Phillip Graves | 4.8k | fluff
He had the resolve of a singular spaghetti (p1) (p7)
Phillip tried to make it less obvious he wanted to see you as soon as you came back, but he could only use his classic takeout excuse so many times.
But could you blame him for trying? He was leaving for a two-week deployment soon. Surely, you, maybe, kind of wanted to see him too after 10 days away, didn’t you?
Finally, the following Saturday, you visited “your” gym and swam. He totally wasn’t flexing when he put sunscreen on himself. He didn’t think you even looked.
He, though, had a field day when you walked in in your swimsuit. He swore he was looking respectfully, while being very, very thankful he had a pool.
As usual, lunch followed, and like he’d promised, he wore a cap when out with you. It seemed to make you smile a lot more. Did it look funny on him? He’d long stopped wearing a cap, but he had to admit, it was bringing the Felix out of him looking like that.
His two weeks away didn’t feel like two weeks if he had your texts to look forward to. It wasn’t much: small updates of your day, a line or two about a confused private, sometimes when a meal was particularly memorable. Or anything strawberry you found.
Those were his favourites, because yes, he wanted you to think of him as much as he thought of you.
But one day you sent a selfie at physical training, your entire squad posing behind you. Somewhere in the desert, in the dark and cold tent, he grinned.
Okay, that was his real favourite: your photos. It was only the second one he had of you. Or third, if the thermal one from the drone counted.
When Phillip got back Tuesday, the takeout excuse landed for Wednesday, which was why he was in his skivvy and combat pants, dinner in hand, walking into your apartment like he owned it. What could he say, it felt better going there than coming home to his own.
“What’s for lunch Saturday?” he asked, popping a piece of sushi in his mouth.
“It’s Evie bachelorette’s party, remember?”
It slipped his mind.
“I’m getting picked up at 10.”
“Well, that’s plenty of time for breakfast.”
You gave him a knowing look. “You inviting yourself over?”
“Ya know it.”
When he arrived Saturday 8:30, your duffel was already by the door. You fetched coffee from the kitchen to go with the breakfast sandwiches he brought. As you finished the meal, there was a knock on the door.
Your brows furrowed.
“That your ride?”
“Can’t be. It’s way too early.” You made your way to the door, checking the peephole before opening it. “Oh, Mr. Powell. Hi, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“The plumber’s here to fix your sink,” the man announced. Your landlord, Phillip assumed.
“Right now? I’m actually leaving on a trip.”
“Well, he’s here today,” he said, tone bored. “Do you want it fixed or not?”
“I do. But I’ll be gone in an hour. How long will the repair take?”
“An hour then. I’m not paying him to drop by again just to deal with your sink.”
With that, the man walked away, leaving the apologetic, middle-aged plumber at your door. You cleared the cabinet under the sink in a hurry, and the plumber got to work. Still, you poured him a cup of water.
You sighed when you got back to the dining table.
Phillip chuckled. “Bit of an asshole, isn’t he?”
“You tell me.”
Your phone rang on the table and you straightened up. “Hey, everything ok?” At the response, you relaxed. “… That’s really nice, but I can’t. The plumber’s here. … Oh, you really don’t have to.” More talking on the other end. You opened you mouth and closed it again before hanging up.
“Damien is getting us coffee,” you announced.
“Okay.”
“He said he’s arriving early and wanted to get coffee before we leave, but since I can’t, he’s coming over.”
You didn’t show up an hour early coincidentally. Who the fuck was this dude inviting himself over to yours, and why did you let him? Only he was allowed to shamelessly invite himself over.
When another knock came, Phillip didn’t have to move. His seat was a good vantage point. Too good, actually, when he could see this Damien fellow with two cups in hand, grinning as you opened the door.
You said carpooling with groomsmen. This was one dude. One dude with eyes so fucking fond as they took you in like he wasn’t right there.
He followed you in, and at the sight of Phillip, his smile flickered. It was a split second, but it didn’t elude the commander.
He let out a chuckle. “I didn’t realise you had company.”
“Ah, right. Damien, this is Graves, my colleague. Graves, Damien.” You gestured at the both of them.
Colleague? He thought he’d established you were at least friends.
Damien gave a polite nod before placing the cups on the table, taking a seat adjacent to him.
