#phillips brewing

[woodnickle]

3/5 🎃🎃🎃🍻🎃🎃🎃

Featuring @yaroslava-the-wicked

[thatwritererinoriordan]

[captainjimothycarter]

Do you think Col. Phillips was a horse guy? 🐴🐎

I have no idea why this is so funny to me but it is.

I absolutely love this ask because yes, yes, I fully believe that he is a horse guy. I fully believe that he falls in love with horses and it's the only rare time that anyone has seen him smile around them.

After the war, he retires to a ranch. No one can prove me wrong.

[majormeilani]

tho i really could bc wormie does have a dweller's mask that she wears sometimes.....

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: When They Propose

=͟͟͞♡ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

How else could he show that you were more to him than a just another episode in life? whatever it is he might've been through, maybe you didn't shake him, maybe you didn't turn his world upside down, causing a storm of feelings brewing violently and rapidly in his heart

But you've been a wonderful experience, more heartfelt than any other, striking the chords that resonated the warmth and comfort he needed at his point in life, the best things do come later

You were something to be savored, contemplated, admired slowly and with a timely manner, a study he'd want to devote himself to for the rest of his life, so gingerly he asked if you'd accept

Ghost

Very similar to when he had to admit he had taking a liking to you; a quiet conversation at sunrise, or sundown, or midnight or-

He wanted to spent the rest of his life receiving and returning that serenity you had given him from the turbulence of life, from all those times he'd feel strangely secure and safe in your presence, unable to spend longer periods of time away from you

Always seeking you in a room full of people, what comfort did you bring to him, he wanted to do the same to reciprocate that time and energy, the feeling and sentiment you'd given him and what better way than to make a promise to you that he'd spend his life doing so?

Soap

Wants to find you in whatever world, reality, or universe there is, for you to be his sun or moon, his stars, his heaven or torment, his life or death, for you to be the cause of pain in his heart at the mere thought of you

Would drop the question at the most inconvenient time because "no time will be better" to pour his heart out, the words that come spilling from his mouth without warning

He wants to take care of you like no one else will, to cherish you like no other, to weave himself into you over the years and never leave your side; this is his promise

Gaz

The soft emotion in his eyes; showing the genuine feelings he has for you, eyes not drifting away from yours not even for a second as he holds your hand, seeking that connection physically while saying it through his words

As he professed his love for you and your heart felt as if it was being lifted, falling in love all over again

How did he go so long without spilling his entire being out to you? You've caused so much build-up of emotion he's practically rewriting the definition of love with his words, his only regret in all of this is not telling you sooner

Roach

Beyond nervous

Breathes in and out slowly, not wanting his voice to come out weak

He knows what he feels for you isn't fleeting, it's real, it's pure and he wants to communicate it exactly

He's brought you a collection of things that remind him of you, a carefully folded note with your phone number written on it, a thread that came off a sweater you wore often and that he loved on you, a bead that fell off of your jewelry, insignificant seeming things that showed that every small actions of yours made up his world

And hopefully you'd accept him in yours

Alejandro

Rehearsed over and over again, how he would string his sentences together with precision

Ended up ditching the entire planned out dialogue and just saying what he felt at the moment which flowed more naturally and had a deeper effect

Oh, and how impassioned were his words, such intensity in them that you felt as if your legs would give out from underneath you

Holding his hands as you listened, and overcome with joy as you said yes and collapsed into his arms

Rudy

There was simply no one like you, and he wanted to show you now more than ever

He knew you didn't need the extravagant or showy proposal to accept, maybe something like a quiet scenery, tranquil yet impressionable

Alone with you, with glances sent your way, more meaning in his eyes with every look, soft touches that made you feel warm all over

It all made him want to ask you to spend eternity with him, he's got nothing to lose but that future he's envisioned with no one but you

He can't wait, can't you say it back?

Phillip Graves

Thought a lot about how he wanted to propose to you; where, when, what ring, what to wear, what to say, literally everything down to the smallest details, you're just everything and more to him, how could he not think of you in everything?

He's never had a problem with confidence till now, not that he doubted your love for him, but he couldn't help but keep checking his reflection in the mirror or any transparent surface for that matter

Kept glancing at his watch as he anxiously looked for you, the sentiment already building in his heart, piling in his throat, impatient to know whether you'd stay in the palm of his hand for life or not

Keegan

The strange high and lows he's experienced with you, the constant lovers' quarrels and bickering laced with playful banter and teasing had grazed his heart, leaving behind a scorching flame he'd be willing to devote the rest of his life to keeping alive

Maybe the proposal, which is more of a confession, comes out rushed and under heavy rain, but it's palpable, the ice-cold water soaking him to the bone, leaving no thought or feeling unsaid

Oh, end his agony and accept already :(( or else his soul may forever be condemned to torment

König

Begging with his eyes for you to be his, forever, that look that lasts a lot longer, it lingers on you, seeking for an answer which will either silence him forever or lead the fellow through what he believes is the gateway to heaven

Maybe he asks on a quiet evening, you're alone together, he's resting his head upon you, only a pillow separating him from you, and he realizes that maybe this is the peace his mind has secretly been wanting all along

And it's not just anyone who grants him such valuable thing, he wants to spend every waking moment, from when he's awake and feeling to when he's asleep but in his subconscious knowing he's in your embrace and you in his

Horangi

Possibly he'd been spooning you, gently holding you in his arms, practicing being tender and soft when it occurred to him he wants to do this always

It's not just anyone that sets your soul on fire when you touch, for who else could make him feel so lively? his heart beating for you, spinning out of control

He so desperately hopes you accept, despite his impulses, his imperfections and build a future with you, even if it means bickering everyday, to do laundry and go grocery shopping with you every weekend, anything but stay in this middle and never become anything

Nikto

To be loved is to be understood, to be known, to say "I love you" to confess such an intimate and vulnerable thing can be over in mere seconds but take a lifetime to understand

You had shown him love in different forms, all those serene moments, you never pressuring him but instead igniting a flame; the whispering of love which had staggered him

He wouldn't want to wake up not being able to feel your presence next to him, your weight making the bed feel warmer, your hand which he reaches for just to make sure you're still there, the hugs you give him when he least expects it and he secretly loves although he never admits it

Yeah, you'd be unforgettable and a missing piece in his life, a custom he'd never be able to just shrug off

[freshlybrewedbookreviews]

The Billion Ghosts Awandering by Corrine Phillips

This was a perfect collection for spooky season, full of short stories and poems that capture the feeling of the best season. I'll revisit this one next spooky season.

[sky-is-the-limit]

'I make guarantees.'

Phillip Graves x F!Reader

Summary: As a member of the TF141, it comes naturally to be aggravated by Phillip Graves. Pair that with every fiber of your body, mind and soul desiring him, and you have a ticking bomb ready to explode. Basically, porn without plot.

CW: Angry sex, jealousy, possessiveness, degradation, violent/explicit language, mention of blood (minor), unprotected sex.

WC: 4,712 words (oops)

Notes: I'm not a writer!

Phillip Graves was no ordinary man. He was the sort to blaze through your soul like a wildfire, allow you to feel the kind of passion and intensity you only find between the lines of a fantasy tale and then leave ashes behind, forever engraved in your skin.

As if sensing his gaze, you turned to look at Phillip. You only spared him a passing glance though, smirking just before turning back to laugh at a joke Johnny told, too crest for the other man's tastes.

This was the second mission where you had to collaborate with the Shadow Company for a more effective outcome, meaning you had to be in his overwhelming presence once more. Someone outside watching in would think that you hated each other, whenever you'd interact. You always tested his limits, toed every line that you could cross with every action, with every takedown.

Perhaps you did, deep inside. Hated him for igniting feelings in you so intense that would only resonate to you either banging your head against a wall or let him fuck you against one.

Phillip showed his interest straight away, from the very first interaction the two of you had during your first mission, his arrogance and cockiness oozing out of him as though he had no ordinary blood running through his veins. Pair that with the way he was talking to Johnny, the closest squad member to you, you had to turn down his advances, which unsurprisingly, hurt his fragile ego and ever since, all remarks exchanged between the two of you were like bullets destined to kill.

Once more, you found yourself in the common area of your temporary base, left alone to face him. Your leisure time of listening to Soap's silly dad jokes and good conversation over coffee was cut short when Phillip walked in.

Johnny did not have the patience to ignore him and his snarky comments that he had to physically get away from him, and you did not blame him one bit. Was it your pride or something else forbidding you from exiting right after?

''It's pathetic really.'' His posture was starker than usual, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips tight as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Though you had your back turned on him, you could feel his gaze devouring you whole.

The abruptness startled you, but keeping your composure, you set your coffee down on the table and turned to look at him.

''Your entire existence? I know.'' The words came out in a furious rush and you felt a bead of sweat drip down your back under your black shirt. It was a nasty habit, at that point. You couldn't even finish one argument without starting another and the one brewing was the second one that day.

''How you flirt with him to get my attention, Y/N.'' Phillip's voice was low and irritated, and it set your emotions ablaze, a roaring inferno within your mind. 

“Of course, because it's always about you. I definitely talk to my squad member specifically to get your attention, silly me.'' The minute he walked in, you prepared yourself for this. It would be abnormal for an interaction between the two of you to not turn into an argument.

''He's so boringly predictable that I caught you looking at me at least 50 times. Go on though, I do enjoy the show.'' Arrogance was dripping off his tongue like second nature, along with that all familiar smirk that made your insides hurt.

''Don't you ever get tired of hearing your own voice, Graves? Or do you get off of ticking every box in the 'how to be a perfect narcissist' list?'' You shrieked, hating the way your voice came out your throat but the way in which he threw his shoulders back and laughed in a cruel tone made you see red.

Suddenly he was much closer, leering down at you. It wasn't clear to know who moved first, or who would next.

''Me? A narcissist? You're the one who wants every man's attention on you.'' He growled lowly and stood to full height, his demeanor making you swallow thickly as he loomed closer and stared you down. Out of habit you straightened your spine, lips curling back into a scowl.

''Shut your fucking mouth, Graves-" The blood running through your veins was pumping hot, you wanted to pour it out and paint everything around you red, so it matched the fury riding you with every word he threw in your way. Phillip's response didn’t ease you any.

''Is that what you did to earn your spot hm? Fuck your way to the top?'' His tone dripped with scorn as he responded to you, his words carrying an edge sharper than a sword.

''Say that again, Graves. I fucking dare you.'' Spitting the words with teeth bared, and fists clenched as you circled each other, you poked at his chest firmly, the muscles twitching beneath your fingertips.

Your gaze met his with stubborn defiance, nearly ready to just explode and punch him. Maybe that would make you feel better, knocking some sense into his enormous ego.

