#phillip graves drabble

[moongumi]

I love the idea of a perv ghost or graves. like stealing underwear and shit but the reader is into that 🤤

a/n: why not both ehe, grave's a little different i didn't want it to be so similar to ghosts'

not proofread!

↳ ⁀➷ ∵  ❝they like your drawers❞

∵ GHOST ∵

It wasn't uncommon for you to lose your drawers, you often did your laundry in big loads at the end of the week and sometimes they just go missing. But it was that last time, it irked you.

You walk into the laundry room after a long day of doing paperwork, the boring stuff to get your clothes from the dryer. on base the entire building would share the laundry room so it wasn't uncommon to run into different people, you didn't really expect to run into the LT though.

"Sir." You say, walking past him on his way out. He replies to you with a brisk nod. Then when you look at the machine you were using it was slightly open, what the hell?

You got your items, folding your uniform and pyjamas to find all your underwear missing. You groan, rolling your eyes. It couldn't have been him, right? Why the hell would he want—unless he fancied you but...it's Ghost, he wouldn't—well he might actually.

You're only annoyed because you're running out of panties.

The next time you run into him in the laundry room again but this time you're sat right in front of the laundry machine, waiting for the wash to finish to move your clothes to the dryer. You came later than usual, the time you tend to finish doing laundry to try to catch the culprit and well, Ghost stands there frozen as if he wasn't expecting you here.

"Evening, LT."

Ghost grumbles, but responds. "Sergeant."

"Doing laundry?" You ask, looking down at his empty hands with your brows raised. It was obvious now that it was him. Even with his mask and unreadable posture you can just tell.

You stand up leaning against the laundry machine as you unload your wet clothes into the dryer waiting for his response.

He only huffs, muttering to himself incoherently.

You finish your task and take leave your basket a top the dryer, it would take about an hour and half to finish the drying so you were going to leave, do something else while you wait.

You made sure to bump into Ghost on your way out, apologising insincerely, "Sorry, Sir. I should be more careful."

He doesn't say a thing, taking your impact like a tank. You don't see the way he lets out a massive sigh of relief not being caught, or so he thought. When you're gone he felt a bulge in his pants—not the usual bulge but something in the pocket of his cargos.

He reaches in with his bone painted gloves, ragging out a handful of unwashed underwear. He gulps, looking at them. He can't help the way his cock twitches at them, usually he gets them washed—dried but...these were fresh. He can't help but imagine how he was going to fuck his own fists with your panties buried in it. There is a handful of them, he was definitely going to pretend to eat you out with the fabric on his face later.

∵ GRAVES ∵

Your commander is annoying, he talks too much and can't keep his opinions to himself.

It was when you were leant over in the cockpit looking over at the pilot's dashboard. You look behind you, "We're approaching five klicks from target, Commander!"

It's the look on his face, the way he probably didn't even hear you. He's just looking at you with that shit-eating grin on his face. "You wear a thong to work, Lieutenant?" He smirks, looking back at his shadows shamelessly. "Boys, LT. wears the cutest little thong under her uniform."

Your eye practically twitch. Under your mask you sneer with annoyance as he laughs along with the team. You stand, walking back towards the cabin. "Anyone that laughs, I'll make sure doesn't come back alive." After all, you were above all their ranks but Graves.

They all shut up almost immediately, watching the way you glare daggers into Graves as you sat down. Graves lets you order the boys around, scare 'em. It's good practice.

He still smiles, that little shit. He takes his helmet off and sits down right next to you, purposely right up against the side of your body and hits your leg with his teasingly.

"Got anymore of 'em?" He whispers, his head bumping into yours.

You grunt, crossing your arms. "Shut up."

"You never wear 'em for me."

You scoff, looking him in those pretty eyes of his. "Cause, you don't deserve my nice underwear. I only wear 'em for special occasions."

"Who the fuck are ya wearin' em for then?" He's got a stitch in his brow. You like pissing him off, like pissing off a chihuahua but this dog bites pretty damn hard.

You lean towards him, bumping your forehead against the side of his head. "Who knows, maybe the captain of that team you hate so much."

"Don't you fuckin'—"

You stand to interrupt him, you can feel him seething next to you. "Let's go shadows! Let's take this fuckin' place."

During the mission you can hear how irritated Graves seemed and especially when he stands with you by his side giving Task Force 141 some respect after completing the mission with them. He keeps looking at you from the corner of his eyes as if daring to you fuckin' say something right now to the Captain.

You stand there popping your hip with your hand against the end of your rifle as it acts as a support, you turn your head pretending to make eyes at the Captain and overly nodding. "It was nice serving by your side, Captain."

You can hear Grave's kiss his tongue over his teeth. When you see him from the corner of your eyes his jaw was tight, clenching.

When the Captain gives you his regards, a flirty smile and a nod with his hat you beamed, more at the thought of how mad Graves probably was. It's when you stand and wave towards their squad that you feel Graves coming up to your side, his hand rolling up your hip before he grips it tightly.

You can feel his fingers looking for something, but he can't seem to find it. His brows furrow. Your hand comes up beside him, dropping his prize into his hand. "You wanted it right?"

You smile under the mask pushing off him. He holds it in his hand and you think you can see his cheeks redden. But then he notices you're walking away from him. "Where the fuck are you going?"

"To show that Captain how good my ass looks without 'em on." You point to the panties in Graves' hand and you swear you can see steam coming out of his ears.

He practically chases you down, grabbing you by your belt and holding you against him. You could feel it, pressing against your hip.

"You like making me jealous, don't you?"

"I like seeing you possessive, Sir, " You remark before nodding towards the panties still in his grip. "I'll need those back."

"Nah, they're mine now." He brings it up to his face, pressing his lips against them. "You can ride on the helo back without 'em. maybe instead my hands between your legs, hm?

[cod-dump]

After a long mission with no rest:

Price: Dead eyes, he looks like he's going to kill someone. He's mumbling. Do not ask him to repeat himself unless you want his frustrations taken out on you verbally. Has had four cups of coffee and a pack of cigs. Don't look him in the eye.

Soap: He can't keep focus, what is he even looking at? Trails off in the middle of talking. No, he probably won't finish that thought, better luck next time. He has been chewing on his hoodie drawstrings, don't let him swallow them, please.

Ghost: Has been staring at the spot on the wall for the last twenty minutes without blinking. Is he dead? Or sleeping with his eyes open? Either option is possible. Don't touch him, he will bite. Have tea as an offering.

Gaz: Looks like he's about to cry. Nothing productive has come from him since the flight landed. Don't ask him to do anything because it won't get done. Yes, he heard you. No, he will not respond.