“Miss?” the plumber called out from the kitchen.
You went to assist the man, leaving him all alone with this stranger, staring at each other in silence.
Oh, did Phillip have competition? He didn’t like competition. Was this dude gonna be a problem? Because the way he looked at you was embarrassingly obvious.
Who was he to you? You’d never even mentioned him before. He might not know him, but he knew the look of a man who was into a woman.
Like he didn’t have the same look.
Phillip’s eyes narrowed. This uninvited threat – a snag in his plans - was invoking some primal, territorial urges in him, when it shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be doing this, feeling all these feelings when it was just a silly crush on you.
Was this your type? Dark hair, green eyes. Your age and height, maybe a little taller. You were too nice on the phone. You didn’t have a problem saying no to Phillip, so why didn’t you say no to him when he was already right there at your table?
“I’d have got another cup if I knew you were here, man,” Damien said before taking a sip of his coffee.
“Oh, we just had breakfast, but thanks.” He gestured at the coffee cup, ‘brown sugar latte’ crawled on it. “She, uh, doesn’t really like sugary stuff in the morning.”
Damien pressed his lips to a thin line. He didn’t speak until you came back to the table. “Everything alright?”
“He was just showing me what’s wrong,” you said, sighing as you took a seat. “He’s working as fast as he can, but it looks like it might take longer than he first thought.”
He gave you an encouraging smile. “We can wait until 10:15. Let’s hope he finishes soon.”
“Thanks.” You returned a small smile, reaching for the coffee. You blinked at the first sip before reading the writing on the cup.
“Too sweet?” Phillip asked, trying his best to sound neutral.
“For the hour, a little bit, yeah.“ You turned to Damien before getting up. “It’s nice coffee though. I’ll put this in a travel mug for later.”
Phillip didn’t have to be so fucking petty glancing at this dude with that much smugness like he just won the lottery.
Damien didn’t even look at him. Instead, he chuckled. “I should have asked, but I’ll know next time.”
You chatted about the day’s itinerary. While the ladies would have the dress fitting at 2 followed by afternoon tea, the gentlemen would go to the archery field and have a beer making workshop before having a joint dinner at the hotel. The couple had promised unlimited room service in their suites to accompany the following movie night.
“As much as I love my girls, I’d love to join you guys. I’ve never tried archery.”
He averted his gaze, stifling a smile. “We should go sometime.”
You laughed. “Why not.”
“Hopefully then I’ll be somewhat useful, unlike at the shooting range last time.”
Last time? You’d gone out before?
“Oh, you were not that bad at all!”
“Only because you helped.” His gaze flicked to you. “You’re a good teacher.”
Phillip’s eye twitched. Was this guy flirting, asking you out right under his nose? Fuck that. He should be the one taking you.
Next week. He was taking you next weekend. Not some vague ass ‘sometime’ men who couldn’t say what they wanted said.
But he bit his tongue. No point in trying to one-up anyone here lest he made more a fool of himself getting all worked up listening to your conversation.
You continued to chat, and the more you did, the fire in Phillip’s chest waned.
Damien and Aaron lived on the same street – practically grew up together, and while the groom became an MMA athlete, Damien was an IT engineer at a prolific tech company who just got promoted the month before.
You asked how his parents were. He made you laugh when he told you about his nephew’s recent antics, and how he, despite him being nine, still asked for shoulder rides.
Damien seemed like a nice guy, and Phillip wouldn’t say it about anyone because he despised that phrase. He, of all people, knew how to look like a nice guy - it was his job to.
You weren’t looking for anything more, but if you were, you’d be better off with someone like Damien. Uncomplicated with a stable and predictable job. Someone who was closer to your age, one who’d be waiting at home every night after your long days.
You needed calm to your admirable fire. Someone light-hearted, not someone who yelled and ordered people to combat for a living. You needed someone dependable who had every day in his life accounted for, not one who’d go days and days off the grid at a moment’s notice.
And it didn’t have to hurt so much that you spoke to Damien with a certain lightness the commander had never seen before. There was no confident smirk, no teasing smiles, just soft and honest. The kind that would turn his spine jelly if it was directed at him, but only made him sick in the stomach now that it was towards someone else.