There was nothing you despised more than another man undermining your career and progress, belittling you as if you were not greater than all of them combined when holding a sniper riffle in your hands.

What made it worse, was that you knew Graves was doing that to get a reaction out of you, to push your buttons without meaning a single word pouring out of his mouth. It was a facade, you knew that. The first thing he ever said to you, was to compliment your skills, which made his intention even more infuriating.

''You could try that with the Shadow Company next, I promise to give you a higher rank if you use that mouth-'' It was as though your hand had a brain of it's own, moving automatically with force to meet with his cheek and the corner of his mouth, leaving the tender skin red to the touch and the corner of his bottom lip reddening with drops of blood.

''Is that all you got?'' He mocked, his voice gravelly as his fingers wrapped around your wrist tightly, preventing you from moving an inch. Your anger dissipated in the favor of fear the very second you saw his expression.

You were volatile and explosive, but that's how you craved it, and even then, your desire to be fucked by him had trumped all your wrath, in fact, your rage had just heightened it. It was pure madness and the was no rational explanation to it nor that you cared to find one.

Glowering, hands itching to hit him once more, you turned on your heel, aiming for the door and intending to get black-out drunk with Simon as you assumed that he was downing his fifth beer by then, when he grabbed you by the back of your neck and hauled you against him.

You struggled, clawing and scratching his arms as they banded around you and held you trapped. He was chuckling in your ear, you could feel how turned on he was, and your inner voice was crooning that you got just what you wanted, but you ignored it. You wanted to fight yet your body had something entirely different in mind while a flow of slick started to soak up your panties as Graves pressed his manhood into you.

''You fucking-'' The thoughts running wild through your mind interrupted your own words, the ebb and flow of your gazes intensifying by the second though it felt like an eternity of his blue eyes piercing through your soul like he could sense every filthy fantasy hiding behind them. You didn't dare to move and in the end, you didn't have to.

You were both breathing heavily, tension wrought to the extreme as you were staring at each other, not really fathoming how you ended up like this. It was pure excitement, trepidation, like you were desperately waiting for something to happen.

This was the culmination of whatever instinctive, subconscious game the two of you had been playing from the very first mission you'd embarked on collaborating with him, a game of push and push between the two of you until the breaking point.

Graves pushed forward, his lips brutally meeting your own. He bit down on them, hard and cruel, loving the cry you whimpered out as he savored you whole. His hand moved from the side of your head to the back of it, tugging the hair there to tilt your head to his.

The agony was a pleasure as you reciprocated his intoxicating kiss, angry and violent as you teared at his lips. Your sharp teeth aggravated the wound on his lip, and you tasted blood on your tongue.

''Fucking brat-'' He instantly pulled back, his fingers grasping your jaw to keep you in place.

You shivered at his words, a new heat blooming over every surface of your body. Your cheeks tingled and you squirmed in his grip, squeezing your thighs together as you calculated your next move carefully.

"You're such a bastard!" You quirked your head as you breathlessly yelped, almost fearlessly before sliding your arms free of his hold and threaded them into his hair before pulling him in to capture another kiss, hotter and even more passionate than the last.

Phillip responded in an instant, letting his tongue slide against yours, hungrily whilst he tangled his free hand in your hair, gripping painfully, deepening the kiss, like it could be the last thing he ever does.

Your body seemed to burst into a flame of mingled rage and lust, and you knew he felt the same from the desperate, almost angry growl he made the sensation overwhelmed you both. 

Sinking your nails into his scalp, you pressed your hips hard against his erection, feeling him gasp into your mouth before lifting his head to take another look at you, his fingertips never leaving your jaw.

Phillip licked his lips unconsciously as he stared down at you, but before you could say anything, he had brought his face once more closer to yours, his eyes half-lidded and full of desire.

''And you're a fucking slut.'' Once more your hand was lifted in the air, intending to slap him for a second time, but he caught it as it swung for his face and took hold of your other before you could attempt it again. With one swift move, he maneuvered your body around and pinned both of your wrists in a firm grip behind your back before your brain could catch up to what was happening.

Head shaking, arms straining as you tried to break out of his hold, huffing and giving in when he only held onto you tighter, walking both of you closer to the wall, pressing your front hard against it. Panting, furious, your heartbeat thundered somewhere in your throat. The Commander's form was a solid taut weight caging you in, imposing, all muscle, a hard line of his desire against your lower back.

''Someone needs to fuck that attitude out of you, Y/N.'' The words made your toes curl and your hips arch, betraying how desperate you looked, splayed out on his command center for his pleasure. The side of his face was so close to yours that you could feel him breathing down on you, his lips at the shell of your ear.

The other hand that wasn’t currently wrapped around your wrists moved to hold your jaw, squeezing tightly to the point of discomfort.

Briskly, he released your arms, spinning around to pounce on the man before you and quickly pressed your back against the wall once more so you can be chest to chest.

''And that's gonna be you, Graves?'' You met his fire with your own, staring unflinchingly into the heated pools of stormy sea. The question was as close to begging as your pride would allow.

''No one else can. No one else can fuck you the way you deserve but me, soldier.'' He stated, face lowering to yours and his tone low and menacing, the promise of retribution sent shivers down your spine.

The grotesque snarl of words should have made you put him in his place, despise of the outcome. Any other day you would have, but instead, your body had different plans.

''Is that a threat, Commander?'' You croaked out, a smirk settling on your face. How you managed to still be coy in a situation where you knew you had no power was insane and the look on his face confirmed it as his fingers around your jaw grew tighter and you winced in pain. 

''Oh, I don't make threats, Sergeant. I make guarantees.'' There was that deep chuckle again. The one that vibrated up his throat until it bubbled out to bless your ears and slither goosebumps down your spine.

Darkly, he challenged your moral compass that was screaming for you to get away from his intoxicating presence. The smirk formed on his lips was wicked, provocative. The prey was finally caught.

''Let's see how far your arrogance can take you then, Commander.'' With a hint of sarcasm, you challenged him back, deliberately imbuing his title with a sensual cadence. His skin was flushing to you calling him by his rank, a blotchy red slowly encroaching from his throat to his cheeks. It was an interesting kind of power to have over someone. 

For a few seconds he just stared you down, eyes adapting the darkest shade of blue. The sensation simmering down in your abdomen was quickening the pace of your heartbeat trying to burst out of your ribcage in a mingle of fear and arousal. It was taking over every single nerve in your body and there was no way of stopping it, not that you desired to.

With a quick use of his brute strength he hoisted you up, having you scrambled to wrap your legs around his waist while his hands moved to your ass to hold you up.

''You won't even comment on the fact that someone could walk in right now and see you in such a mess, Y/N?'' Phillip murmured gravelly, his lips biting the soft skin of your throat intending to break the skin as he was backing you closer to the table behind you, quickly hoisting you to sit on it. He settled between your legs, hands gripping just above your knees.

''God, you must be so fucking desperate for it, huh?'' He was right, of course. The possibility of someone walking in was more than enough to let shame start creeping in your system and yet all it took was one look at his face. The way the moonlight was shining through the window to define his cheekbones even more, experience visible through the wrinkles decorating the corners of his eyes as they stared into your soul.

''You're taking your sweet time with this, Graves. I'm starting to think that you're all bark and no bite.'' You can’t help the smug smile that spread across your lips as you saw the flare of anger flash in his eyes, finding the way he was so quick to be irritated, quite fascinating.

That little defiant glint still sat in your eyes, and he was absolutely determined to remind you who was in charge by the end of the night.

"Oh, I'll show you how I bite.'' He growled, thrusting his clothed erection against your center, a loud whimper escaping your lips to the friction. 

Gasping, you felt his lips leaving a wet trail down the length of your jaw before he settled in the hollow beneath your ear, an erogenous zone he’d discovered, devoting his attentions there. All your body could do in response was cling to him, mewls and sighs falling haphazardly from your lips.

“I dream about your cunt,” He stated, lifting his head up, smoldering eyes locked on yours as your elbows struggled to keep your balance against the wooden surface.

"How it feels.  How it looks.  How it tastes. I dream of fucking ruining you till you can't move to save your life." Every filthy word out of his mouth was a direct attack to your throbbing core as he maneuvered your hips upwards to yank the fabric of your jeans down to your ankles, legs exposed to the cool air of the stone room.  Your gaze followed his, eyes glued hungrily on the obvious wet spots in your panties.

''Fuck- Do it then.'' Clearly, you weren't thinking when your mouth formed the words, "Fucking do it, already-" But it was spoken harshly between the ragged breaths of your desire, and it was all the invitation he needed.

"You're not the one who gets to make commands here," He growled, taking a sinful pride in the drawn out whimper that he had dug out from you.

''Pathetic.'' And so he lifted one of those large hands to your face and pressed his thumb into your mouth, the pad of it resting on your bottom row of teeth as he dragged your jaw down, forcing your mouth wide open.

Trembling with a sudden onslaught of unexpected arousal at having someone else's fingers between your lips, feeling the flutter in your soaked cunt again only this time it was more intense, fiercely with your legs shaking to the sensation.

Your hands moved on their own as Graves' thumbs pressed deeper into your mouth, gliding and pressing at your tongue as you slid them down the length of his body, feeling every defined muscle underneath his blue shirt, going lower and lower, until you were curving one palm around the shape of the Commander's cock confined within his dark shaded jeans.

Impatience took over you, lifting the hem of your shirt, hastily tugging the fabric up and throwing it to the side and before you could touch him again, his hands were at your sides, sliding over the mounds of your breasts and then there was another tug and a louder ripping sound as he teared your bra at the front.

His own pupils, now blown with a heated desire, locked into your glazed expression. Having his fingers toy with your mouth earlier had already caused a small string of saliva to run down your chin and he couldn't help the smirk starting to flicker onto his lips. He had barely started to touch you and you already looked all sorts of fucked up. 

Your outrage couldn't even register before his warm mouth was on your skin, sucking at your nipples, pinching and biting and rubbing the soothing pad of his thumb over each one after any rough treatment. The chill of the night air was an electrifying contrast to the warmth of his mouth and hands as you were openly moaning and writhing to the way he massaged and teased every inch of nakedness before him.

''Me or you?'' You hum innocently to his previous remark as you pressed your palm against him, stroking the long line of heat firmly, and he hissed as his hips bucked forward just as desperately, his hands suddenly coming up to catch both of your wrists, bringing them down to your sides, the grip just tight enough to sting.

Indignation flashed in those midnight blue eyes. There was something off from his normal heated gaze. This look he was giving you was more than just argumentative, more than just fired up. It was absolutely primal. The heat had shifted. While usually he was more reminiscent of a volcano during an eruption, now he seemed to be the moments before, it was a slow heat. Dangerous. 