Nik: Has been laughing to himself. Did he fly here? Yes. Is he flying back? No his keys are being taken from him, he's passing out in hanger in the back of his bird. Will be mistaken for dead later.

Laswell: She's talking fast but she is not making as much sense as she should. Frustrated, she has her head in her hands. Will fall asleep like that. No, she doesn't want a cup a tea, she wants concentrated caffeine injected into her veins, fuck off.

Graves: If looks could kill... His hair is sentient, he has not touched it since they got to exfil. Southern charm? No, southern sarcasm. He requires thirteen hours of an uninterrupted coma and a pot of coffee.

Alejandro: Incredibly argumentative. Personal space? He doesn't know what that is, doesn't care. Don't be fooled, he's going to start crying if he can't get to a bed in a pitch black room soon.

Rudy: Sarcasm to the max, will make someone cry. If he doesn't answer the first time then don't repeat yourself. He will bitch until he gets to curl up in bed. Don't touch him if you value any and all of your fingers.

Farah: Trying to be overly friendly because she doesn't want to unintentionally upset someone while exhausted. Will say something bitchy then immediately apologize. Please get her some coffee.

Alex: On autopilot, isn't all there. He can go for another two days before passing out. Don’t let him do that. Will say something batshit and then move on without acknowledging it. He's talking to the clowns, do worry about it.

[tojisteddy]

Reader! who ends up pregnant after a one night stand with Graves.

You don’t even really have proof that the baby is his but you know it is because he’s the only man you’ve been with after he fucked you silly right against the hood of his pickup truck.

Don’t ask how he pulled that shit with you.

You just know he dropped you off with a wave and you never intended to be— here.

In a military base office you truly didn’t know, four months pregnant, eyes erratic and knee bouncing like a kangaroo on crack from nerves and irritation.

You just wanted to say your peace and then go home. Maybe have a cry because you weren’t alone and pregnant, maybe have that ice cream you’d been thinking about since this morning. You weren’t expecting shit from the man, not a dollar, not a diaper. You weren’t used to being brushed aside your whole life, this was just another situation you’d need to stand tall on your own. A life altering situation but you could do it. You’ve done it before. You’d do it again. You just needed acknowledgement.

And he turned that corner toward where you sat in the waiting room, your guts almost spilled on the floor, right along it’s the baby. He was just as handsome as you remembered, tall, muscular, blue eyes, pretty lashes, he’s twinkling with irritation, talking to three men who followed right as his heals, maybe he could even tell you what to do— focus reader.

You stood, swallowing down every bit of fear, a little pride—

“Graves?” You called out, thankful it didn’t sound like a croak. It was more of a statement than a question. Not asking for attention, demanding it.

His eyes flickered over to you, a little shock fills his eyes, he gives some hand signal to his men, waving them away, “Give us a second boys.”

A smirk grows on his lips as he comes closer to you, more than amused that you, a one night stand, has somehow gotten a hold of him like this. His fault for knowing the people of that small town you were from. But it’s not like you were forgettable, you were headstrong, much smarter than the ditzy girls than hung around that bar, even more memorable when you let him stick his dick in your gushy walls. Still, you’re as gorgeous as ever in his eyes, even with that uncertain look on your face and the oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants you wore. He’d prefer you in something tighter, a sun dress that hugged your pretty tits— “Well it isn’t the pretty doll from that bar, where did we last meet? In the bar? Nooo, the Honda—“

“—I’m pregnant.” You interjected, tired of the games, you pulled out the sonogram in your baggy pocket. “You’re the father.”

Phillip Graves doesn’t flinch. Not to anything.

Not when he got the news his mom was in the hospital. Not when he found out his men had died delivering that weapon of mass destruction, and not when he heard from your sweet lips that you would be having his first child.

He’s unwavering like a mountain, just walked towards you, taking the photos in hand, smirk growing wider as he eyes the little thing. A cute bean.

He chuckles. Fucking chuckles.

You almost leap out of your body, and skin him alive but he pulls you close by the waist with one hand. The other hand lifts your chin to look at him, slowly trailing down from your collar bones, past your plump breasts, to lay a hand on your slowly growing belly. He hums in delight.

“Graves—“

“—Got lucky with you huh? Blessed t’ have you havin my baby. Makin me a real man, huh dolly?”

And you’re even more confused. Eyebrows furrowing, taken aback, “Blessed to have-?”

Phillip folds the sonogram and sticks it in his wallet, “I’m just as shocked as you, I always wrap it up tight. Always. But shit like this happens when you least expect it, don’t they? ‘Nd ‘m sure you came ‘nd worried that pretty little head ‘f yers of the worst. But I’m no bastard darlin, was raised right. Little thangs our kid, so of course I’ll be there for ‘em.”

“Gonna be… partners from now on [+], best if get along, right? For the baby ‘nd such.” He sticks out his hand, all polite.

You hesitate at first, but take it. It’s an agreement, just so you both can be in the babies life and be proper parents.

Sort’ve.

The southern man’s already envisioning you walking down the aisle in a pretty white dress, right after your baby girl or baby boy walks with the ring or the flower basket. You’d unknowingly agreeded to not just being cordial parents to your unborn child but being his woman, lover, friend— all wrapped into one and tied with a bow.

There’s no way a man like that would let a woman like you slip from his fingers again. He was stupid before, he’s sober now. He definitely wrap around you to get what he wants.

Always read the fine print when you’re dealing with a fox sweetheart.

a/n: genuinely don’t think Phillip got you pregnant on purpose (not this time) but he’s thankful for someone as pretty and knowledgeable as you.

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

hello!!! Love all your writing, it's hard to find x male reader writers in the cod community but you are certainly a saving grace. Have you ever thought about doing Phillip graves with a male bodyguard/loyal guard dog reader? Remember to drink water have a good day 🫶

a/n: heheheheh dog reader my beloved, i dropped my phone and it’s so shattered atm so this was a bit of a slow write but yk 🤷‍♂️

Minors DNI

Phillip relied on you more than he should, from secretary work to being leader of a mission he couldn’t oversee, you were his jack of all trades and his right hand man. And of course with that, you were also his emotional and physical support

he wasn’t ever quite sure if you cared about him, but he didn’t think it really mattered when you had him bent over his desk while he tugged on the leash attached to your mic collar from your most recent mission you hadn’t even had time to take off when he called you in; needy, whiny, and commanding and begging ordering you to take off your clothes and get to work already. He could feel your cold hands gripping against his hips as your cock hit his prostate with sloppy fast thrusts, your breath coming out in little gasps time to time from the sheer amount of times you had already came inside of him, it dripping out of his sloppy hole onto his expensive desk’s nice wood finish.