You and Phillip were too much alike: hardened by battle and unyielding schedules. You needed a man with a family and a home bursting with laughter. Someone who could be with you like it was written in the stars, without the hands of duty getting in the way.
A partner like he never could be.
Like he never had.
Because everyone eventually left. Because you could only have one or the other. So who in the right mind wouldn’t choose one that could never leave him?
Phillip should have left as soon as dread wrapped its fingers around his throat, but he didn’t. Instead, he sat there witnessing every interaction he wasn’t a part of, because perhaps he loved to suffer deep down. And perhaps, this would finally be the thing what got his head straight.
Unless it only made him curl up into a ball when he got home.
The closer it was to 10, more often Damien glanced at the clock.
“Could we confirm if he’s finishing up?”
“I just asked 15 minutes ago,” you said with a wince.
“I hate to ask, but any chance he can continue next week?”
You shook your head. “My landlord made it clear today is my only chance of getting the damn sink fixed.”
“Right, it’s just we have a schedule to stick to.”
“I know.” You sighed. “Sorry. He’s not even supposed to come, but my landlord just showed up this morning.”
“That’s okay. Not your fault.”
“Look, if he’s not done in 15, you go ahead and I’ll drive up alone.”
“No, no, I’m not leaving you. How about I tell Wade to meet us near the highway so we don’t have to take a detour to his place? That should save us… half an hour at least.”
“I’ll stay,” Phillip piped up, his first words in at least half an hour.
“Really, you would?” you asked hopefully.
He nodded. “I’ll drop the key in the mailbox.”
He could flex right now - he probably would in any other situation. Show you how much better he was. Tell you to not worry because he could arrange a helo in an hour to get you wherever you wanted and have someone to replace your entire kitchen by the time you were back.
But he didn’t.
Because this was not a move. He just wanted to help, but the truth was, he couldn’t fucking stand the way the dude looked at you another second. Like he was in love with you, like Phillip wasn’t allowed to be just because of the colour he wore.
You gave him a relieved smile. “Thanks so much, Graves.”
He looked away, the knife in his guts twisting.
Within minutes, you left carrying your travel mug, Damien helping with your duffel. The click of the door might as well have left a dramatic echo.
It was his cue to ransack your kitchen for anything sugary. Fuck it. You did tell him to make himself at home.
That, once again, was on you.
You didn’t text Phillip the whole day and the next, not after thanking him again for staying back.
He didn’t either. In fact, he didn’t even reply to your last text.
Was it a tantrum? Maybe, but he had to remember you weren’t on the market. That, and it was humiliating enough he deliberately one-upped that guy just to lick his wounds.
Sure, the hours alone had given him enough clarity that this crush, or whatever it was he wanted to call it these days, had grown out of hand. It was a hubristic miscalculation on his part when he plunged himself into this… friendship. Still, he shouldn’t be hoping for you to magically change your mind or give him a chance.
But he never expected anything out of helping you. You’d done the same to him.
It was how he knew the point of no return was around the corner, because he’d do whatever he could for you, and these 30 painstaking hours not talking to you to made him want to pull his hair out.
The only saving grace was that he got through plenty of contracts and reports instead of sulking the rest of the weekend. A win was a win.
When Phillip was about to fix himself some dinner, his phone pinged.
Hope your mission didn’t get moved up
He stared at your text before he left his home office. Halfway to the kitchen, he took a detour with a sigh and sat back at his desk.
No. Why?
You didn’t reply
Just busy
Ok. Just dropped Wade off
It was just you and Damien, and you texted him instead? Was this what he thought it meant?
You sent a photo of an orange and white cat on your lap. Sarah took her kitty with. Guess his name
What?
Havarti
Like the cheese?
Like the cheese
He’d never admit it, but he giggled.
Phillip Graves, you absolute fool. One little text and you folded like a fucking lawn chair.
You followed with a group photo at brunch with fancy décor and intricate dishes on the table. A selfie of you and the girls in fluffy white robes with colourful drinks. A photo of all your hands, nails glossy and bright red.
Chris picked the colour
You and someone with a wedding band had clear nails. It must have been Sophie - you mentioned she was a dentist and was the only one married. Shame, red would have looked wonderful on you too.