"I'm not in the mood for games.'' Graves breathed heavily, bending over you to nip at your lips before hearing the sound of his belt touching the ground to finish what you started, freeing himself.

You couldn't tear off your eyes from the obscene sight in front of you as he took himself in one hand while the other came to rest high on your thigh, his thumb brushing against your core, tantalizingly close. He stroked himself once, twice, pressing himself against you and pausing for a moment, just long enough for you to grow restless.

He sighed, the sound more like a growl than anything, steam escaping from his nose.

''I should've done this a long time ago.'' He ripped your legs apart, tugging onto your dripping underwear until it was on the ground, grunting as your slick coated his fingers before he rubbed his cock against your entrance. Every part of your body tightened, a bare spark of pleasure almost exciting you when his cockhead scraped your clit.

You couldn't believe that someone you absolutely despised was giving you some of the best pleasure you'd ever felt. Wanton moans fell from your lips as he jackhammered your cunt. His hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back.

''You like that hm? You like being treated as a little slut?'' His voice was raspy and full of lust before he pushed forward, drawing all air from your lungs with a loud yelp as he buried himself deep inside you.

''Commander-'' Despite your efforts, the call was loud, urgent. He didn’t start slowly. He was rough, punishing, desperate, taking you with everything he had, as though he was claiming you right where anyone could walk in to see it.

Phillip sped up his pace exponentially, sweat breaking out across his forehead. ''Answer me-'' You became a boneless mess under the power of his ruthless thrusting, slamming into you with such force that you were sure there would be bruises where his hip bones met yours tomorrow.

''Fuck- Yes, damn you!'' You mewled loudly, then covered your mouth with one hand, fearful of passersby. He pulled your hand away, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up into his eyes as he took you against the shaking table.

''I can tell by the look on your face." He said gruffly. ''You can’t get enough of me can you?'' You placed your forehead on his shoulder, embarrassed to look at him.

''Look at me, Y/N.'' He said in response to this. You slowly looked back at him. ''Good girl.'' He muttered, grabbing your hips and pounding into you.

His hips bucked slowly, riding his twitching length inside your warm folds as he withheld his own noises. ''Beg for it, go on." He gave a firm, sharp smack to your ass, gripping on it tightly whilst using the sound to hide the low groan he released.

He didn't want to hold back any longer, but he refused to let you have your way, especially when you were already so close to come undone under his touch. Your dripping cunt was leaking onto him with every deliberate thrust, letting him glide in and out with ease.

He hunched back over you , pressing his chest down onto you as much as he could without breaking his hold on your arms. "Fucking beg-" He gave a feral groan before sliding out of you without the intention of going back in. A strangled whine escaped you, once again, jerking your hips back against him, trying to provoke him, to get him inside, get him to continue, anything. He refused to relent.

"Whimpering doesn't count, doll." He whispered against your ear. His tone is hard, unyielding. Prick.

His stubbornness was torturous for the both of you. It was a battle to see who could break their composure first and he was about to go fucking berserk. Eventually, you lost it. It wasn't until he had pulled back and dragged his tip to the entrance of your sopping cunt once more that he finally heard you gasping a loud breath as he slowly prodded against the heat.

"Please- Fuck, just- please!'' Your desperate response seemed to please him enough, the sudden build-up of pressure and heat in your body was allowed to be released as his length was quick to plunge into your body, sending the entire table to lurch backwards slightly.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were obscene, not really caring that the two of you were doing such a private thing in a place that anyone could walk into at any moment.

He was not gentle, or tender but you hadn’t expected Phillip fucking Graves to be that. His thrusts came fast and hard as he took his pleasure cause that was what he thrived in. Take and take and take, though you gave gladly, growling out praise in ragged whispers that you couldn't barely grasp.

You grabbed tightly onto his shoulders, screaming out in delight as he fucked you into you in a brutal. You felt your legs tingle and your mind go numb. All you could focus on was the warm feeling in your stomach, the bundle of nerves within you going crazy.

The hot tears continued to pour down your cheeks with each merciless thrust ripping through your body as your teeth pierced the soft skin of your lip, the taste of iron touching your taste buds whilst the wet slaps of his body against yours filled the room, accompanying the pain shooting through your core.

''Crying? Is this too much for you, baby?'' There was sarcastic, mock-disappointment in his tone, the repetitive press into you and the wonderfully satisfying stretch of his cock only deepening the catharsis of the intimacy you were sharing with him.

He grabbed your hips and started pounding you with newfound vigor. You could feel yourself clenching around him. It wouldn't be long before you peaked. You dipped a hand between your legs and started rubbing your clit, willing the moment to come faster. You closed your eyes and sighed, both in pleasure and exasperation.

''Too good- Commander-'' This time, you needed no further prompting and there wasn’t a single hint of brattiness in your tone as you submitted to his request fully, whining for him. Waves of ecstasy pulsed through your body, overwhelming you. Noises you didn't recognize poured out of your lips as your body began to spasm and convulse around him.

''That's my fucking girl.'' His last words came out in a rough growl as he pulled out of you again, before thrusting back in, so hard that you started seeing stars and shriek with pleasure.

The room was filled with your sounds, no longer able to control the moans and whimpers that left you as pounded into you, white dots clouding your vision to your orgasm overwhelming your body hard, shattering as he thrusted and swirled, setting off a wild pulsing in your clit that triggered your insides, and you came all over his cock with a scream followed by a shudder of shaky breath.

Graves kept his ever-the-rougher pace, holding you tighter and tighter, but you felt the slight stutter in his hips that suggested that he was close to his own climax. He started gasping out sentences, heavy statements that surmounted to desperation. ''You're mine, fuck- all mine-''

You could feel yourself growing light-headed in the best way as his embrace restricted your breathing to a further degree, and you gasped sharply as he said your name, the syllables transforming into a vicious growl just as he sank his teeth into your shoulder, deep enough to draw blood and deep enough to make you cry out in pain. 

Cleansing, freeing pain, the kind that purged every transgression you knew you’d enacted against him, and him against you.

He followed shortly after as he began to shake subtly, his movements sporadic and wild as he lost control of his body. You surrendered yourself to his control as he pumped aggressively into you, dictating what he needed from your body as he arrived upon completion whilst tightening the grip on your hair almost painfully as he emptied himself inside you.

The weight of his body collapsing against you felt almost comforting in that moment, gasping and absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles into your scalp where he’d just been tugging your hair by the roots.

''So..'' he started, his voice strained and weak. ''Learned your lesson yet?'' Cocky bastard.

You chuckled quietly, and you could feel him smile against your skin.

''Think I might need a few more lessons, Commander.'' Shamelessly, you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up as he lifted his head to take another look at you.

''I might have to thank the fucking Scot after all.''

[peachetteprice]

Call of Duty - Masterlist:

The Complete Masterlist of: peachetteprice.

Asks and submissions are open!

Feedback Policy

External Links | Ao3 | Wattpad: Peachette_Price

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Key

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

// This is an ongoing work.

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

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

TF141 Headcanons:

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

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

Captain John Price:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

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

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

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

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

Full-length works:

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

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

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

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

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

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

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

John "Soap" MacTavish:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phillip Graves:

Full-length works:

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

Ghost x Soap

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

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

Babytrapping

a/n: back on my COD rants because my countries sooo cooked. Not proof read as always but enjoy

MINORS DNI

ever since Phillip has started ‘dating’ you, or more so seeing you at the night in barracks or wherever he could find you- he wanted more. Sure he knew it was wrong, you were a famous military commander- he was just your pmc company hire to get your dirty work done.. well he used to be- but age had worn out his use, hips feeling sore and arms wrapped in scars of past missions that made his men worry of his capabilities.. but he still wanted you. Wanted you to be his, wanted to be able to get spoiled by you, get adored by you, to get shown off at fancy military events he wouldn’t usually be even invited to anymore… to still be worthy and wanted. The fear of being replaced haunted him when he looked in the mirror or found a white hair amongst the blonde dusty hair he had all his life.

It took him a bit to plan something, but it festered in his brain, brewed like fine alcohol until his plans were set and ready. He had wanted a kid since he was 7 anyhow- so it wasn’t all too far off from the grand plan. His plan was smooth in exact execution; beg and whine and give you puppy eyes until you’ve said the famous last words of ‘one time without a condom won’t hurt if you’re sure.’ And then he knew his trap was set and ready

he let you bend him over your barracks warm bed, feeling your calloused hands ghost over his sore body and making him shiver in slight. His legs shook as he tried to spread them impossibly farther to give a show, feeling hot, bothered, and needy

he gasped and groaned when he felt your tongue against his clit, soft licks and suckles making his blunt nails dig into the textured fabric of said sheets. He was impatient, wanting for you to fill him to the brim already, to make his legs shake properly. But this felt much too good to stop- his head buried in a pillow as to not whine too loud though it did very little to help

he finally felt you pull away after how many orgasms he couldn’t count, his body feeling boneless and shaken already. He simply couldn’t think of a word to say other than pathetically crackling pleas of something he couldn’t quite name. To slow down? To speed up? To fuck him till his brains felt like mush? He wasn’t quite sure.

he shuttered a little at the quite usual feeling of the head of your cock sliding into his now well lubed walls, his body clenching around you like a vice and his mind swirling with the relief of the fact he could not be replaced. As long as the idea of getting pregnant worked, which it most hopefully would.

he let out gasped out moans as you finally bottomed out, one of your hands sliding up to cradle his throat before sticking two of your fingers in his mouth to silence him- no need to wake up your soldiers over a PMC commanders moaning. He whined at the obscenity, sucking on the digits as you bucked into him rougher than usual, using him like a living fleshlight. He could swear he felt it in his throat by now- his hips uselessly rolling into your thrusts even though you already had a pace set much faster then he could keep up with

His gummy walls fluttered around you with each deep grounding thrust, his back arched in a way sure to hurt later as you fucked into him senseless until you came inside him, feeling him bite down on your fingers to lot let out a groan as he squirted all over the fucking sheets- overstimulation washing over him like static as he pulled himself off you and lazily put the sheet into the hamper before tugging you down onto the bed and cuddling into your side- aftercare could wake, for the moment he had to silently celebrate being a permanent resident in your life.

[ibrithir-was-here]

with that Disney + announcement about a Phantom project (😓), figured now might be a decent time to drop a combo of doodles I’ve done of my ideas for Raoul and Christine’s kiddos, Charlotte and Phillipe. I only have little ideas for them now, basically a loose idea of the Phantom coming back into all their lives as an actual ghost but still letting it brew

[magniloquent-raven]

I'm getting distracted from my current projects by someone else's post again someone tell me to stop going on tumblr while I have WIPs lmfao

@rosetterer this isn't EXACTLY what you posted about but it does get there in the end

**

Twenty-four hours has never seemed like such an insurmountably long time.