he was still unsatisfied however, even with his own orgasms covering his stomach and chest in a sticky overstimulating feeling, he still needed more. Needed his guard-dog of a man to fuck him stupid. He tugged on your leash harshly whenever you got too slow or didn’t hit his insides just right, muffled whines and curses leaving his lips when your thick cock dragged in and out of his gummy warm walls

he swore he could feel you in his throat, your cock-head rutting against his prostate ruthlessly. Not that he’d tell you that, he was feeling bratty, and it was nice to have the illusion of power for a moment even if he knew your hands alone could wring his neck like a chicken

he bit into your arm violently as he came for.. perhaps the fourth time, already starting to shoot blanks as he reveled in the slight sting it left in its trail, feeling more globs of your semen drip out of him as you fucked into him even harsher then before- the overstimulating feeling of the heavy smoke from his now discarded cigar, of the sheer pleasure-pain and fucked out bliss coursing through his nerves being a mix that was driving him insane

[n1ght0f-nyx]

though he'd never say it, philip graves is a submissive man when it comes to you. letting you stand over him like a goddess, taking his hair in your fist and guiding his mouth over your cunt, praising moans coaxing him as he sucks your clit and burries his tongue as deep as it can go. let him worship you, its all hes got when hes not out fighting (committing treason) for his country. let him smother himself in your ass cheeks, you are his safe-haven and he needs you to keep it that way with your praise and cum. suffocate him, its the only way he can breathe

[vrtvyg]

Graves × Demon! reader

You know when Graves pops up, revealing he's not actually dead, that he wasn't in the tank.

Imagine he WAS in the tank, and he WAS killed. But due to the pact he made with Demon! reader years back, it's impossible to kill him.

Demon! reader, who kind of just spawns when he's about to die, taking a few hours to days to weeks to nurse him back to health before sending him on his way.

Demon! reader doesn't even want his soul in return for his protection, simply wants his body, his love. his... physical assets.

Anyways, that just came to my mind and I had to spit it out <3

[callofdoobie420]

Can’t stop thinking about Ghost not getting tapped out, and reader is there with her best friend. Her best friend just so happens to be little sister to Graves (not sure they would be there for the same time, but let’s stretch our imaginations! Ghost will stretch other- ahem…).

Anyways reader sees Ghost still standing there waiting, and decides to go over to tap him out. Graves already has his little sister there, Ghost has no one. Reader is obviously ~smitten~…*cue awkward flirting*…

Meanwhile Graves is secretly seething since he’s had a crush on reader forever. He was finally going to admit it to them, but now they are flirting with Ghost!

Does this exist? Help! Because I can’t stop thinking about it!!!

[codderanged]

After Party - Phillip Graves X Shadow!Reader

A/N : This came to me as I listened to Dealer by S3RL! Sorry it’s so long compared to my usual stuff (ToT ) Also sorry but this one is mega indulgent LMAO. I love myself some acts of service and intimacy via things that aren’t sex and the idea that nudity does not equal sexual tension. Enjoy!!

A/N2 : THIS BITCH WAS 15 PAGES IN GOOGLE DOCS

Word Count : 4,699

TW : Drugs, alcohol, hallucinogenic consumption, description of involuntary actions, reader under the influence, good trip turned bad, anxiety, hallucinations (visual and auditory), nonsexual nudity

No one remembers when it became a tradition but at some point in Shadow Company, without Graves knowing a thing, someone decided to start throwing post-mission parties. Most Shadows referred to them simply as “after parties” and whenever an outsider asked the explanation was always that it was simply a glorified way of saying a group was going to rest and veg out together. 

These parties were exclusive. At first they were small, just a small group of Shadows who started it, then they became huge. Half of a barracks hall used to party late at night when everyone was sure the commander was asleep like kids using the house while their parents are away. Anyone who wanted to attend needed an inside connection to be invited specifically or taken in as a plus one. 

Hence why this particular recruit didn’t expect to be invited to the after party this time. 

They were newer to the team but most definitely had proven themselves as a useful asset. A few good friends had been made and they’d established a nice circle to sit with in the mess hall during breakfast. But none of those friends struck them as the type to go to these parties. Not when they’d heard that recently they’d been getting progressively more wild. More booze, louder music, a little bit of drugs, etc.. 

Of course the question of whether they’d accept or not was a big one. Saying yes was dragging them into something likely bigger than they even knew, but declining would most likely prevent them from ever going in the future. It took a lot of consideration but they simply chose to go but avoid any of the heavy partying. It would set their reputation well but hopefully prevent anyone from offering them drugs thinking they were into that sort of thing. 

That night they made their way to the barracks hall the party was held in. Always the one furthest from Grave’s own quarters. From the entrance they could see the party down the hall. A few people kept the doors of their rooms open to let Shadows in and out and it seemed there was already a line for the bathroom. The recruit was stopped by a taller Shadow who asked for proof of invite. In response they took out the little piece of paper their friend had scribbled on, signing that they were the one who invited the newbie. The bouncer Shadow nodded and handed the slip back to the shorter, “Enjoy.” 

They scuttled along further down the hall. Upon closer inspection it seemed there was a designated room for smoking what smelled like weed, another room for snacks and drinks, and everything else was free range to hang out. Without missing a beat the recruit went into the snack room. Getting food was a good way to start a conversation, right? Bond over similar tastes and snack combos seemed like a normal conversation topic. The room was simply decorated with a couple of black lights, a singular strobe, a speaker, and a few tables with snacks and drinks laid out on them. However, what caught the Shadow’s eye through the throng of buzzing coworkers was the table with a large closed-topped pitcher labeled “Southern Style Tea”. Ignoring all the other drink options they raced towards the table, grabbed a red solo cup, and filled it. 

Just before taking the first sip they noticed two tiny plates next to the large cooling vat. One was labeled “Sugar cubes” in simple messy black sharpie while the other was labeled the exact same thing except in fancier pink cursive marker. The recruit chuckled and grabbed a couple sugar cubes under the pink label and tossed them into their drink. It was a party, of course they had to pick the more whimsical option. After stirring their drink a bit the recruit took a few sips and shuffled off to the side so they could observe from the wall. Hopefully some easy opportunity to interact would come along and they would be able to hop in on a conversation. 

