd's orders were clear. We followed them. 141 did not." He huffs out a sigh. "I didn't enjoy it. But that's the job. You of all people know that."

You swallow. "You told us they were our brothers. You killed innocent people, Commander. Johnny said he saw you do it--"

"Johnny?" Grave's voice rises. "You on a first name basis with Soap now?"

"We all know what happened in Las Almas," you retort. Your skin goes hot at the way he says Johnny's name. "I won't work for Shepherd anymore after that. I won't fucking do it."

"Don't pull that with me." The warning is written in his voice. This isn't like you. To the Shadows, you’re calm. Cold. You don't lose your temper. You don't talk back. Especially not to Graves. "You think you can walk away at the drop of a hat just because you don't agree with an order? It doesn't work like that. You follow an order, even if you don't like it, even if it pisses you off. You don't get to decide what you think is right or wrong to carry out. When I give you an order, you follow it. That's your job. Your loyalty is with me. Not with the 141."

"I did my job."

"Then act like it," he snaps. "Stop acting like I'm some evil bastard out here. I made the only choice I could. Task Force 141 was not supposed to be there. They knew my orders, and what did they do? They came after my men, went behind my back, screwed us over. We did what we had to. You wanna be pissed at someone? Be pissed at them."

You glare down at the ice, but say nothing.

"You know I'm right." He knows you. He's getting to you. "And you know what else I find interesting? You don't seem a bit surprised to hear me alive." His voice is too casual and sharp as a knife. "Didn't you get the memo? Did no one forward you my obituary, soldier?"

You stiffen. You're not supposed to know he's alive.

"You're an awful liar. Always have been." He pauses for a long moment. "It ain't easy, surviving against the 141 if they want you dead. You know how I managed it, soldier?"

Yes. "No,” you retort. “And stop calling me that. I'm not your soldier. I don't work for you anymore."

"The hell you aren't. Maybe you're not on the payroll anymore, and maybe you're no longer under my command, but once a Shadow, always a Shadow. That makes you my responsibility. And my goddamn headache." Something shuffles on the other end of the line. "You know exactly what I'm willing to do to keep one of my Shadows safe. But if you're so keen on turning yourself in, fine. I'll have you in front of Shepherd's desk first thing tomorrow. Is that what you want? You know Soap and Ghost put Shadows in the ground that night in Las Almas."

"Shadows tried to put Johnny and Ghost in the ground first."

"This isn't about who shot first. This is about you." His voice is dangerously low, but he keeps his temper in check. Then he huffs a laugh. "You keep callin’ him Johnny. Makes my brain itch." Johnny MacTavish. John MacTavish. Yeah, that's it. "I'll be damned," he mutters.

You touch your exposed soulmark compulsively as if to hide it. Most soldiers hide theirs, but yours has always been tough to cover up. He's seen it more than a few times.

"Got you right out from under my fuckin' nose."

Your stomach tightens. You feel too exposed, like suddenly he’s putting the story together--how 141 got in.

"Shoulda known. Shoulda known. You know the military has a registry for this shit. There are rules. What's wrong with you?"

"I made a mistake," you mutter.

That might be the funniest thing he ever heard. And he's heard some good jokes. "You don't make mistakes, kiddo. You never have. That's not how I trained you." He's right, and you know it. "But hey. Guess it's true what they say about it."

"What?"

"Soulbonds. Make you take your best-laid plans and raze ‘em. Full scorched earth.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m making this decision on my own.”

“You think?” He takes a puff on his cigarette. “I don’t. I don't blame you, either. You sure as hell fought it as best you could. Didn't give in to save your own life. If that's not the soulbond making your decision for you, soldier, I don't know what is."

You look up at the sky. For all the time you spent working with Graves, that past version of you might as well be dead. Maybe that’s the grave you’ve been digging. "I can't work for Shepherd anymore. I won't do it."

"You're a good soldier, 86. You were loyal. I still think you're loyal, even if I'm not who you're loyal to," he finally says. His voice is still calm. It doesn't make you feel any better. "You know if you choose to walk away from this, the next time we meet might well be as enemies."

"Then I guess we won't meet again, sir."