Buck's had long shifts before, the boring ones when he'd stare at the alarms on the wall, willing them to go off—he can picture Maddie's disappointed scowl if she ever found out about that, but he swears he was only hoping for something small and harmless to break up the monotony—and the busy ones. Ones that leave his ears ringing with phantom sirens by the end. Those days only ever seem long in retrospect, when he's bone-tired and trying to remember all the names he asked for.

But now every shift seems to find new and shittier ways to be gruelling. Eddie's miserable and trying to act like he isn't. There's this weird, uncomfortable tension brewing between Hen and Chim. Ravi got himself transferred to B shift—probably to get away from Gerrard, and Buck can't exactly blame him, but he sort of does anyway and their new probie is terrible, and... then there's Gerrard.

Like, Buck already knew he was a piece of work, but. Knowing and experiencing are two very different things. He could barely stand keeping his mouth shut at the medal ceremony when he met the man for five seconds, and now he has to put up with him making smug, belittling comments towards all his friends, all the time. Constantly needing to remind himself he doesn't want to get fired is actually killing him.

It doesn't help that every so often he'll remember Tommy's offhand Captain Gerrard was like having the dad I already had, with a pang as he wonders what exactly Tommy grew up with. What parts of Gerrard's condescending tyranny were familiar to him. Phillip Buckley may not have been father of the year, but maybe never being looked directly at was better than being raised neck deep in toxic waste.

Every time he remembers he gets the urge to pull out his phone and call Tommy up just to... he doesn't even know. Just to hear his voice, maybe. Know if he's doing okay.

Another reason work days seem so long now, if he's being honest. He's always counting down the hours until he can see Tommy again. Like a kid on the last day of school, watching the clock tick closer and closer to summer vacation.

So, of course, right near the end of a particularly busy shift, Gerrard gets them all lined up for a lecture about how sloppy that last save was. Everyone did something wrong, and everyone needs to hear about all the ways they could have gotten someone killed, like they don't all know how risky the job is already.

By the time he's finished telling Chim it's a miracle he managed to convince anyone to let him out on calls, Buck is clenching his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache.

"I'm sure Captain Soft-Touch loved telling you all it was okay to be mediocre, and that you were trying your best," Gerrard sneers at them all, waving a dismissive hand at very idea of Bobby's captaincy. "But the coddling ended when he retired. Sparing your feelings is going to get people killed. Diaz!" He shouts, abrupt, turning on his heel towards Eddie. Eddie doesn't flinch, but Buck does.

"Yes, sir?" He's coolly polite, and his face is carefully blank, but his posture is tense.

"If I ever catch you checking your phone at a scene again, I'll make sure you're mopping floors for the rest of your life."

Eddie's expression hardens. It was a fender-bender and Eddie didn't even touch his phone until everyone was accounted for and packed into the ambulance. "It was a text from my son. Sir." His tone veers a little to the left of polite.

"I don't care if it was from the goddamn Pope, when you're in the field your focus stays on scene. Next time your brat needs something tell him to go cry to his mother about it."

This time when Buck flinches, everyone else in line does too. Hen bites down on a grimace. Chim hisses quietly through his teeth.

"I can't do that," Eddie says flatly. "What with her being dead and all."

The firehouse is silent for a long, horrible moment. That might've taken the wind out of any decent person's sails, Buck thinks. At the very least most people would've retreated into awkwardness and ended the lecture entirely.

Gerrard's brow pinches angrily. "Don't get smart with me, Diaz."

Buck's not sure it's possible to hate someone more than he hates their new captain right now.

"I don't care about your little sob story excuses, I care that you're sloppy and distracted. If you can't handle the job and the kid, drop one of them."

Oh, he was wrong.

He hates this man so much he's choking on it, it's clogging his throat like bile and he's running out of strength to care that he shouldn't spit it out, spew it everywhere and ruin everything just for the chance of hurting this man in the process. He feels like his skin is bursting at the seams.

Eddie's biting the inside of his cheek, rage and sorrow warring silently on his face.

And Buck breaks. Bursts. "Hey, Captain, that's—"

"Can it, Buckley," Gerrard cuts him off before he can even start. It's not angry, it's not anything, he brushes Buck off like he's an annoying fly buzzing in his ear, barely worth glancing at for the two seconds it takes to tell him he doesn't care. "You're all dismissed. Get out of my sight."

Some of them flee, scurrying to their lockers, the kitchen, anywhere but here. A couple of people throw backwards glances before they walk away. Hen and Chim exchange grim looks. Eddie disappears out the back door in an angry haze. And Buck...

Buck feels. Empty. Small. Like he cut himself open trying to relieve the pressure and now there's just nothing left. No one to patch up the wound, and no reason for any of it, he didn't make an impact, he didn't help anyone, he stood there listening to his friends get degraded, and now—now he's feeling sorry for himself?

It's stupid. He's stupid. He feels like shit because, what, because he didn't get yelled at? Because his piece of shit captain took a break from implying he's a disgusting pervert?

He thinks himself in circles about it his whole way home, the pit in his stomach getting a little deeper every time he tries to will it away.

He's wallowed himself halfway through a six-pack, staring sightlessly at his TV, by the time his front door opens.

"Evan?"

One of the knots in his chest loosens. "Yeah," he calls out, not bothering to sound less pathetic than he is. "In here."

"Hey." Tommy's stopped next to the stairs, eyeing him. His gaze is assessing, but his tone is soft. He's always so careful with Buck. "Bad day?"

Buck takes another sip of his beer. Shrugs.

"Ah, one of those."

The couch cushions dip as Tommy takes a seat next to him. He's close enough that Buck doesn't have to look at him to know he's there. There's warmth radiating off him. The woodsy scent of his aftershave. Buck presses their knees together, and exhales properly for the first time in hours.

He knows he could talk about whatever he wants and Tommy would let him. He's waiting for Buck to take the lead here. Buck could avoid the issue entirely and decide to talk about anything. The fact that he can't really tell the difference between the fancy beer Tommy insists is better than the crap Buck's drinking right now. The documentary about bees he's pretending to watch. The goddamn weather.

What comes out of his mouth is a quiet, "I feel like an idiot."

Tommy pulls the beer bottle out of Buck's loose grip, puts it down next to the couch, and then takes Buck's hand in both of his. "Why?"

Buck scrubs at his eyes. "I..." He catalogues the tiny scars on Tommy's knuckles. Two, three, little dots on his index finger. A lopsided vee on his thumb. "Something happened at work."

"Did Gerrard say something to you?" There's an edge to Tommy's question, something sharp and flinty. It makes Buck's heart do dumb little somersaults.

"No." He stops, shame burning his cheeks. "Not. Not to me. That's... He was lecturing everybody, and I..."

"Evan." Tommy grips his chin, firmly, gently, guiding Buck's face until he looks him in the eye. There's a sympathetic twist to his mouth. "Tell me."

He does. As best he can when it feels like what's didn't happen is more important, and he can barely put into words why that is. But trying helps, a little. Trying to whittle it down into an explanation forces him to look at the whole of it, and realize it's not looming over him anymore.

Maybe it's just Tommy's hands on him, soothing the hurt away.

"I dunno. Feels like I could have done something differently, maybe"

Tommy hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "You could've."

Buck winces.

"But it wouldn't have turned out any better."

Oh.

A flower blooms on the TV, purple and white petals reaching for the sun. Buck toys with Tommy's fingers, and shifts his leg closer, hooking their ankles together.

"It felt so shitty," he mutters.

"I know."

He would, wouldn't he. Buck gets that pang in his chest again, and he pushes the rest of the way into Tommy's space. Tommy wraps his arms around him, and drops a kiss into his curls, seemingly content to let Buck situate himself however he wants.

He kind of wishes Tommy wasn't still wearing jeans, but asking him to take his pants off might send the wrong message.

"You don't think I'm, like...a bad friend, right?" He cringes his way through the question.

"No." Tommy responds matter-of-factly and without hesitation. Then the corner of his mouth twitches. "I think you're a very good boy."

Buck's entire head feels like it's on fire. A grin starts to creep across his face. It might be the first time he's smiled all day. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

Maybe he should ask Tommy to take his jeans off after all.

[celenawrites]

After Hours: CH2 — It's Friday then…

Pairing - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader, previous! Phillip Graves x F!Reader

Warnings - Office AU, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Sexting, Praise Kink, Dry Humor, etc.

Summary -

Life has been out to get you ever since you found your ex cheating on you. To add salt to your wounds, your beloved pet dog goes missing while you try to recover from your nasty breakup and your company has been overloading you with piles and piles of paperwork you can never seem to finish; along with a bunch of babbling interns who can never take a hint when it comes to shutting the fuck up, along with a scary, firm-handed supervisor who seems oddly interested in getting to know you better, despite your reluctance. 

Chapter Summary -

Your week cannot get any better (or any worse).

Read on AO3? | Masterlist | Navigation

<- Chapter 1

Your day comes to an end with relatively no new disasters springing up on you. 

The lack of chaos almost has you suspicious, but you overlook it in favor of clocking out earlier than usual, which is a good half an hour after almost everybody has left the office. You are quick to email all the edited files to Joseph, leaning back in your weary chair as you end your day with a pained groan. About time you get that memory foam mattress, you think to yourself as you clean up your workstation and call it a day. 

Your black pump heels click against the smooth marble floor as you try your best to join the world outside the gray confines of your company walls.  The usual path consists of making an obligatory patrol across the west wing of the building, checking in to ensure nothing was amiss before taking the elevator down to the ground floor and punching out by tapping your ID at a weird angle on the automatic scanner. 

The west wing seems to be almost empty, save for the dim glow of an active computer at the very back of the technical staff room. 

You rarely paid this place a visit, mainly burdened by your duty to keep the office running and putting out all dumpster fires Price cannot deal with. The few times you have been here has been solely due to your need to share lunch with Johnny on relatively slower days. 

With quiet apprehension, you walk towards the object of your attention - only to find Simon hunched over his desk, with squinting eyes as the screen is reflected in his square blue glasses. Underdressed is a word that seems to describe his style - unbothered enough to never dress up when he has to show up for work, you find the man slouching in his chair while wearing a frayed beige hoodie with some gray sweatpants that make it almost impossible for you to look at him without feeling your cheeks heat up in mortification. 

Clearing your throat to grab his attention, you meekly meet his dark eyes as you inquire, “Not going home today?”

He shakes his head, almost as if he’s waking up from a nap and you almost find him endearing in this moment. He responds, “No, have some work. Will lock up and leave in an hour.”

“Okay.”

Silence follows your short dialogues with the senior staff member, making you tap your foot against the floor thrice in order to comfort yourself before you offer him, “I can make you another brew. Should last you until you finish your work.”