After ten minutes that opportunity still hadn’t come. They stood there sipping their tea and even got a refill with more sugar cubes. It was likely the music but slowly their head grew fuzzy and every now and then they swore they saw something moving from the corner of their eye. Just as they went to grab a sugar cube for their third cup of tea, their Shadow friend came by, standing just a couple feet away. “Well hey there!” he greeted with a sickeningly intoxicated laugh. His eyes lazily drifted to see the sugar cubes. “Oh wow I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”

The recruit raised a brow in confusion, “Well it’s just sugar, yeah? Not like I haven’t shown off my sweet tooth before.”

Their friend shook his head, “No, that’s not sugar.” The Shadow moved to stand directly next to them and pointed at the sugar cubes with black sharpie. “That’s sugar,” he pointed at the pink labeled ones, “and that’s sugar cubes soaked in LSD.”

“LSD…?” the other mumbled, staring in horror as they processed it all. The senior Shadow laughed loudly.

“Oh boy! How much did you have? You’re way in for it,” he slurred through his amusement. With a sigh he put a hand on the other’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine I’m sure. Just uh… don’t get caught.” 

He nodded, popped a raw sugar cube into his mouth, and walked away with drink in hand. The stunned recruit stood there staring between the cup in their hand and the sugar cubes in the little dish. How many had they had? Six, maybe even seven. They left their cup on the table and shakily began trying to exit the room. It seemed whatever they did was in slow motion and just about everything around them was going too fast to see anything other than the motion blur. No one they shoved past seemed to care or notice, simply stumbling to the side while too busy with their conversation or dancing. The music bumped so loud that the bass sent vibrations through their very core and the lights seemed to flash in their eyes even when they weren’t looking at them. Like a kaleidoscope, shapes and color swirled around the border of their vision, obscuring the things in their peripheral vision and distracting them as they ambled out into the hall. The music seemed to echo there and the noise felt like it was going to burst their ears open. People passed by, not paying any mind, and the recruit wandered around. They didn’t realize but their mouth hung open a little and in the midst of everything they were going much slower than they felt they were. Things blurred further and everything seemed to swirl around in their vision. The buzz of everyone yelling over the music was merely a monotonous hum that settled itself into the back of their mind. 

It took some time for them to find it but eventually they came across a room where everyone seemed to be smoking weed. There were a couple groups of people passing different forms of the substance around who didn’t seem to want to be as loud as everyone else outside the room. The Shadow saw this as a perfect place to settle and enjoy the sudden euphoria budding in their chest. 

They stumbled over to a bean bag chair in the corner and let their weight crash down into the squishy cushion. Sprawled out across the big bean bag they stared up at the ceiling, watching the little shapes and colors drift by and feeling the bass of the party music rumble underneath them. It felt like merely a minute but it must have been an hour when they finally looked up to see half the people from the rotations gone and the other either sleeping or mumbling amongst each other. The party outside was still raging but strangely the sudden change in the room disturbed the Shadow more than they were prepared for. Something about it didn’t quite click to them as their eyes slowly dragged across the room to see if perhaps everyone was only hiding. 

No one was there. No one was hidden under the blankets or in the corners of the room.

Unless they were. Unless this was some ploy to trick them and possibly humiliate them. 

While the shapes and colors still blotted their vision they pulled their knees to their chest and looked around the room a little more panicked than before. Their arms held their knees close as their breathing quickened. Everything appeared to close in on them. The walls leaned in and the people in the room slowly grew bigger as if trying to intimidate the poor Shadow rocking gently back and forth in the corner. The others in the room didn’t seem to notice, though, as they all talked amongst one another and even lit up a new joint to share. The pungent smell immediately slammed the Shadow in the corner like a truck. It infiltrated their nasal cavity and made them more nauseous than ever before. Their hand covered their mouth and they did their best to not look at the group in case the mere sight of the source would trigger their gag reflex. The music from outside was shaking too hard and the words felt much too loud in their inner ears like some kind of pressurizing system. It all bumped and shook and sent relentless shivers up the Shadow’s spine.

The Shadow could not see as the group’s attention turned to the door. A couple of them stood and went to the doorway, peeking out into the hall, and the recruit finally noticed. The group’s joint had been forgotten as they all gathered by the door. What felt like only a second later they were all scrambling around the room, shoving previous smokes into plastic bags to hide the smell and spraying an ungodly amount of air freshening spray to drown it out. Of course the beachy scent only gave the recruit in the corner an intense ache in the base of their neck. 

One of the stoners approached the Shadow, standing over them and saying something that sounded distorted to the point the recruit couldn’t understand. They stared, mouth open and pupils blown wide. The stoner’s words didn’t even penetrate their mind. Their heart rate went wild and the ache in their neck spread up to their temples and behind their ears. All that their mind could think of was how big this person was, standing over them and raising their voice about something. The idea that someone was upset because of them suddenly caused anxiety to prickle up into their shoulders and back. Thoughts raced through their head on double time trying to figure out what they did wrong as a frown crossed their face. 

Quickly the thoughts felt all-consuming. It was like every noise in the room was nothing compared to the thrum of their own heart in their ears and foreign voices like cursed whispers filled their head in an agonizingly loud cacophony. As their hands went up to cover their ears the stoner standing above them huffed in annoyance and stomped off. The Shadow on the floor rocked back and forth, glancing around as if they could find the source of all the noise. It wasn’t the group of people still panicking as they picked up the room, was it? When they spoke to one another was it about the Shadow in the corner? Did they look pitiful or were they, arguably even worse, some kind of nuisance? 

Though the swirling colors and the loud voices persisted, everything else stopped as a figure stood in the doorway. Behind him Shadows were in the hall panicking as they rushed around. 

It was Commander Graves. 

His brows pinched together and his fists clenched at his sides as he stood there. The group in the room stood stock still as they stared. Each of them was thinking the same thing. They all knew what Graves standing there meant. 

It was all over. 

No more after parties.

Some of them would likely get terminated.

Graves’s eyes scanned the room like he was assessing a room during a mission. The stoner didn’t dare make eye contact with him; their own gazes glued to the floor instead. It didn’t take long for Graves to see the Shadow huddled in the corner. They simply stared at him, brows pressed together and lips curled down in a pouty frown. The commander looked to the stoners and pointed to the high Shadow as he spoke. They couldn’t tell what he was saying, or what the stoners said in response, but Graves seemed immediately concerned as he looked at the Shadow again. The man didn’t bother even looking at the other Shadows as he barked some order. They all quickly nodded and exited the room, their collective “yup yup!” sounding loud and distorted in the high Shadow’s head. 

Once the others were gone he cautiously stepped towards the other Shadow. They stared up at him like he was some enigma. Or perhaps like he wasn’t real. 

“Hey now, y’hear me?” Graves asked quietly. He wasn’t one for drugs and had only chewed tobacco as a kid but he’d dealt with drugged up people before and knew a few things about helping. 