Maybe for the next Marine ball.
He mentally kicked himself for even thinking that far.
Next, a photo of a simple and flowy light blue dress - one he’d love to see on you.
Just needed a minor adjustment, you captioned.
That’s a nice dress
Always love matching outfits with my girls [sparkle emoji]
A notification dropped down from the top of his screen.
Hey Graves, I’m hosting a Superbowl party with the squad next Sunday. Would love to have you there! His phone pinged again. Yes, the sergeant will be there
His brow rose. Boyle is inviting me to his Superbowl party. You signed off on this?
I did. He was talking about inviting you all week
The opportunity presented itself.
See, it wasn’t that Phillip didn’t want to see you – of course he did. He just couldn’t spend one-on-one time with you to get his shit together, to not fuel the fire. Seeing you in a social setting would be the perfect occasion.
It was just what he’d be looking forward to after his coming deployment.
Monday night, you wished Phillip good hunting before he left for his mission.
You didn’t text afterwards. You didn’t always text when he was away – just here and there with updates if any - which never bothered him, until that day. Some form of shame crawled up his throat for even caring so much, but it was quickly forgotten as the mission soon went off-script.
By the time he got back on Friday, you still hadn’t texted. Still, he let you knew he was back.
He didn’t mention gym on Saturday and you didn’t either, not even the party on Sunday. Despite always jumping on the first opportunity to spend extra time with you, this time, he didn’t offer to pick you up either. He was sticking to his commitment like a good soldier.
Though, he was still on the fence about what he felt about you not making it hard to keep his distance.
When you pulled up at Boyle’s building Sunday evening, Phillip exited his Rover with a bag of sub sandwiches and made his way to you. Through your window, you gave him a wave before stepping out and pulling a large foil tray out of the backseat.
He stepped closer, peering at… dark liquid. “Is that… gravy?”
You laughed. “The filthiest, chocolatiest cake in town. Boyle’s favourite.”
It did not look like cake – it was way too wet.
He couldn’t help turning his nose up. “It looks violently chocolate.”
You walked towards the building. Over your shoulder, you said, “Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, strawberry boy.”
For fuck’s sake, Phillip. You shouldn’t be smiling like that, okay? But how could he help it when it was you.
“I told you guys we got food covered,” Boyle said when he answered the door.
When Phillip offered, the corporal had insisted that he not bring anything, but he knew what a squad could wipe out.
“You’re gonna say no to this?” You held up the tray.
He only grinned as he stepped aside.
Boyle’s one-bedroom apartment was already buzzing. The living area had been cleared, leaving the couch where two on your men played a racing game on the TV, the others spectating on the floor with pillows as they munched on snacks.
He’d only met Boyle and his fireteam on the rescue mission, but the rest of the boys greeted you and nodded at him as you both made your way towards the kitchen. The food station was set up on the dining table where you unpacked your contributions.
Everyone got their plate piled high as the game kicked off. The place might not have been huge, but Boyle managed to make it work. He insisted the both of you took the dining chairs while the rest of the boys (a dozen including himself) squeezed on the couch or took the floor in turns.
You joked with your men, and they bantered amongst each other. It was too easy to smile around you. You had that effect on him too, despite looking like you could knock him out cold with a punch when you first met. You and Phillip didn’t speak much, not when people loved talking to you so much, but being in your proximity and seeing that smile was enough make him miss you a little less.
The crowd erupted in laughter at something Boyle said (apparently he earned the nickname Bieber in bootcamp because of his given name, Justin). It made him miss the Corps, specifically the fun he didn’t have much of as a young Marine who kept his head down. It only made him feel 25 years younger: a scrawny kid who never felt like he really belonged, but just happy to be included.
When he noticed your cup was empty too, he offered to get you a refill in the kitchen.
“You host a lot?” he asked at the drink station when the host walked in. “Got everything covered.” He nodded at the well-stocked food and drinks.
“Here and there.” He chuckled, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet. “Thanks for making it. Sorry the place is tiny.”
He switched to refill his own cup. “Always more fun that way.”
Boyle scooped some soup-cake into the bowl. It landed with a wet slosh. “Want some?”
He eyed the tray with a distrustful look. “No, thanks.”
“I got a can of whipped cream in the fridge?”