He averts his eyes away from the screen and looks at you again, and you feel yourself shrink under his inspection - almost like a timid bunny. You can see him contemplate your offer seriously for a moment before shaking his head. 

“Don’t bother, I haven’t got much left here anyway.” 

“Oh, okay.”

That is all you can manage to tell him before you leave the room, eager to just crash on your awful bed and end your day early. 

The calm that has befallen your office has you on edge, for you are not accustomed to spending your days without being forced to juggle Herculean tasks every hour of your work day. 

Even when you’re on edge with it, you come to appreciate how the almost sluggishness of days filled with nothingness allowed you to just be. A sudden breather in your busy life, one that you appreciated very much. 

Of course, as life would have it, it all comes crashing down Friday morning once you check into the office and find Gracie, a new intern, pacing near your desk back and forth. The moment she spots you she corners you against your workstation, frazzled as she plays with the threads of her sweater sleeve, unraveling just like her. 

“It’s all gone to hell, I tell you!” she tells you, before quieting down as she realizes how loud she’s being. She whispers to you, “It’s a hellhole and all because of him!”

You find yourself awfully confused by her crypticism, so you ask her to elaborate - already preparing yourself to add another petty matter into your long list of events to attend to. Fridays seem to be unusually long for you solely due to the fact that people seem to either forget to work in their eagerness for the weekend, or some ‘emergency’ pops up when all you’d like to do is drink your coffee, answer some emails and force Price to attend his weekly meeting before he fucks off to who knows where. 

“Joseph made a simple mistake. A small one really. We’re interns, for god’s sake! Of course, we’ll be dumb and make mistakes every day. And I don’t know who that man thinks he is, cuz the next thing I know”, Gracie pauses to anxiously chew at her thumb, red hangnails and raw skin evident of the anxiety that’s been plaguing her all morning. 

“Next thing I know is Simon’s losing his head over something and he’s chewing us all out for being ‘incompetent fucks’, and he takes it out on all of us. But it hits Joseph the most, and the next thing I know is he hasn’t turned up for work today”, she finishes her anxious ramble, looking at you with doe eyes and you mentally note to check up on Joseph when you have the time. 

“Don’t worry, Gracie. He’s probably taking a day off in order to cool down. I’ll talk with him”, you reply to soothe her worries and she looks at you as if you’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky for her. 

Her sudden hug catches you off guard, and after profusely thanking you (“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re such a doll!”), she waves you adieu as she exits the floor and you are soon seated on your desk, groaning at the sight of your filled calendar and unanswered emails being reflected on your screen. Joseph will have to wait, you think as you massage your temples - your body betraying you with a migraine for only having iced coffee for breakfast.

You decided to tackle the mountain of unfinished workload, hoping to at least catch the last subway back home before it gets too dark. 

After three hours of uninterrupted screen time that made your eyes water and your back creak whenever you shifted in your chair and an hour after having a cold lunch of leftover salad and toasted bread with gummy cheese, you finally find yourself with a few minutes of leeway to finally look for Price. Not just because you wish to talk to him about Joseph, but also due to the pile of unsigned documents you currently carry in your hands that need his immediate approval. 

After a few minutes of mindless walking to and fro and asking your co-workers of any sightings of your boss, you finally find him exiting one of the conference rooms located on the upper floors and there’s another man alongside him. 

They both seem to be extremely close, and John claps the other man on the back and laughs heartily with him, but you’re too focused on the tip of your shoes to hear their conversation. Everything sounds static to you for now. You blame your anxiety for it. 

“Oh, it’s you”, John’s eyes widen slightly in surprise and he mockingly clutches his chest, “You’d give me a heart attack one of these days with how sneaky you are.” 

You are just unusually quiet around unfamiliar people. You roll your eyes at him, unamused, “Ha, ha. Quit those cigars and I promise you, your heart and lungs will thank you.” 

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with radiance. 

“You worry about me too much”, gesturing you inside the meeting room, he asks you. 

“What brought you here?”

“Well, the project deal with Crofters underwent its final review for the proposal and I needed your approval for them before I gave the team the green light. And there’s some more files that could use your ink”, you point to the stack in your hands and he beckons you to sit in the seat beside him as he takes the pile from you and clicks at his fancy little golden pen, skimming through the documents and signing them. 

While he does that, you muster up the courage to talk to him about Joseph. This could’ve been an email, but you decided you owed him that much. Moreover, feeling as if your contribution in ‘proof-reading’ his work could’ve led to him getting unfairly scolded by his superior and his uncle makes your throat dry out constantly. 

And there’s only so much water you can drink before you’re forced to take a bathroom break. Or a few. 

Clearing out your throat in order to begin talking leads to Price to look up from one of the files, as he eyes you with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Yes?”

You gulp, not being used to ‘complaining’ about one of your coworkers behind their back. You have rarely had any problem with anyone that required you to directly report your higher ups or HR about them. And doing this to Simon, of all people, who has never really troubled you….

“Well, you know Simon can be a bit stern.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you know how he can expect a bit too much from others…”

“I know how Simon is. Please get to the point”, he rubs his eyes, already sighing out in anticipation. 

“One of the interns came to me this morning, and she told me that he kind of went off on them for messing up. Things got pretty rough, and another intern hasn’t shown up to work today. So I was a bit worried”, you trail off, hearing John groan audibly in frustration. 

“Who’s the intern?”

“Um, it was Joseph.”

He curses, wiping at his forehead with his palm and tucking away stray hair as he tells you, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have a talk with Simon. Things have been…tough with him. And he’s only this strict because he wants to believe in the absolute best of people. You check up on Joseph and see that he’s alright.” 

“Will do that”, you promptly pick up the signed documents and exit the room, already dialing Joseph on your phone - hoping for him to pick up your call and not ignore you. 

You are at your desk and at your third call when someone picks it up. 

“Hello?” a nasally congested voice asks, and you sigh out in relief as you inform him it’s you who’s calling him. 

“Are you okay, Joseph? Why didn’t you come today?”

“Gracie told you, huh?” 

“Yeah, she was worried sick. She’s a sweet girl.”

“Had to take a day off, or I’d have thrown fists at him.”

You don’t know how to react to that. You haven’t expected Joseph to be angry still. 

“I get it can be frustrating to work in such a stressful environment, and Simon expects perfection - which may make it all the more harder for you to make mistakes. But I hope you realize that the senior staff genuinely wants to help every intern develop themselves so that they can be ready for the industry after graduation.” 

“...”

“It’s okay, take your time. Hopefully you will feel better after the weekend. Take care, Joseph.” 

“Goodbye.” 

A click. And the call comes to an end. 

You exhale through your mouth, not expecting all this to drain you out already. 

And you still have four hours to go. 

Sitting back at your desk with a hot cup of black coffee, you stir the drink with the wooden stick after dumping a small packet of sugar in it. The afternoon sun is sublime, shining through the windows and getting reflected off of the photo frame you have of you and Butters, kept on the desk to curb your nostalgia of your furred friend. 

Almost a week of futility, of just work and no sign of your dog in sight. The police have been essentially useless in the search and you have had to design missing posters to put up around your street and at the dog park you used to go with him, hoping that someone would eventually spot him and bring him back home to you. But still, to no avail. 

Sipping on the warm drink, careful to not burn your tongue, you are happy to spend the last two hours of your work day just organizing some things for Monday and playing card games to kill some time - happy to clear up all the major events and tasks before the day ends. You think you might be able to leave a little early for home, planning on getting some takeout for dinner and watching some trashy late night reality TV until you snooze off in your cozy bed. 

And then the chatter in the room dies, which is strange as everyone around you has been jovially conversing to make the last hours of the day pass by faster. You look up to see Simon standing in front of you and he looks pissed. 

Guess that talk with John did not go well, and this is when you’d tuck your tail and make a run for it - if it wasn’t for Simon already anticipating that and blocking any possible escape for you. Your widened eyes meet his, and he takes it as his cue to go off on you. 

“How dare you?” he grits out, his jaw ticked and voice tense with restraint. 

“How fucking dare you? The fuck you think you are, going behind my back and bitchin’ to Price?” His voice booms around the room, and the few people who were pretending to be busy with work are now looking at him with unbridled trepidation. 

“I-”

“Who are you to say what’s right or wrong?”, he goads you, towering over you with such dark eyes you were scared they’d suck you in and never let you out. 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“They’re my interns, and if they fuck up, they better own up to their shit. They’re mine to manage, and your coddling isn’t going to save them either”, he spits out, looking at you with such resentment in his eyes you wonder if Price had said something to tick him off more than usual. 

“It’s not your bloody job to mother them, and it sure as hell is not your job to bitch about me. If you have that much of a problem with me, say it to my face and stop being a damn coward about it.”

There’s eyes everywhere, and they’re trained onto the scene Simon has caused with you - and you take a shudder of a breath before getting up and standing to face him head on. Your lip wobbles for a moment, before you look at him and tell him, “You’re a dickhead for this, Simon.” 

And with that, you just swiftly leave the office space and make your escape; almost short of running in your block heels as you quickly lock the bathroom door behind you, leaning against it as you wipe away the few tears of frustration that escaped your eyes, careful not to smudge your makeup. 

Your life has been a shitshow for the past month or so, and god forbid, you let another man ruin the weekend for you now. 

You gently wash your hands and clean up after yourself, deciding on leaving much earlier than usual for a change. There’s no way in hell you will stick around the office after getting humiliated like that. There’s a knock on the door, and Gracie’s there as instructed (by text), holding your purse for you. 

She meekly glances at your weary face, and begins, “I heard what happened. Are you okay? I know how much of an ass Simon can be, but he probably didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You decide to not respond to her, not feeling up to the task of psycho-analyzing your colleague and his short temper. That’s not your bloody job. 

“Thanks for getting my bag”, you send her off her way after that, and shooting off a quick text to Price, you quietly exit the office - all the more eager to gorge yourself on some takeout, watch TV and get drunk enough to forget that this day happened and ignore all texts and calls you get tonight.

Note -

After a month of inactivity(cuz I was busy interviewing in different places and studying for it) and writer's block, I finally updated. Updates will be sparse, but I will try to be more consistent.

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Alright my turn

I've had a COD oc brewing for a bit and wanna share her (this is my first time making an oc don't kill me)

Call sign: Ducky

History behind call sign: During her early days in the military, her platoonmates noticed she's a bit skittish (lack of sleep) and decided to scare the shit out of her. She let out a short scream that sounded like a loud duck quack and they never let her live it down.