The Shadow merely tilted their head to the side in response, mouth not opening. Graves sighed and crouched down in front of them in an attempt to appear small. 

“Y’understand me?” He asked again. Once again the only response was the thousand yard stare and Graves’s shoulders sagged a little. He waddled forward a little, “C’mere, ‘m gonna help ya.”

Of course the warning was nothing when the Shadow was barely understanding anything happening around them nevertheless comprehending what was real or fake. Graves hesitated only a moment, worried that perhaps he was overstepping his authority and responsibility, before reaching to grab them. Their reaction was delayed and by the time they mumbled an incoherent babble of confusion Graves was already carrying them in his arms; their chin on his shoulder and their legs wrapped around his waist. His steady hands were gentle as they held the Shadow with a hand on their back and an arm under their rear. He was careful of their knees as he exited the room, awkwardly waddling sideways as to avoid a hit altogether. 

Once out in the hall he looked around, barked a few orders the Shadow in his arms couldn’t quite grasp, and began heading out of the hall. The Shadow could see their coworkers picking things up and cleaning the ruined floor. The lights were on, the strobes were off, the tables and speakers were being put away. A few Shadows stared after Graves and others were helping corral drunk and high Shadows alike into their rooms. 

It all disappeared as Graves rounded the corner and made his way into the dark hallways. The Shadow in his arms closed their eyes but the colors in their vision remained and the darkness gave them a strange feeling like everything was gone or perhaps not be there when their eyes opened again. Just as they’d started trying to reel their mind in, Graves interrupted their thoughts, “‘M gonna take care of ya, alright?”

The Shadow simply mumbled something quiet that resembled “yup yup” moments later. Graves couldn’t help but chuckle at the response. It was endearing for a reason he couldn’t quite pin. Something about one of his lethal little Shadows being subdued was simply too foreign to not catch his attention. Of course the reason was incredibly displeasing and all Graves could hope for was that they were going to end up alright in the end. 

The commander struggled with the knob to his personal barracks for just a moment before clicking the door open, shuffling inside, and then pulling the door closed behind him. His barracks were only slightly bigger than that of the Shadows. He designed the place but he sure wasn’t selfish with the power. Each room had its own shared bathroom with another and Graves simply had his own bathroom. Which, to be fair, was in fact quite grand. A large tub, a separate shower, and plenty of counter space. The entire room was decorated fairly scarcely with the only hint of Grave’s less military side being the hats and boots hidden away in his closet. Everything was some shade of grey or black, the entire room feeling like a pit of monotonous darkness besides the singular warm beside lamp clicked on from when he had woken up. 

He stared around at his room, supposedly thinking, before taking a deep breath and heading for his bathroom. Graves was careful as he sat the Shadow on the bathroom counter, standing in front of them to keep them in place with his hands resting on the counter on each side. They stared at him with that thousand yard stare look but strangely their blown out pupils made it almost look like they were enamored by Graves. The idea tickled him and the corner of his mouth quirked up just a little as he shook his head lightly. “You poor lil thing…” he sighed.

Graves observed the Shadow as their eyes lazily wandered the room. The movement was rhythmic like they were stuck in a cycle of staring at the tub behind Graves, then the carpet, then the shampoo bottles in the shower, then repeating once again. The commander frowned as he gently touched the back of his hand to their forehead to get a feel for their temperature. Of course they felt like they were overheating like some overrun generator. That wasn’t to mention the thin layer of sweat that had accumulated on their entire body, clinging to them grossly and emanating a smell like a weird mix of wet dog and sweaty child. Graves set his hand gently on their cheek, trying to get them to look at him. It took several seconds for their eyes to mosey on to meet his own. 

“Hey, can y’ talk to me?” he asked softly. There was no telling what they took or how much. From the symptoms it seemed like some kind of depressant and by the way they seemed barely aware of their surroundings they took quite a bit of it. 

The Shadow hummed so quiet it was nearly inaudible, “Yup yup…” Graves sighed with a hint of relief. At least they were somewhat still there. Considering the ‘yup yup’ they could probably recognize him. 

“Yer in a tough spot, soldier,” Graves explained. His thumbs gently rubbed their cheek bone back and forth before he noticed the unconscious movement moments later and moved his hand to the counter. “I’m gonna help you out, alright? That okay with you?”

Silent moments passed but Graves remained patient as he waited for an answer. Even as their lips parted but nothing came out he still stood there, head slightly tilted to the side, waiting for a response. The Shadow’s eyes caught the bright bathroom light and they groaned as they shoved their face down into Grave’s shoulder to hide from it, and slurred, “Yessir… yup yup…” 

Graves let out a little huff from his nose as his arms wrapped around them protectively. “I gotcha soldier.” His chin settled onto their shoulder and he mumbled quietly so as to not hurt their head, “‘M gonna take care of ya.”

He reluctantly let them go, pausing to be sure that they could sit up on their own, before heading for the large tub and beginning to run the water and dumping in some body wash just for the suds that would arise. He kept his hand under the tap just to be sure it wasn’t too hot or cold then shook it dry as he walked back over to the Shadow. “Gonna clean y’ up so you can get some good rest, alright?”

The Shadow, seeming to have come to their senses just a little, grumbled in acknowledgement. Graves nodded, more to himself than to the Shadow, and set his hands on their hips. He paused as his face heated up from the thought of what he was doing. Graves immediately slapped himself though, trying to steel his mind against it all. This wasn’t for his personal enjoyment. This was to take care of them. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes up on the ceiling as he assisted the Shadow with removing their clothes. Once he had their things folded and set to the side to be washed later he helped them down from the counter and held them up as they walked to the bath. Initially the Shadow grumbled, not wanting to leave their spot on the counter since the cold marble had finally grown warm, but as they felt the steam arising from the bath they quickly stopped protesting and slipped inside eagerly, head and shoulders just above the water.

Once sure the Shadow was settled Graves made quick work of changing into some random shorts in his closet so he wouldn’t get his pants wet. He sat on the edge of the rub, put his legs in the water on either side of the recruit, and let their head rest on his thighs. The Shadow seemed content simply sitting there soaking with a little smile on their face. Graves had a smile of his own as he reached down and cupped some water in his hands to pour over their head. He was careful to put a hand on their brow to prevent water in their eyes. Then he went for his bottle of shampoo and began to lather it in his hands. 