He says nothing. Then he lets out a long huff. You really are going to do him dirty. You can hear his scowl. "That's a damn shame, kid. But you have more of a spine than I gave you credit for," he says. There's a tone of reluctant respect to it. That's as close as you're going to get to a compliment from him now. "You're a loose end, then. You'd best stay well out of the way. Mine and Shepherd's. I hope you're not making the wrong choice, 86," he says quietly. "I really hope you're not."

"It’s out of your hands now. And pay KorTac," you add. "Pay my squad. They did their job."

That makes him scoff. "Now why would I do that? You might be a traitor, but you're still my investment. You were worth more on my payroll than theirs, and that’s a fact I intend to maintain."

"You owe me," you remind him.

"Don't push your luck," he warns. "You're an asset. You don’t get the privileges of rank anymore. But, well..." He sighs. You imagine him with his heels kicked back on his desk, cigarette in hand. "I’ll tell you what. I’m in a charitable mood. I'll pay them off. I'm a man of my word when the time comes to pay off my debts. Hell, I’ll even throw in a tip for a job well done." Despite the annoyance in his voice, you don't doubt he'll do just that. "But that doesn’t mean I trust you anymore. I trusted you once, and you went rogue. I let you go now, that means I expect you to keep my secrets. Don't you go singing if Shepherd puts you in a chair. You got that?"

You glance up out of the corner of your eye at Soap, whose hands are still clenched in tight fists at his sides. "If Shepherd puts me in a chair, he's the one who's gonna sing. Not me."

Graves chuckles. "You're a good soldier, 86, but you can't take on an old war dog like Shepherd. Leave that to someone more qualified."

"Like who? You?"

"As I said, you best steer clear. I don't want to hear your name again." His voice hardens, and you hear your old commander again. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it. And give Soap hell."

You toss the phone back to Horangi. He listens to what Graves has to say. Then, eyes meeting yours for a moment, he wordlessly moves out away from the river, leaving you weary with relief. It's over. Finally.

Soap watches him disappear into the trees. Then, he looks back at you, alone and shivering on the ice. You look half-dead, bleeding, and your lips are near blue. He wants to make his way to you, but the ice is scarcely holding you. It won't hold him, too.

"Oi," Soap calls. His voice is rough with anxiety. "Get over here. You're gonnae freeze to death even if you don't fall through."

You blink up at him. Standing in the rising sun the way he is now, he looks like someone’s guardian angel. Yours? You'd like very much to be wrapped in his wings.

You make your way over to the bank, but the rocky ledge up is slippery and icy. Behind you, between the ice where you're standing and the bank, there's a yawning gap. To your left, there's a bridge, but snow has already melted off the surface of the ice, and it looks thin. "There's no way up," you call. "But downriver..."

"No’ a chance in hell I’m going to let you try to cross that," Soap says as he approaches the edge. "You'll be swept away and drown, hen. You're not in any condition to swim, and even if you were, that river's too bloody fast to risk it."

"Then what do you suggest?"

His eyes sweep over the river once more. It's wide; too wide to attempt a jump across. The ice has fallen in, leaving it almost impossible to make it to the bank. It isn't safe. The longer you stand there, the more the ice cracks under you. He admires your guts for putting yourself on the line like that to get back to him, but damn you. His blood pressure has never been higher.

Soap throws off his pack and slings his gear onto the bank. "I'll pull you up."

"But..."

"But nothing." With the adrenaline still pumping through his system, Soap thinks nothing of the risk of the bank collapsing under you both with his added weight. The only thing on his mind is getting you back in one piece. "We both know damn well, if I was the one on the ice now, you'd already be down there trying to help me, so for once, just shut up and let me help you."

Can't argue with that.

He pulls out an ice hook--mountaineering equipment; he was prepared to climb this mission, luckily--and offers it to you.

You toss the grenade as far as you can in the opposite direction. Then you raise your hands to grasp the rope. He's holding the sharp end and giving you the handle. You try to keep hold, but as he lifts, your bloodied hands slip just as the grenade explodes nearby, too close, spiderwebbing the ice with a final crack.

You land hard, break through, and disappear under the freezing water.

Soap has never known panic faster than when he sees you go under.

He dives after you. He has to get you back to the surface before whatever air you had in your lungs gives out. Your survival is his survival.