Job: Sniper

Nationality: American

Age: 30

Personality traits: Blunt, slightly chaotic, loyal, caring, "get shit done" type of girl, strong morals, exceptional intelligence, able to temporarily turn off emotions when needed

Closest with: Phillip Graves

Backstory: She grew up in an extremely abusive household. She learned how to be extremely quiet, extreme pattern recognition, and spots movement extremely fast. As soon as she turned 18, she joined the US military as a marine as a means to get out of her household.

Due to being used to constant screaming and berating from her childhood, she has a smoother time adjusting to the shock of basic training than the others did. She's a quick learner and showed impressive marking in just about anything they threw her way. She wanted to be in infantry, but due to the USA military laws, she was unable to do so.

They set her up to train for becoming a sniper and she stayed there since. She managed to get past training without much issue, until she was transferred to another squad and found out her brother was in the same squad. They grew up close (trauma bonding) and had an extremely strong relationship.

On a mission in 2018 (age 24), her entire squad was taken out by IED while driving to their safe house. She was the only one to survive, but came out with shrapnel lodged between her ribs, a shard stabbing into her meniscus, and a fractured wrist.

After a year and a half of physical therapy and continuous training, she was able to get back into the force. In 2021, she met the leader of the Shadow Company, Phillip Graves. Reviewing her file, he offered her a position among his men. After a bit of thought, she took his offer and was with them for a good bit of time. After his supposed death in Las Almas, where she was absent due to being summoned in the US for familial reasons (funeral), she was placed in a temporary force. She has yet to find out he's actually alive.

[hazyange1s]

Garreth Weasley HCs

To round out the big three… here’s my favorite ginger and all the rotting thoughts about him straight from my brain. HELP because they are well and truly eating away at me

Excellent baker. Constantly surprising his friends with random desserts he’s made (some of which may or may not be magically enhanced…)

Man just loves his food. One of the only times you’ll ever see him truly angry is when he hasn’t eaten in a while.

Gryffindor Beater = canon. Gotta put that pent up energy to good use somehow.

Favorite color is a light sage green.

Surprises everyone with his talent and passion for Herbology — he works on the family garden at home as well, and finds that it’s one of the few times his mind is quiet.

Really, Garreth is just very hands on in every sense of the word. It’s why he doesn’t do as well in the more theory-based classes.

BI-CON I SAID WHAT I SAID

Starts selling his (tested) brews in sixth/seventh year to save up for his own Potions shop after graduating.

Seems oblivious, but he notices a lot more than he lets on. Keeping things light and easy is preferable to causing a fuss in his mind.

His birthday is August 12, 1875. He’s a leo sun, sagittarius moon, leo rising.

Secret wizard’s chess prodigy

Horrible short term memory, AMAZING long term memory (very ADHD)

Amortentia: cinnamon, (caramelized) brown sugar, hay/grass, and cauldron fumes

Has four siblings. A younger sister; Charlotte, and three older brothers: Archie, Owen, and Phillip.

Really close with his mum, as well — like, owls her on schedule every week.

Shockingly Type A and obsessive about the things he loves (Potions being one of them, obviously) to the point of exuding “mad genius” on a regular basis. I just imagine him buried in notes and pulling out his hair over the right ingredient.

HUGE flirt with absolutely everyone, though 99% of the time it’s all a jest, and sometimes he doesn’t even realize. Somehow, he gets rather flustered when it’s turned back on him by the true object of his affections.

Because underneath that easy confidence and carefree attitude is someone who constantly wonders if they’re not enough — or too much.

Still the most encouraging and loyal friend you’ll ever have. golden retriever energy

[thekatebridgerton]

For the reverse tropes ask: reverse fake dating for Philoise

Okay so I made it a Reverse fake dating S3 Philoise au

Anthony sighed looking over at his family as he reviewed the guests for their next dinner " Baron Honeywell, Lady Astley, Madame Olsen, oh and for tonight's dinner the man who Eloise paid off to pretend to court her, will also be showing up so I want you all to be perfectly polite"

" I've said it before he's actually courting me !" Eloise snapped

"Of course he is" Daphne patted her shoulder

" We're just wondering how much you paid him to promenade with you" Hyacinth added " Sir Phillip doesn't look like he's strapped for money "

"I didn't pay him off! He asked me to promenade, it was his idea to dance with me at the Cowper ball" Eloise huffed

" We believe you sister, he also brought you flowers voluntarily" Benedict hummed "And whatever blackmail you have over him will never leave this room "

" Fine, Eloise didn't pay him off, I make a correction " Anthony rolled his eyes, but before his sister could thank him for defending her he continued "the man Eloise blackmailed into faking a courtship" The rest of the family made various humms of understanding

Eloise eye twitched, looking dangerously like she was about to punch someone " is it really so hard to believe that we actually like each other?"

Her siblings looked at each other and shrugged "Yes"

" You have to admit El, Sir Phillip is so normal and you are so.... You" Colin said gesturing to all of her being

"Hey what's that supposed to mean?!!"

"We don't mean to offend sister, it's just that you do tend swear off marriage in front of every man you meet" Francesca tried to explain gently " And Sir Phillip has two young children, that's not exactly a spring bachelor"

" He also likes gardening, medicinal tea brewing and estate management" Kate piped up ticking off her fingers " And you... The last time you picked up a flower arrangement pamphlet you used it as a cover to attend a political rally "

" He's a good boxer, and a good marksman but dislikes practicing both" Simon pointed out, seemingly being the only one who had actually spent time with Sir Phillip "You on the other hand almost got yourself shot chasing leads of lady Whistledown"

" You're fresh off a scandal, he's fresh off a failed marriage, admit it Eloise, there's no way you're actually courting" Colin pointed out cynically

" But we are! And I see that we don't have a lot in common but I do like him, I like him a whole lot, and I like his children" Eloise protested " why won't you believe me? he's been trying really hard to win you all over because he also likes me"

"Of course he does and just in time to make people forget about the political rally business" Violet Bridgerton announced entering the drawing room giving Eloise a wink " Sir Phillip has been the picture of the perfectly devoted suitor, whatever threat you have him under, it's certainly working" she said giving Eloise a proud pat in her shoulder

Eloise sighed, how could she convince her family that her relationship with Sir Phillip was real without revealing that they've been bonding over the loss of their loved ones and a secret love of banned books, in fact most of the things Eloise talked with Sir Phillip would either land her in scandal sheets again or in jail. But he was an avid listener and answered all her questions, no matter how impertinent or illegal. She was teaching Sir Phillip the finer points of social interaction because he seemed to be worse off than her when it came to facing crowds, while he taught her about the things he'd learned in University, Eloise didn't think they were that badly suited and welcome his courtship openly.

The problem lay in the fact that nobody believed they were actually courting! By this rate Phillip would propose and everyone would still think it was a ruse. God help her

An: I had so much fun writing this one

[euphoriacafe]

You Belong to Me

WARNING: free use??, lewd srry, threesome???, afab reader, fingering, sexual tension, mention of BDSM, aggressive, MDNI

Pairing: Captain Price x Phillip Graves x Female Reader

Summary: Graves is really getting under Captain Price's nerves and Price decides to vent onto you to the point he becomes jealous of the assignment he gives you. Part 2??? Thoughts???

I stood in silence, a vigilant shadow among the elite soldiers of Task Force 141. The weight of my gear felt almost comforting against my frame, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air around us. My eyes remained fixed on the back of Captain Price, a beacon of unwavering authority amidst the storm brewing in the room.

Commander Phillip Graves, the embodiment of Shadow Company's relentless pursuit of power, stood opposite Captain Price. His presence alone was suffocating, a reminder of the fine line we walked between duty and defiance.

As they exchanged heated words, I couldn't help but feel the weight of their rivalry bearing down on my shoulders. Graves's piercing gaze swept over the room, his eyes lingering on me for a moment too long, a silent challenge that I refused to acknowledge.

"Price, you know damn well this mission is our best shot at taking down Makarov," Graves growled, his voice laced with contempt.

Price's response was measured, his tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "And you think I don't know that, Graves? But sending in a full assault team is suicide. We need a surgical strike, precision over firepower."

I could feel the tension mounting with each passing moment, the air thick with the unspoken threat of violence. But I remained rooted in place, my focus unwavering despite the storm raging around me.

Graves took a step forward, his gaze narrowing on Price. "You're letting your personal agenda cloud your judgment, Price. We can't afford to miss this opportunity."

Price's jaw clenched, his resolve unyielding. "And I won't let you jeopardize the lives of my team for the sake of your ego, Graves."

The room seemed to hold its breath as the two titans locked horns, the weight of their words hanging in the air like a promise of never ending conflict.

Graves scoffed, his eyes flickering to me briefly before returning to Price. "Maybe if you kept a tighter leash on your team, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place, now would we?"

My jaw clenched at the insinuation. I knew Price could handle himself, but the personal attacks only fueled the fire. I glanced at Captain Price, silently urging him to maintain control.

Price straightened, his gaze unwavering. "Graves, my team is the best damn group of soldiers you'll ever have the privilege to work with. We'll get the job done, with or without your approval."

But before the tension could escalate further, Price turned his gaze to me, a silent command passing between us. Without a word, I fell into formation beside him, a silent reminder of where my loyalty lay.

Graves took a step forward, his gaze locking onto mine for a split second before returning to Price. "You may be the golden boy of 141, Price, but don't think for a second that your reputation grants you immunity from the harsh realities of war."

I exhaled slowly, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins as I turned to face Price. He met my gaze with a knowing look, his eyes conveying a silent reassurance.

As the door slammed shut behind him, I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, the weight of the confrontation lifting from my shoulders

"We'll make this right, Y/N," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. Everything in the air made it known that Price was more than pissed off.

The tension in the room seemed to thicken as the door slammed shut behind Graves, leaving only Captain Price and me in its wake. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, intense and piercing, as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and gruff, "Keep your eyes open, lass, more on Graves, if anything. He's a loose cannon, and I don't trust him as far as I can throw him."

I nodded, my jaw set in determination. "Consider it done, sir."

I nodded, my throat tight with unspoken words. The proximity between us, the charged atmosphere, made it hard to ignore the undercurrents swirling beneath the surface.

Price's gaze narrowed, his face inches away from mine as he spoke in a hushed tone. "This mission's gonna be a bloody mess, but we'll get through it. I know we will...especially when I have my eye on you. "

His words lingered in the air, and I felt the warmth of his breath against my skin as he came closer. The proximity was both unnerving and electrifying, a dance on the edge of something unspoken. The closer he stepped the more his eyes bore into mine, dark and intense, as if daring me to look away.

"He pisses me off, Y/N," he muttered, his breath warm against my skin. "The way he thinks he can waltz in here and call the shots. It's like he's trying to undermine everything we stand for."

I held his gaze, refusing to back down in the face of his frustration. "We won't let him, sir. We'll show him that Task Force 141 doesn't bend to the will of anyone but ourselves."