The Shadow leaned into his touch as he carefully scrubbed their scalp then proceeded to rinse the product out. His fingers on their scalp seemed to scratch some itch deep in their brain. Fresh-cut nails digging in to really get at the roots for a wash that felt borderline purifying. Graves carded through every section and got each and every little knot and tangle out. The room spelled like green apple as he continued on, the shampoo’s scent filling just about every cavity in the Shadow’s senses. Afterwards Graves gently scrubbed their body down, once again looking anywhere he could that wasn’t their body. His eyes kept away, instead taking great note of the grout between the floor tiles or the way the paint was textured on the ceiling. Anything to try and give the Shadow some semblance of privacy as he helped them. Oddly enough Graves didn’t struggle to navigate them despite not being able to see where his hands were. He pretended in his head that it was because it was simply his understanding of anatomy. Knowing where to strike a foe meant you had to know where everything else was as well. The commander knew, though, in the back of his head, that it was because he’d see this Shadow before. He’d found himself enraptured by their performance and physique. Their uniform always left much to the imagination but walking around base, with mere training gear on, he’d seen more of them and loved every bit. Graves had dreams of seeing this body, kissing every inch in pure reverence, and running his hands through their hair sweetly, just to make them feel loved.

The thought turned a little sour as Graves remembered why exactly he was here touching and seeing them. This was not quite the sweet union he’d imagined in his head. 

Graves heaved a heavy sigh as he shook his head. The Shadow below him was smiling wide with their head resting back onto his lap. Their eyes wandered around the ceiling and occasionally his face but had no true path. The nearly pitiful sight made all of Grave’s annoyance wash away as he cupped their cheek and smiled softly down at them. 

“Gonna get out now, alright? Get all warm n’ head to bed,” he whispered quietly down to them. They finally fixed their eyes on his and nodded with a mumble of approval. 

At that Graves carefully stood himself up and with one foot in the tub and another he assisted the Shadow out of the water. They shivered and grumbled uncomfortably as the cool air hit their wet skin, but Graves was quick to grab a towel and wrap them up. He held them close as they snuggled into the fabric and in turn pressed their face to his chest. Even as water dripped from their hair and soaked his shirt he didn’t protest. When they were dry except for their still dripping hair Graves sat them down on the counter, excusing himself for just a moment, before heading for his closet to grab something comfortable for both of them to sleep in. He emerged from his walk-in closet moments later with a simple hoodie and shorts with a drawstring for the Shadow and some sweats and a tee for himself. Graves was sure the clothes would probably be too big for the Shadow but he didn’t mind the idea of them cuddled up in the too-big clothes contentedly sleeping. A pang went through his chest at the thought so sweet and he went a little faster as he helped them dry their hair and the rest of their body before awkwardly assisting them in getting the fresh clothes on then getting changed himself.

Though the process took a while, when it was finally complete Graves was more than happy with the result he saw before him. His cute little Shadow sitting on the counter with their legs on either side of his waist. The commander’s hoodie was most definitely oversized for them but they seemed to enjoy it, flapping the extra length of the sleeves around like a child looking for mental stimulation. Graves chuckled and couldn’t bother holding down his smile, “Y’ sure don’t seem tired, now do ya? Still gotta rest, sug- soldier.”

Just like before the Shadow grumbled and nodded, “Yup yup..” 

“C’mon then, careful now,” Graves coaxed as he backed away to let them get down from the counter. With shaky legs like a newborn deer they stepped down. Graves took their hand and carefully guided them from the bathroom to the main room of his dorm. He turned the bathroom light off behind him as he went along.

“Yer doin’ great. Just a lil’ further now,” he praised in a low hum. The moment they reached his bed the Shadow practically collapsed down into the sheets. Graves panicked for a moment before seeing them wiggle their way into the blankets and tuck their face into the pillow. He was about to slip in alongside them when he paused. Hypothetically, waking up to your commander cuddled up next to you would be quite disturbing. Especially if you had, hypothetically, not remembered anything of the night prior. Instead of getting in bed with them Graves leaned down to tuck them in and, indulgently, leave a little peck to their forehead, before rummaging around under his bed until he found some extra blankets and pillows. He set himself up a pallet on the floor next to the bed. 

Just in case they were unable to sleep Graves stayed up for about an hour more. He was sitting up next to the edge of the mattress with his head propped up on his palm. His blue eyes searched their content face the entire time, taking note of every little twitch of their brow or slight movement in their lips. Anything that might mean they were stirring awake made his shoulders tense in anticipation, ready to jump in and help them settle back to sleep. 

They never once stirred but did once mumble something Graves could not make out. He eventually passed out in his silent vigil, but seeing their face as he closed his eyes was all he needed to sleep soundly through just like his Shadow did. 

[moongumi]

thinking about how if you worked for the shadow company, i.e. graves. and had a terrible father growing up he'd totally use it against you.

very much feeding into your daddy issues to get you to submit to his requests and demands.

he'd click his tongue, shaking his head. "you could've had this done yesterday, darlin', bad girls waste my time...you're not a bad girl, are ya'?"

he knows that you CARNALLY desire praise and admiration, after all you never got any.

"you are such a good girl, i couldn't have done it without you sweetheart. thank you." he doesn't even have to mean it, no, graves NEVER means it. not his thank yous anyway.

don't even get me started on what the man does in bed to keep his shadow under a tight leash, the shit he does to keep you eating from his god damned blood stained hands.

[iris-honey-bee]

Phillip ‘Murica’ Graves fucking you in the bed of his truck as you two watch the fireworks.

“Fuck babe, this cunt is better than freedom.”

Very cool Phil thanks

[cod-dump]

When they're sick:

Price: He's fine stop asking. No he has to get his work done, no time for rest. He said he's fine! That cough is normal, yes puking is normal. He's got shit to do!

Graves: End of the world, he's dying. This is it, this is how he dies. He's laying in bed crying until the second he can breathe out of his nose again.

Nik: Wait, he was sick? Since when? You're lying, he never gets sick.

Ghost: He's working until his bones break. He needs to be watched or he's trying to get out of bed. Will behave as long as he's constantly supervised. Is that medicine orange flavor? He's going to kill you, cherry only.

Soap: He's either absolutely fine or he's dying, there's no in between. Don't touch him he bites or if he doesn't have any head pats he's going to cry.

Gaz: Oh, he's taking a sick day. He doesn't want to risk getting anyone sick. Is he dying? No, his doctor says he'll be fine. He'll be fine, he'll catch up on sleep.

Laswell: Don’t touch her she'll stab you. Don’t look at her she's fine. Her wife made her soup, don't even look at it. Why is she still working? Who else is doing her damn job? Exactly.

Alex: He can handle being shot better than a cold. He hates everything, he's melting, he's dying. Tell Farah he tried (he'll be fine in two days).