He finds you in the rushing black abyss when your fingers hook around his sleeve. Wrapping his hands around your arms, Soap anchors you to his chest.

You come to in his arms. You're colder than you ever have been in your life. Your fingertips tingle in pain and numbness. He's carrying you ashore somehow--far downriver, thinner ice--and he ducks into an old cabin with you in his arms.

Soap kicks the door shut behind him and moves into the cabin to set you on the floor, propping your back against the wall. His hands work fast as he pulls out his knife to cut away your soaked thermal clothes and gear. You dip in and out of consciousness until he wads up a fistful of gauze and packs it into your side wound. The sudden pain chokes you. Then a wave of nausea washes over you. You’d like nothing more than to tell him where precisely he can shove that gauze, but you’re too lightheaded.

"You with me, hen?" His gruff voice wavers. "I need you to stay awake."

He gathers you up in his arms and lifts you into his lap. It's a tight fit, wedged underneath the frosty window and between a table and an upturned stool. You register the warmth of his skin on yours and dimly realize he's stripped both of you almost bare, huddling around you to prevent hypothermia.

You soak up Soap’s body heat instantly. He's a furnace, and he needs to be, given the state you're in. He tucks you as close as he can. You're both shivering, but he doesn't care. He can be cold as long as you're warm. His broad body shields you from the drafts leaking into the decrepit cabin.

"No, no, eyes open." He tilts your face up as your eyes flutter. "Don't go passin' out on me."

You gaze up at him in your stupor. Maybe it's the blood loss, but even through your own pain and frustration, he's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

"You have really odd eyes," you mutter. "Like blueberry soft serve."

Oh, you're definitely delirious. Maybe concussed.

But he can't deny the look you're giving him right now makes his stomach flip. The sight of you in his lap, your frost-scorched fingers wrapped idly around his ID tag and staring up at him like he's just pulled the moon out of the sky for you... it's the first time he’s seen you with your guard down.

He swallows and keeps you pressed against his skin. There’s a lot of blood. He can’t tell what’s yours and what isn’t. "You're in no shape to flatter me."

You hum, your fingers dabbing idly at a smear of blood on his chest.

He doesn't move to stop you. Instead, his eyes flick down to your hand. Your fingers leave a trail of sparks over everywhere you touch.

With a soft sigh, Soap catches your wrist. "Quit it, hen."

"Quit what?"

"Teasin'. Makin' me wish you'd put those hands to other uses," he says, voice quiet and rough. It's just you and him in the little cabin. The world is far away. His thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, trying to bring some warmth back into your skin. "You're in no shape to be feelin' me up, either."

Your head lolls against his shoulder. "Maybe it's the perfect time. Maybe we won't get another time."

Hearing you say that twists his insides into knots. He leans down to rest his forehead against yours. "Maybe you just need to shut up and let me take care of you. Don't talk like that." His voice leaves no room for argument. He tightens his grip on you, pressing you closer as if he can somehow press that into your skin by sheer will alone. "There'll be plenty of times for you to get your hands on me."

"Mm." You tuck into him tighter. You'd be mortified with yourself if you weren't half-dead from blood loss. "Sorry."

He exhales into your hair, pressing chaste kisses there.

You're practically in his lap, the two of you tangled into each other from head to foot in the space under the window. He's surrounded by the smell of you. It's a soothing presence in all that surrounds him.

He shouldn't want to touch you, shouldn't want to take advantage of your weakness--but the thought of having you so open and wanting, of you willingly in his arms, makes something in him ache. Makes the selfish parts of him scream.

"You're a pain in my arse," he says. He focuses on taking inventory of your wounds, brushing over your arms with his touch to assess the damage. "You gonnae bleed out on me?"

You shiver a little as he drags you closer by your bare thigh. "Wouldn't be the worst way to go."

"Oi," he snaps in warning. He slides his hand up your side, checking for bleeding. It’s just as much a caress over your bare skin. He has to ignore how his skin tingles every time the curve of your body slides against his in that tantalizing way. Something in his lower belly tightens. "You don't get to tap out after makin' me go through all this trouble for you. You're livin' through tonight or else."

"Or else what?"