Price's expression softened, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "That's the spirit, Y/N. Just keep your wits about you, and don't let Graves get under your skin when you watch over him, alright, lass?"

I nodded, a surge of determination coursing through me. "I won't, sir. You can count on me."

My voice almost came off breathy, as I looked up to match his eyes the heat of his hand as he reached out was almost scorching wanting him to touch already.

A sudden knock on the door shattered the moment, and Price pulled away, his expression a mix of frustration and resolve as his voice was rough and quiet. "Damn interruptions."

And with that, Price took a step back, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. "I know I can, Y/N," he said, his voice tinged with pride. "Now let's get to work. Report back to me if anything happens with Graves."

The training room buzzed with activity as Ghost, Soap, and I engaged in rigorous combat drills. The sound of fists meeting pads echoed off the walls, mingling with grunts of exertion and the occasional bark of instruction from our trainers, the sharp clang of metal against metal, the swift thud of boots on the floor. .

I focused on my form, channeling the adrenaline of the upcoming mission into each strike and parry. Beside me, Ghost moved with effortless grace, his movements fluid and precise. Soap, ever the powerhouse, unleashed a barrage of punches with relentless determination.

But amidst our intensity, my gaze kept drifting across the room to where Graves stood with his Shadow Company comrades. They moved with a calculated efficiency, their movements sharp and controlled. Graves watched his men with a critical eye, his expression unreadable as he assessed our performance.

"Focus, Y/N," Ghost's voice snapped me back to the present, his eyes narrowed in concern. "You're letting your guard down."

I nodded, refocusing on the task at hand as I kept punching the punching bag in front of me.

Across the room, Graves moved quickly and steadiness, his gaze piercing as he critiqued the movements of his Shadows. My eyes involuntarily drifted to him once again, analyzing every nuance of his posture, the way he held his weapon, the calculated precision in his steps. It was a habit I'd developed, a skill honed through years of working in the covert world of Task Force 141.

Price's orders resonated in my mind – keep a close eye on Graves, understand his tactics, anticipate his moves. It was a chess game, and I was determined to stay one step ahead. My attention, however, wavered as my thoughts meandered into uncharted territories.

Graves was undeniably attractive, a fact that I acknowledged with a detached professionalism. But in the midst of the training room, my mind took an unexpected turn. Images flickered like elusive shadows – Price, Graves, and myself entangled in a dance of desire. The scenario played out in my mind, a surreal concoction of forbidden fantasies that I struggled to reconcile with the reality of our mission.

I shook my head, attempting to refocus on the training at hand. Ghost and Soap exchanged glances, sensing the shift in my concentration. I forced a smile, pushing the inappropriate thoughts to the recesses of my mind.

As the session progressed, Price joined us in the training room, his eyes scanning the dynamic between Graves and his subordinates. He approached me, his gaze piercing through the layers of my composure.

"Y/N," he said in a low voice, "keep your focus. Graves is a slippery one, and I need you sharp."

I nodded, the gravity of Price's words grounding me. The fantasies dissipated, replaced by a steely resolve.

The training room pulsated with energy as Ghost and Soap engaged in a series of fluid movements on the wrestling mat. Their bodies moved in tandem, a seamless dance of combat that showcased the camaraderie forged through countless missions. Captain Price, ever the hands-on leader, stepped onto the mat, ready to test his skills against his trusted teammates.

I leaned against the wall, observing the intense exchange. Ghost and Soap moved with practiced precision, each maneuver a testament to their training and experience. The sounds of grunts and thuds filled the air as they grappled, a display of raw strength and tactical finesse.

Price joined the fray, his movements fluid and calculated. He sparred with Ghost and Soap, each exchange a symphony of skill and strategy. Despite the controlled chaos on the mat, a heavy tension lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the usual banter that accompanied training sessions.

As I watched the three men grapple, my attention shifted momentarily to Graves, who stood on the sidelines, observing with a smug grin. His eyes locked onto Price, taunting him with a challenge that hung in the air like a storm on the horizon.

"You think you've still got it, Price?" Graves called out, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Or has age finally caught up with you?"

Price shot him a steely glare but continued his sparring with Ghost and Soap. The tension in the room escalated, the weight of unspoken challenges adding an electric charge to the atmosphere.

Ghost and Soap, sensing the undercurrent of tension, increased the intensity of their movements. The grappling on the wrestling mat became more aggressive, each maneuver a subtle assertion of dominance. I could feel the room holding its breath, awaiting the inevitable clash between Price and Graves.

Graves, undeterred by Price's silence, stepped forward, his taunts escalating. "Come on, Price! Show us you're not past your prime. Or are you scared of facing a real challenge?"

The room fell into an uneasy silence as Price finally stepped away from the sparring match. His eyes locked onto Graves, a storm brewing within them. The air became charged with anticipation as the two leaders, each a force to be reckoned with, faced off in a battle of wills.

"Fine," Price growled, the words like thunder in the silence. "Let's settle this."

The wrestling mat became the arena for a different kind of battle, one fueled by personal vendettas and a history of animosity. As Ghost and Soap retreated, creating a makeshift ring for the impending brawl, I watched with a mix of concern and fascination.

I couldn't shake the feeling of impending disaster as Graves arrogantly dismissed my attempt to intervene. I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. "Gentlemen, maybe this isn't the best—"

Graves turned his gaze towards me, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, the little lady thinks she knows best," he remarked, his tone dripping with disdain.

Graves his eyes returned back to Price "Sweetheart, this is a man's business. Why don't you step off the mat and let us handle it?"

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Before I could respond, Price interjected with a glare that could cut through steel. "Enough, Graves. Let's get on with it."

Graves chuckled, a patronizing tone underlying his words. "You're getting old, Price. Maybe you need a bit more time to catch your breath."

Price's jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. "Enough talk, Graves. Let's see if your skills match your mouth."

The room fell into a tense silence as Ghost and Soap backed away, creating a circle for the impending showdown. I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a physical clash; it was a battle of egos, a test of dominance that had the potential to fracture the unity of the team.

Price and Graves circled each other like predators, their movements measured and deliberate. And then, with a sudden surge of movement, they clashed.

The sound of bodies colliding echoed through the room, a symphony of brute force and primal instinct. Price and Graves grappled with ferocity, each maneuver executed with precision and determination.

The wrestling match between Captain Price and Graves unfolded with an intensity that seemed to transcend the physical realm. Their bodies collided with a wham that echoed through the training room, the sound of fists connecting and grunts of exertion filling the air. It was a deadly fight, a struggle for dominance played out on the wrestling mat.

Price and Graves grappled, each attempting to gain the upper hand. Their movements were swift and calculated, a chaotic ballet that showcased the raw power and skill of two seasoned warriors. Fists flew, each blow a testament to the unspoken animosity that fueled their rivalry. Graves's men cheered from their side of the mat for him while Ghost and Soap stood arms crossed watching silently.

As I watched, my thoughts swirled in a black sea of conflicting emotions. The air crackled with the energy of their clash, the heavy weight of their egos blinding them to the potential consequences of their actions.

In the midst of the struggle, a dangerous undercurrent of desire flickered within me. It was a treacherous territory, the primal intensity of their fight awakening a forbidden longing and almost tugging on the fantasy. Their bodies entwined in a battle for dominance, their egos waging war, and a part of me yearned for that same fierce determination to be directed toward me.

To have them fight over me, pin me against the mat, to have them fight for control on who gets to own me.

My breath caught in my throat as I felt a wave of heat surge through me. The intensity of the fight seemed to seep into my skin, and I found myself becoming breathless, my pulse quickening. It was a dangerous game, the line between duty and desire blurred by the charged atmosphere in the room.

Their bodies moved with a fluidity that spoke of years of training and combat experience. Each attempt to pin the other to the mat was met with a countermove, a dance of strength and strategy. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken understanding that this was more than a physical contest—it was a battle for supremacy.

As the wrestling match continued, I couldn't escape the awareness that my desires were navigating through my body. The primal allure of the struggle, the intoxicating scent of sweat and determination, left me feeling disoriented, my thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm.

The realization of the dangerous territory I was treading only heightened the allure, and I felt an internal struggle between duty and the untamed yearning that stirred within me.

The room seemed to close in around me as the fight reached its climax. I was torn between the duty to my team and the intoxicating pull of something forbidden. As their bodies grappled for dominance, I found myself teetering on the edge, a silent spectator to a battle that transcended the physical, leaving me breathless and yearning for something I dared not admit.

Graves's smirk widened as he caught me in a moment of vulnerability, lost in my own thoughts as I watched the aftermath of their brawl. His knowing gaze lingered on me for a moment before he turned away, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.

Captain Price's voice shattered the spell, pulling me back to reality with a jolt as he was looking at me with a deadpanned glare. "Y/N," he called out, his tone firm but jealously. "In my office. Now."

I swallowed hard, tearing my gaze away from Graves and following Price out of the training room. The air crackled with tension as we entered his office, the weight of unspoken frustrations hanging heavy between us.

Price closed the door behind us with a decisive click, his expression tight with frustration. "Graves is a damn nuisance," he muttered under his breath, his frustration palpable.

I nodded in silent agreement, the memory of their brawl still fresh in my mind. But before I could offer any words of reassurance, Price closed the distance between us in a blur of motion.

With a sudden, unexpected movement, he pushed me against the wall, his lips ghosting my neck in a tantalizing caress. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse racing as his proximity ignited a fierce longing within me.

"Price," I whispered, the word a breathless plea as his touch sent shivers down my spine. But he didn't respond, his lips trailing a path of fire along my skin, igniting a firestorm of desire within me.

Every inch of my skin tingled as Captain Price's lips continued their tantalizing journey along my neck. My breath hitched, and I tilted my head back, offering him unrestricted access. His grip on my hips tightened, a silent declaration of possession that sent a shiver through me.

The air in the room crackled with frustration and a potent undercurrent of desire. It was a dangerous game, a dance on the razor's edge of forbidden fantasies and the harsh reality of duty. The line between the two blurred, and I found myself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Price's voice, low and gravelly, resonated in the small confines of his office. "Graves is a thorn in our side, Y/N," he murmured against my skin, his words sending a rush of heat through me. "But I don't like the way you were looking at him."

My heart skipped a beat, and I swallowed hard, the tension in the room escalating. The raw honesty in Price's words hung heavy in the air, a revelation that added an unexpected layer to our already complicated dynamic.

"He's nothing but trouble," he continued, his lips trailing upwards towards my ear. "And I won't have you getting distracted by his games."

His breath fanned over the sensitive skin of my ear, and I struggled to find my voice amid the rising tide of desire. The frustration in Price's words mirrored the tumultuous feelings within me, the magnetic pull of his touch warring with the rational voice urging caution.