Farah: Sick? Does it look like she has time to be sick?

Alejandro: He's doubled his work load. He gets more productive when sick. He has his spicy soup, he's going to live forever.

Rudy: Sick? He's immune to all such things. He hasn't been sick since he was five.

[bzurk]

DARK-FIC, MDNI:

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

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

buckle up shit gets rough 💅

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was infinitely worse than the back camera.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feel good, hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your boys.

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

Why hadn’t they stopped this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knew what you signed up for when you enlisted.

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

So then why did it hurt so bad?

Why had none of them stopped Graves?

He turned the phone around for you one more time.

“What d’ya say, doll?”

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

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

[fortheb0ys]

Sometimes I can't stand how people write so rough with Graves😭

He's surrounded by violence and war. He needs an escape. A hard world only to be forgotten by you.

You make him forget. The only peace he finds. The only person to take the weight off his shoulders. With you, there's no Commander Graves. Only Phillip.

His trust is fragile coming from a man who betrays other's trust so easily. One wrong move and he's in tears, his world falls apart.

The sense of time gone as you take your time fingering him open, careful that he doesn't feel any discomfort. Praising him for doing so good. He'd be in tears just from your simple gesture. He's just a fragile doll and needs to be treated as such. Cradle him in your arms and you fuck into him. Hold him like at any second he could break.

Fuck him till he forgets the world around him. Only you. Only love.

Whisper sweet words into his ears. Kiss away the tears that stream down his face as emotions take over him. Leave feathered kisses on his tired body.

Spoon him as you fuck him so gently. Your hands calloused yet so soft feel his body. Let him fall asleep in your arms, your spent cock still filling him perfectly, knowing he's loved and cared for.

I NEED YOU TO MAKE SURE HE FEELS FUCKING LOVED😡

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

Southern pride

a/n: I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of writing gay cowboy smut. Anyhow Im 🤏 this close to going insane (my countries so doomed)

minors DNI

Phillip whined almost pitifully as he felt the hot metal press up against his face, his mind flustered and fuzzy as he registered the burn of the ropes around his wrists and the grounding weight of your calloused hand holding his hips with an bruising grip. His pants tugged down and your spurs making a stupidly loud click sound whenever you bucked into him hard enough- his mind seeing stars and pleasure shooting through his tingled nerves whenever your thick tip hit inside him just right.

He was trying to think of how exactly he fell into this situation, bent against a trailer with his feet barely touching the ground, sore in all the wrong places. He remembered going to the rodeo tired and bored and really fucking lonely, how tempting his flask looked in his bag, and damn… he was pretty sure the person behind him was one of the rodeo men he saw earlier preforming some saddle bronc riding and cow roping. He in all truth hadn’t been paying much attention. You looked fucking good, and he was drunk- and that’s all it took.

his thought process was interrupted by a sharp pleasure shooting up his spine like electrical wire as your thick cock bullied its way just perfectly inside him to hit against his prostate with every timed trust, his eyes rolled back and tongue stuck out like some two dollar slut as he took it without complain. Feeling that knowing feeling deep inside him coiling. His vision was a little distorted, but he could see the smirk on your face when he titled his head, the look of it sending a potent mix of anger and utterly pathetic adoration through him. He almost looked like a prey animal, tied up and doe eyed as he just whined and whimpered, occasionally cursing or making some snarky comment to get your attention back on him

he couldn’t truly care less about the fact he could easily be caught if anyone turned the corner behind where the performers trailers and such were parked for the moving rodeo, too lost in sensation and whiskey to dwell on the concerns of his current situation, too close to think about how undoing it could be

All that mattered in this one moment, was the tight pain of the rope, and the bubbling pleasure of thrust after thrust as his body and souls stress slowly came undone. He came with little warning, his body alight with overstimulation and pleasure as his cum dripped down the side of the hot gleaming metal of the trailer wall he was so unceremoniously shoved up against

It didn’t take long for you to follow suit, pulling out and on the dusty jacket he wore, a little groan leaving his bruised lips at the sight of it, and before he could contaplate the world shaking sex he just had, he was reclothed and left there, tipsy and fucked senseless… a rough and fast interaction that left him reeling. He’d definitely have to come to more rodeos with you around.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Girl headcanons for Graves was so sweet 😭 you headcanon him as a rather romantic man? (i mean i suppose you think he has the potential if he wants to be) a giver to the partner he wants to be a giver to?.. a munch like you wrote earlier?

Oh and if it's okay to ask, what's your sun sign?

please i love this sm, also my sun sign is aries and moon in Sagittarius! i dont mind personal questions lol warnings/tags- reader is a military tailor, smut, both first times, gentle, readers kinda mean, philip is romantic obvi word count- 1598 words

Philip smiled under his breath while you measured him for his new uniforms size. You were extremely close, which made the man's heart beat faster. As it always did when he came here.

Even though he was much bigger than you, your focused gaze made him feel like he was next to a predator. Your hands slowly glided over his body, but nothing went beyond the touch needed to measure his shoulders, his hips, his height….

In measuring his chest, he had the opportunity to have a closer look at you. He saw the slight imperfections on your face. Normally he wouldn't have noticed them through the powder, but now? He was able to count your freckles.

The vanilla scent reached his nostrils as he leaned slightly towards you. Of course, you knew what was on Philip's mind. Otherwise, he wouldn't come to your establishment so often. It was an adjustment, a seam that had been accidentally torn…. Now the excuse was an upcoming tour which could last weeks. 

“Perhaps you could invite yourself for tea, Miss l/n?” He asked as you scribbled the measurements into your notebook. “I can also offer you a cigarette.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Mr Graves. I'll be happy to take it,” you replied, packing your things into your bag. Philip, as usual, signed in so that he would be your last client.

The cigarette and tea quickly changed to champagne and whisky. The promises of alcohol in your blood made your courage rise. As a result, Philip shed some of his self-control, coming dangerously close to you.

You were barely centimetres apart when you stopped the man. You barely put your hand on his chest, but it was enough. He gazed lustfully at your lips, at your eyes, all over you, until finally it was you who reduced the distance between you to nothing.

The kiss was not one of the sexual ones, it was rather sensual. You interrupted it just as quickly; after all, you were in a public place.

Philip murmured displeased, to which you smiled gently. He was so polite and obedient. More than one man should learn that.

“Not here, Mr Graves,” you whispered, and a broad smile appeared on his face, revealing all his teeth.

“Just Philip, y/n.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The man's bedroom was a clear indication of his wealth. The big bed, the satin bedding, the beautiful lamps…. However, there was no time to look at it all — the desire between you was stronger.