He shook his head. “I’m good.”
“Well, the sergeant did say you prefer strawberries.”
He barked out a laugh.
“You know,” he said, leaning against the counter. “She meant to invite you to lunch much later after the mission, wanted the talk on base to blow over first in case somebody saw.”
“I understand. It would have been fine too if she didn’t.” He took a sip of his drink. “Was just doin’ my job.”
“Well, we talked her into inviting you sooner.”
He snorted. “Why would you do that?”
“You seem like her type.”
Phillip was fighting a tough battle keeping a straight face in that corporal’s fucking kitchen. Dude was nonchalant, shoving a heaping spoonful of soup into his piehole as if he hadn’t just given him the highest praise.
He broke anyway, but managed to mask it as a laugh. Good thing Boyle was too busy with his cake to notice.
“What’s her type?” he challenged.
“Well, I don’t know. But I imagine she’d be into someone who’s just as boss as she is, you know.” He shrugged. “Been single since she rotated here. Heard it was pretty serious with the last one.”
Since she rotated here… “From her previous base?”
His gaze cut to his, seemingly surprised the commander knew. “Yeah, the one from Adler’s old unit. It’s none of my business, but I always thought it was a good idea she went out again. Even if it’s just casual,” he quickly added. “So I’m just glad she seems… happier lately.”
Was he supposed to be flattered? Because he was terribly flattered by the implication, against his better judgement.
“She’s a good woman.”
Right after the words left him, he regretted them. He shouldn’t have said that. He should have said ‘marine’ - something a lot less personal, because why did it have to matter to him? He shouldn’t be thinking of you as a woman, not when he couldn’t have you.
“Best Sergeant I ever had.” With a grin, he landed a playful punch on his arm. “Thanks for bringing her back.”
Phillip smiled. He was glad he did.
“Y’know what, give me some of that.” He nodded at the cake. “And a dollop of whipped cream. Actually while you’re at it, why don’t you get me a glass of milk too to wash it all down.”
He laughed. “Yessir,” he drew out playfully before popping his spoon in his mouth and turning to the fridge.
Boyle left him with a small serving before returning to the game with your drink. He had to admit the ugly soup, which he’d just learnt was actually called a self-saucing cake, was pretty damn good.
“I know I’m handsome, Sergeant,” the corporal said in the distance. “But if you keep staring like that, you’re gonna make someone real jealous.”
“It’s good etiquette to wipe your mouth after making out with chocolate cake.”
“Ah, shit,” he muttered.
That earned a laugh from the room.
Boyle refused to let you help with the after-party cleanup, practically shoving you out the door when you tried. Outside, it’d got dark and cold.
Phillip pulled his hat on and walked with you to the parking lot, hands in his pockets. “That was fun.”
You glanced at him with a smile. “It was.”
“Hadn’t been to anything like that in a long time.”
“You should consider hosting. Maybe a pool party with fruity cocktails and flamingo floaties, you on the grill. Your boys would love it.”
He chuckled. “You wanna come?”
“If the weather’s nice.”
He stood nearby as you got in your car, door open. The car sputtered. You tried again, still nothing.
You laughed. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
“Has it been faulty?”
“No,” you said. “Well, maybe sometimes, when it’s really cold.”
He smiled. He too had beef with some of his old cars. “You got jumper cables?”
“I do, but let’s give it a few minutes. Who knows the car changes its mind.”
Without thinking, Phillip slid into your passenger seat. You both sat there for a moment, the streetlights barely reaching the dashboard, but it was enough to outline your pretty face.
”I thought you were avoiding me,” you broke the silence.
There was no playfulness in your voice. Just… fact.
He turned to you, searching your eyes. “Why would you say that?”
And just like that, the vulnerably evaporated as you shrugged. “Maybe in fear of getting ambushed by a plumber again.”
He tilted his head, mirroring your teasing smile. “You miss me that much?”
You laughed, looking out the windshield. Yeah, that got scary for a second, huh?
When he thought you weren’t going to respond, you said, “Maybe a little.”
It was too quiet, too honest. And a little part of him believed you.
God, he’d missed you, more than he’d like to admit. He wanted to put that little smile in his pocket and remember it forever.