His grip on my hips tightened further, his fingers digging into my flesh as if grounding himself. The sexual tension in the room reached a fever pitch, and I could feel the delicate balance between us teetering on the edge.

"I can't have you looking at him that way, Y/N," he growled, the possessiveness in his tone sending a jolt through me. "It's dangerous. I can't afford distractions, especially not when they involve you."

As his words hung in the air, I felt the weight of his frustrations, the tangled web of desire and duty that bound us together. The dangerous game we were playing intensified, and with each passing moment, the line between professionalism and passion blurred, threatening to unravel everything we had built.

A charged silence hung between us as Captain Price's lips hovered dangerously close to mine. The room pulsed with a heady mix of desire and frustration, the air thick with unspoken promises and the weight of the dangerous game we were playing.

His lips finally met mine, a soft, lingering kiss that ignited a fiery passion within me. A low moan escaped my lips, the sound a desperate plea as he deepened the kiss. His fingers tightened on my hips, his touch both possessive and demanding.

"I can't have you looking at anyone else," he murmured against my lips, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "You're mine, Y/N."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implications. I felt a rush of heat pooling between my thighs, the intensity of his desire fueling my own. It was a dangerous revelation, a declaration that sent a thrill through me despite the rational voice warning of the consequences.

Price's body pressed forward, grinding against mine with an urgency that mirrored the pent-up frustrations in the room. The fabric of our clothes created a barrier, yet the undeniable hot tension between us bridged the gap. I could feel his desire coursing through every touch, every kiss, as he bent me forward, my chest against the cool surface of the wall.

His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh as he held me firmly in place. The raw intensity of the moment overwhelmed me, the boundaries between us eroding with each passing second. It was a dance of dominance and submission, a dangerous game that left me breathless and yearning for more.

"You need to be punished, Y/N," Price growled, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "And you're going to learn that you belong to me and no one else."

His words sent a thrill through me, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. The air crackled with electricity as he held me captive against the wall, his touch possessive and commanding. In that moment, I surrendered to the intoxicating blend of desire and authority, caught in the dangerous web that Price had woven around us.

As Captain Price's hands moved with a commanding force, ripping my pants down and exposing my bare skin, a gasp escaped my lips, the rush of cool air against my heated flesh sending a shiver down my spine. I was vulnerable, exposed, and yet a surge of desire coursed through me, urging me to surrender to the raw intensity of the moment.

His fingers traced the curve of my exposed ass, sending a jolt of electricity through me. A soft moan escaped my lips as he delivered a light, stinging spank to one cheek, the sensation both exhilarating and arousing.

Thoughts raced through my mind in a dizzying whirlwind. The forbidden nature of our encounter, the thrill of surrendering to his dominance, the overwhelming desire to be consumed by him completely. It was a dangerous cocktail of lust and longing that left me breathless and wanting more.

Price's voice, low and commanding, cut through the haze of desire. "You like that, don't you, Y/N?" he murmured, his tone dripping with a mixture of authority and derision. "You're nothing but a naughty little slut, craving punishment."

His words sent a shockwave of arousal through me, the forbidden thrill of being degraded by him igniting a firestorm of desire within me. I bit my lip, fighting to contain the moan that threatened to escape, the tension between us reaching a fever pitch.

Price's grip on my hips tightened, his touch possessive and demanding. With each spank, I felt myself spiraling further into the abyss of desire, my inhibitions crumbling under the weight of his dominance.

"You're mine, Y/N," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "And I'll do whatever I damn well please with you."

His words were a potent reminder of the power dynamics at play, the dangerous game we were playing pushing us both to the brink of madness. And in that moment, as he delivered another punishing spank to my exposed flesh, I surrendered completely to the intoxicating blend of pleasure and pain, lost in the heady haze of desire that consumed us both.

The atmosphere in the room thickened as Captain Price's demeanor shifted. His touch became more aggressive, the spanks landing with a force that sent waves of heat through my body. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my breath catching in my throat as the intensity of the moment escalated.

"Tell me, Y/N," Price commanded, his voice a low growl, "who do you belong to?"

A mix of desire and trepidation coursed through me as I tried to form words. "You," I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.

Louder, he demanded, "Louder, Y/N. Tell me."

"I belong to you," I answered, the words hanging in the air like a forbidden confession.

Satisfied, Price continued his dominating assault, each spank pushing the boundaries of pleasure and pain. His commanding presence left me breathless, my body responding to his dominance with a surrender that both thrilled and terrified me.

His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh as he held me firmly in place. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise both unexpected and exhilarating.

The room echoed with the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin, punctuated by my occasional gasps and moans. Price's commanding presence intensified, and I found myself lost in the dangerous dance of desire and submission.

"Who makes the decisions here, Y/N?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the haze of pleasure.

"You," I responded, my voice barely audible above the sounds of our shared intimacy.

"Damn right," he growled, his aggression escalating. "You're mine to command, to please, and to punish."

The air was charged with electricity as his dominant presence enveloped me, the boundaries between pleasure and pain blurring in the intoxicating swirl of our encounter. The spanking continued, each strike sending shockwaves of desire through me, pushing me further into the depths of submission.

As the room spun with a heady mix of pleasure and surrender, I realized that I was teetering on the edge of something profound. The dangerous game we played had unleashed a torrent of desire, leaving me captivated by the magnetic pull of Captain Price's dominance.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips as Captain Price's hands moved with a fierce determination, tearing my underwear apart with a single, forceful motion. The fabric gave way beneath his touch, leaving me exposed and vulnerable, my breath catching in my throat at the sudden rush of pleasure.

I whimpered in a mixture of pleasure and anticipation as his calloused fingers trailed along my soaking clit, sending sparks of ecstasy coursing through me. My hips instinctively arched towards his touch, seeking more of the intoxicating sensation he provided.

"Look at you," Price taunted, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and desire. "Soaking wet like a little slut."

His words sent a jolt of arousal through me, the raw intensity of his dominance driving me to the edge of sanity. I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper as I struggled to respond.

"It's… it's for you, Price," I managed to gasp, my admission hanging in the air like a confession.

Price's smirk deepened, a glint of skepticism in his eyes as he toyed with me. "Oh, is that so?" he teased, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on my sensitive flesh.

I squirmed beneath his touch, the pleasure bordering on unbearable as he pushed me further towards the edge of ecstasy. "Yes," I moaned, the word a desperate plea for more.

But Price remained unconvinced, his smirk widening as he continued to tease me mercilessly. "I think you might need to prove it to me, sweetheart," he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement.

The air crackled with tension as Captain Price's fingers continued their relentless assault on my clit, driving me to the brink of ecstasy with each skilled stroke. The atmosphere around us was thick with desire, the heat of our shared intimacy suffusing the room with an intoxicating energy that left me breathless and wanting more.

The room seemed to close in around us, the only sounds the sultry moans escaping my lips and the rhythmic squelching of his fingers against my wetness.

Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed through the room, breaking the spell of our heated encounter. Price's irritation was known, but he never faltered in his ministrations, his fingers working me with a relentless determination that sent waves of pleasure coursing through me.

"Damn interruptions," he muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with frustration. "Can't a man get a moment's peace around here?"

Price's irritation deepened, but his fingers quickened their pace, playing me like a finely tuned instrument. He leaned towards me, his lips brushing against my ear. "You need to be quiet, sweetheart," he murmured, the command sending a thrill through me.

I bit my lip to stifle a moan as Price's fingers delved deeper, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. His dominant presence loomed over me, a silent command to remain quiet despite the overwhelming sensations he elicited.

With a resigned sigh, Price crossed the room to answer the door, his irritation evident in every line of his body. "What do you want, Graves?" he snapped, his tone brusque and dismissive.

Graves stood in the doorway, a smug smirk playing at his lips. "Looking for someone, Price," he replied, his gaze flickering between us with a knowing glint.

As Price opened the door, Graves greeted him with a smug smile. "Price, didn't mean to disturb. I'm looking for Y/N."

Price's irritation flared, but he remained composed as he shot back a rude response. "Well, you won't find her here," he retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Graves's smirk widened, and I could sense the underlying tension between them, a rivalry that extended far beyond the confines of our current situation. But despite the tension, Price's fingers never ceased their relentless assault, driving me closer to the edge with each passing second.

"Is that so?" Graves replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Perhaps I'll just have to look a little harder."

Before Price could offer a more of a response, Graves pushed past him, stepping into the room. Price's fingers never relented, maintaining their steady rhythm as if the interruption had not occurred.

Graves' eyes flickered to me, a mischievous glint in his gaze. "Ah, there she is. Busy, I see."

Price's jaw clenched, his irritation reaching its peak. "Get to the point, Graves."

Graves chuckled, unfazed by Price's irritation. "Just wanted to discuss something with Y/N but I can see the little slut is all out of breath."

A dangerous dance in the shadowy realm of covert desires and forbidden fantasies.

I couldn't contain the breathy moan that escaped my lips as pleasure consumed me, the intensity of Price's touch pushing me closer to the edge. In that moment, with Graves's presence lingering in the air like a shadow, I surrendered completely to the intoxicating pleasure that Captain Price offered, lost in a whirlwind of desire and submission.

As Graves closed the door behind him with a smug flourish, I felt a surge of frustration and arousal course through me. Price's fingers continued their relentless assault, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. The air crackled with tension, a potent mix of desire and frustration that left me breathless and wanting more.

Graves's taunting reply echoed in the room, his condescending tone grating against my senses. I bit back a moan, the intensity of the moment threatening to overwhelm me.

Price's voice, low and commanding, cut through the haze of desire. "You noticed that, didn't you, Graves?" he growled, his eyes blazing with sadistic intent. "She tightened up the moment you walked in."

Graves's smirk widened, a flicker of sadism dancing in his gaze as he exchanged a knowing look with Price. "Seems like she's enjoying herself," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Price's grip on my hips tightened, his touch possessive and commanding. "She needs to learn her place," he murmured, his words sending a thrill through me despite the underlying threat.

I struggled to maintain control, the overwhelming sensations threatening to consume me. The exchange between Price and Graves heightened the intensity of the moment, the precarious balance between pleasure and pain pushing me closer to the brink.

As Price's fingers quickened their pace, I bit my lip to stifle a moan, the raw intensity of the moment threatening to unravel me completely. The air was heavy with anticipation, a heady mix of desire and dominance that left me trembling with need.

In that moment, as Price and Graves exchanged looks of sadism, a primal instinct took hold of me. I surrendered completely to the intoxicating blend of pleasure and pain, lost in the fiery embrace of their dominance.

This was going to be a long night.

I'M GOING TO MAKE A PART TWO.