"Or else." He moves his hand up to the base of your throat, his large, calloused fingers wrapping around your neck and tilting your chin up to look at him. He fixes his blue eyes on yours to take in the dazed expression on your face. "I'll drag your arse out of hell and tan it until you can't sit right."

You're too weary to laugh, but you rest your scuffed cheek on his thumb, and it pushes your lips into a smirk. "All for me?"

"Aye. Hell of a lot more trouble than your pretty face should be worth."

You pull free and rest your head on his shoulder again. "Where do you live?"

"Glasgow," he says. "Not sure I should be tellin' you that."

You trace his chest around the chain of his ID tag. So many muscles. "Probably not."

"And what about you? Do I get to know?"

"No. Maybe. If we get out of here."

"Yeah? Well, you're not goin' anywhere with this wound. Bleedin' out, nearly froze to death, and still mouthin' off. No idea how to shut up and be good." He looks down at the injury, assessing how bad it really is in the dim light of the cabin. "You lost a lot of blood. I bet you feel tired." He brushes your hair off your face. "Stay awake a bit longer. The boys'll be here soon."

"I shouldn't," you mutter.

Soap doesn't miss the slurring of your words. He knew the blood loss would affect you, but he was hoping for more time before he had to really worry. "Shouldn't stay? Too late to get away from me now," he says, trying to keep his tone casual. Your skin is too cold for comfort. The gauze in your wound soaking through with blood can't mean anything good. "I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Sure as hell not letting you out of my sight. You've got a lot to repay me for."

You try to keep your eyes open. Every blink is more sluggish than the last. "Like what?"

"Runnin' away and makin' me chase after you, for one. Puttin' yourself in the line of fire for me, second. Takin' a swim in a frozen river. Scared me to death." He presses his lips to the crown of your head, a gentle, chaste touch at odds with the possessive, dominating instinct he can feel creeping into his thoughts. You're vulnerable right now, something he should never want, but part of him wonders if he’d ever have caught up with you without this. "Aye, you owe me. First thing we do once you're patched up? We have a long talk. We have a whole hell of a lot we need to say to one another. And you'll answer every question I ask you."

"I dunno if you'll like the stuff I say," you mutter.

"Hardly matters. You’re plenty keen on spittin’ fire at me as it is. No reason you can’t keep tellin’ me everything I don’t want tae hear."

Another shiver wracks your body.

Soap rubs your arms. "You gotta give your word you stay awake for me, aye? Stay here."

His radio beeps nearby. You huff. "Fine."

"Fine." He leans over to grab his radio and tries to keep an arm around your shoulders to keep you warm as he does. He keeps you cradled against his chest as he responds to Price.

"Soap here."

You don't hear the conversation. Instead, you listen to Soap's voice vibrate through his chest. He speaks to Price in hushed tones, talking about your condition and the team's ETA.

Price has a laundry list of questions, but Soap manages to wrangle them into holding off until they have everyone back on base. No sense exhausting you on a mission that's already been a shitshow. Finally, they're done. Soap lets the radio go to focus entirely on you again. "Still with me?"

"How long do we have?"

"Shouldn't be too much longer," he says. He checks your side again. The coldness of the air has soaked into the wet gauze. You shiver again. It makes something in him ache. "ETA's about ten minutes out."

You pull his lips down to yours and kiss him.

He's surprised, but he doesn't pull back--not from you. He lets you kiss him. Your taste seeps into his brain and turns all rational thought to white noise. One hand cups your jaw with a surprising gentleness, and the other slides behind your waist to keep you against his body. He's gentle--you need to be handled with care right now.

He pulls back before he loses himself in the desire to deepen the kiss. His eyes search your face, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

"You're lucky you're injured," he murmurs. "Or you'd be in a very different kind of trouble right now."

You shiver, but not with the cold. Just that one kiss has you feeling much warmer. You touch your name where it's written on his arm. Then you curl your fingers around the back of his neck and pull yourself closer. "Hold onto that thought for later," you murmur. "Give me something to wait for."

Then you kiss him again.

...

← previous part / [part 13] / epilogue →

part 1 / more Soap / masterlist

thank you <3

[yawnderu]

Kortac members that would like a bimbo reader..?

Like I can't imagine anybody.

Especially Nikto.

Bimbo reader: look at my nails I made them with a cute colour... Hope you like them🤭💓

Nikto: 👁️👄👁️

Nikto: you're wasting my money for that..?