An inaccurate kiss, bouncing against the wall, and finally ending up on the bed. Still in each other's embrace, you began to undress each other. When you stopped kissing once more, a heavy breath escaped your lips, and you were still joined by a thin trickle of saliva instead of your lips.

You sat on Philip's hips as he lay on the bed, resting on his forearms.

“You're beautiful,” he said, still catching his breath.

You leaned over him, still kissing. You ran your hands over his stomach, across his chest and up to his shoulders. Barely had your hands made contact with his heated flesh, an indefinable sound escaped from the brunet's throat.

Lost in your mouth and your touch, he didn't notice when his hands were over his head. With one hand you held his wrists, with the other you reached into your hair and untangled the ribbon.

From under his half-closed eyelids, Philip saw as if through a haze as you moved away from him and did something to the frame of his bed. Your breasts appeared right in front of his face, and he had already stopped thinking. Now he just wanted to touch them.

He moved one hand, and only then did some of his sanity return. He looked up to where his wrists were tied with some sort of cloth. If he had wanted to, he would have easily torn it. But curiosity about what you were planning to do with it won out.

You spread yourself more comfortably on Philip's hips, ignoring his boxers as well as his swollen cock.

“So handsome,” you whispered, stroking his face. The brunet only murmured approvingly, unable to get a word out. “Tell me, how many ladies have you made love to?”

You didn't give Graves time to answer, its not like he had one, you were his first. You started kissing his neck, biting his skin in some places. Philip gritted his teeth, just to make sure no embarrassing sound came out of him. After all, he should behave manly. So why did you satisfy him so far and not the other way around?

“Can I touch you?” he finally asked, and you shook your head. Only now did he notice that you had let your hair down. Surely he couldn't ruin the ribbon you tied his hands with — he didn't want to make you upset. Neither did he want anyone to see the state you would be coming home in.

Your kisses went lower and lower. Shoulders, chest, stomach…. Your lips formed a wet trail until they stopped at the elastic of his boxers. Philip held his breath as your fingers caught his underwear, and you began to slowly pull it off.

With your lips you traced another trail, this time along his lower abdomen, hips, and thighs. You effectively avoided the place where Philip wanted you most, waiting for him to break.

“y/n...” he said at last, trying to mask the tremor in his voice. “May I have it, please?”

You smiled victoriously, finally bringing your face close to his member. Philip could no longer hold back any further when he felt your warm breath on the sensitive spot, and he moaned low. Pre-ejaculate began to slowly flow out of his penis, letting you know he was close.

You placed a gentle kiss on the head of his penis, and felt Philip's muscles tense under your fingers.

“Oh fuck…” he choked out, clenching his fists. With the last of his self-control, he stopped himself from tearing the ribbon. “I'm close…”

You pressed the base of his penis with your hand, with which you blocked Philip's ability to orgasm. A silent scream escaped from the man's throat, which you watched with great satisfaction.

“You look very beautiful now,” you muttered, lifting yourself up.

You rested your hands on the brunet's chest and sat perched on his crotch. You began to move your hips gently, rubbing against his hypersensitive appendage.

“I've got a condom in my pocket...” said Philip through a tightened throat.

“Are you sure it's going to be useful?” you asked mischievously, brushing your hair away from your face.

You felt once again that the man was close. You stopped all movement and raised yourself gently. You watched as tiny tears gathered in Philip's eyes at another loss of pleasure.

Graves had to admit, it was exhilarating. It may have hurt a little, but being under your control was strangely pleasurable. Although... A strangely unpleasant thought popped into his head. Where was his masculinity, for which he was praised? He should be the one making you feel good, he should be in control.... After all, you were a woman.

The next time you took away his ability to orgasm, Philip was no longer able to think. All the worries, complexes, and problems were gone. Now only one thing was on his mind. The need for pleasure.

Finally, the first small tear ran down his cheek. You immediately kissed him where it had stopped. You brushed his wet hair off his forehead and stroked his face.

“You look beautiful, Philip. And don't worry, now you'll get what you want.”

You got up slowly and climbed off the bed. You picked up your handbag from the floor where, apart from your sewing supplies, there were condoms packed.

You took them out and put them on the pillow next to Graves. You pulled one out and slowly put it on his already hard, red penis.

You carefully sat back on the man's hips, this time putting his member inside you. As soon as the warmth surrounded his penis, Philip groaned loudly. He was no longer able to hold back his voice as you began to move.

By previously holding him back from orgasm, this time he came very quickly. He felt a great relief when the cum collected in his testicles finally left them, making him cry out loud. He was so beautiful...

You stepped off his penis, taking your pleasure away, and removed the condom from him.

“A... And you?” he asked then, looking at you with misty eyes.

“Don't worry about me,” was all you replied, taking another condom in your hands.

This time, again moving at a steady pace on Philip's penis, you also began to rub your clit with your fingers. A wave of pleasure flooded you, making you clench your thighs together, stopping yourself.

From the euphoria that swept over your body, your vagina clamped down on Philip's member, causing him to have a second orgasm.

You were breathing heavily, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. The man's chest, on which you were resting, floated up and down unevenly.

“y/n...” he wheezed out, trying to take his arms from above his head so that he could embrace you. The bindings held tight, however, and he had lost all strength through the few rounds you had served him. “y/n, that's enough... I can't handle it any more...”

Maybe if he begged hard enough, he could be pardoned from the tour

[scaredyspooks]

Advent Calendar Drabbles - Day 4 - Phillip Graves.

Office Secret Santas have never been Phil’s thing. He knows and loves all his Shadows (yup-yup!) but buying gifts for them? He doesn’t know what they want, he doesn’t know what they already have, so he’s utterly clueless and dreading it.

Until he pulls your name from the hat.

You are the chattiest little thing he’s ever met, if you were to literally talk his ear off, he’s pretty sure you’d just staple it back on and keep going. So he knows everything about your life - whether willingly or not. The moment he pulled your name, he knew what he was getting you, and he got that fuzzy little giddy feeling in his chest that’s pretty rare these days.

He got that feeling again when he actually bought the gift.

And again while he was wrapping it, hand-writing a note saying “Love from Santa”. He promptly scrunched that one up and wrote a new one saying “From Santa” instead, just in case.

The most he felt that feeling though, was watching you open your gift from his office, the way your eyes lit up and your nose did that little scrunch as you giggled and showed it off to the other Shadows.

And the final time he got that feeling, the moment that gave him the confidence to actually go to your desk, was when he looked down at his own Secret Santa and saw written, in your pretty cursive, “Lots of love from your Secret Santa x”.