BFEKBHEHJFKBEHJFKBHBJFKEHJKB

Nikto would NOT do good with a Bimbo!Reader simply because he's too old for that shit and just doesn't get it. Would he fuck her? Yes. Would he date her? No.

Showing him your new plushies or nails would end up with him looking at you with his scary ass eyes like 🔵_🔵 and probably dissociate while staring at you, as he usually does either way fheefhjb

HMMM as for KorTac members that would do well with someone like Bimbo!Reader, I can see Graves, Valeria, and König.

I think Graves in general would 100% be the type to have a trophy wife, pretty little thing clinging to his arm in public, perfect body showing in the skimpy clothes you love to wear. It's natural for a man with money to spoil you, mainly buying lingerie and dresses that leave little to the imagination, though he also buys you things for your special interests and supports your hobbies.

Valeria, well... having a pretty thing like you is a far cry from all the war and violence in Las Almas, keeping you away from that place and kept a secret so the enemy cartels don't hunt you down. She's seen how ruthless they can be— she's a huge part of cartel violence as well, so she makes sure to keep you safe and guarded away from any of her enemies, never once being seen with you in public even when she secretly sometimes hopes she was able to give you a normal relationship.

König loves coming home to his pretty, bimbo girlfriend. You keep him in check and show him a more optimistic perspective than what someone as cocky and pessimistic as him is used to. Even when you're not the brightest tool in the shed, you're not afraid to knock him down a peg whenever he gets too cocky, and he absolutely adores to spoil you. He makes good money— what's the point in that if not buying lovely lingerie and dresses for his girl?

[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.

[koisuko]

Reader with an OF, but she never shows her face, been wondering if the cod boys would be interested in participate if both didn't show their face, no one would know their name, basically no one would know who they were

Tw: mdni, fem reader, sexual content, of is only fans

Ft: Alejandro Vargas, Phillip Graves, König, Rodolfo Parra

Alejandro Vargas…

Would join. People know who he is, so even if he were to show his face, I doubt he would be against it.

The added mystery excites him, being obscured for all eyes except yours. He wants to keep the face to the body reserved for you and you only.

Plus, he likes that no one can see the faces you make. Only he can see how beautiful you look, sweat beading on your forehead while you scream his name for the 5th time in a night.

Phillip Graves…

Is indifferent. He’s taken down terrorists, drug lords, you name it, pictures of his naked body for all to see isn’t something that scares him.

He gives me the vibes that he’s a bit cocky of his appearance. So he actually might like the idea of showing it off, with you as his cowgirl, taking him for a ride.

There will be more pictures of him fucked out than you. It’s supposed to be your OF, but he seems to be the star of the show, and the fan favorite.

König…

Isn’t into it. He’s insecure, and not fond of his appearance. He doesn’t mind if you do it though, as long as some part of you is private to him, your face works just fine.

He’s a private man, and secretive too. Even if no face is shown, he still has defining tattoos and distinct scars that someone could recognize. That in itself makes him paranoid.

He will however, have you choking on his cock behind the camera with the lens faced at your naked body, your fingers between your folds. Just out of frame, your eyes are rolled back and wretched gagging sounds bounce off the walls. His raw pink tip slams the back of your throat, grunts and choked moans fill the room. He’ll let out a guttural roar just as he slaps the tip against your tongue, spurting his seed all over your face. The only part of him your fans will ever see, is his cum dripping down your chin.

Rodolfo Parra…

Is too shy for it. If he agrees, you’d definitely have to ease him into it. He’s a bit shy and reserved over his appearance. He wouldn’t say he’s ugly, no, but he doesn’t see himself being a guy everyone would gawk at.

Honestly, he might like it. I think he would enjoy the attention he’d get from comments and subscribes. He’d be happy that so many people want what they can’t have, and feels lucky to have such a beauty by his side.

He’d prefer the pictures where you ride, or missionary, anything to get a good view of where you two merge as one. He also enjoys watching his cock disappear inside you, and a bulge forms on your lower abdomen. His all time favorite though, is when his face is covered by your pussy, sat all the way down. The picture is from your angle, while his face is buried so deep inside your cunt that you worry he is suffocating.