When the laugh subsided, he let out a long sigh, head tipped back. “Just had a lot on my mind.”
A beat. “Something went wrong out there?”
“Mission was a success, but there were… some problems.”
“I’m sorry, Graves.” You averted your gaze. You knew what that meant.
No one who had ever made him feel this way in his chest, truly did. It was always a bridge his civilian partners could never cross. And for you to understand him like so was a gift he didn’t take for granted.
You sat in silence for another moment. Right then, he realised he never had to be alone if he didn’t want to.
“So you guys are shipping out next month.”
He wasn’t slighted you didn’t tell him. Your squad only found out that week and he was barely speaking to you.
“Yeah, 30 days. Thankfully it’s after Evie’s wedding. I’d hate to miss it.”
“Carpooling again?”
“No. Damien leaves on Friday to help out, and I’ll have training until Saturday noon.”
He wished you didn’t say that name.
“I can drive you. I’m sure Evie wouldn’t mind another Texan gentleman at her wedding.”
Phillip had the resolve of a singular spaghetti when it came to you, didn’t he? Inviting himself like he had no manners. He wasn’t even supposed to entertain the idea, so why did he keep doing this to himself?
He was powerless against those eyes and smile, especially in the dark. That must be it, right? The dark always seemed to make him reckless around you.
You chuckled. “The window’s long closed on that.”
“RSVP?”
“50 people. They got the B&B is fully booked, mostly for her family and friends.”
He nodded and silence settled once more.
“Here goes nothing,” you said, trying the ignition again. This time, the engine started with no problem and you let out a relieved chuckle.
“Third time’s the charm.”
“Thankfully. I’ll get the battery checked tomorrow.”
“I can send one of my guys to your place to get it replaced.”
“No need. I’ll drop by the store after work.”
He always loved that about you. Your perseverance, independence. You could do it all on your own.
“Well, if you need anything, you know who to call.”
You laughed. “Yes, I do, Felix. I do.”
God, he’d rather break his own fucking heart than that precious one of yours.
The next part is linked above if already up
Masterlist
Phillip Graves | 3.5k | fluff
It wasn’t hard to get $100 out of him (p1) (p6)
Phillip Graves liked his job. Liked being good at it too.
He liked the drone of transport planes, the way the engine vibrated under his stiff seat next to his loyal men. He enjoyed taking apart his weapons, making sure everything was clean and in order. The snug fit of his vest and the weight of his gear despite the trekking miles in and out of combat zones, he found comforting.
Even the mud on his face, and the bruises on his body.
Yet there he was RTB on the chopper with sand in his blond hair under his helmet wishing he was back. It was one of the rare occasions he imagined doing something else while away, something which was not holing up in HQ doing paperwork.
He wanted to be back.
‘Home’ didn’t mean anything. It was just a city: one he lived in if he wasn’t in the battlefield. One he just happened to pick out of geographical convenience.
It wasn’t a home. He hadn’t had one since his mum passed.
And so being away had always been more than fine, even sore and sleep deprived. But having no way to contact you the past five days because of your FTX sucked major balls. It only made him realise you’d been living rent free in his head.
When he landed Friday afternoon, he let you knew. You only replied hours later.
I don’t want to be outdoors for at least the next 3 business days
Thankfully my gym is indoors
Lucky you
When do you get home? I can get us dinner
I’m heading straight to bed. See you tmr?
Phillip was a patient man. He could wait 12 more hours. Though, the last thing he wanted to hear the next morning was you telling him you couldn’t make it.
I’m boneless. Can’t workout
I’ll get takeout. What do you feel like?
Honestly? Something home cooked
I can cook
An hour later, there you were answering the door in an oversized shirt and sweats. You looked tired, but soft. You could certainly still beat him up, but God you looked so soft, the kind that made him want to wrap his arms around you. And there his belly was doing whatever it did again last time he was there with takeout.
You stepped aside, and he followed you into the kitchen. He was visiting, but it felt more like he was walking in somewhere familiar, like the back of his hand.
“So what are we cooking?”
“I’m cooking. You sit tight.”
“Not very polite of me, is it?”
He nodded at your couch. “You’re dismissed, Sergeant.”
You smiled. “Yes, sir,” you said, making your way to it. “My couch doesn’t feel the same anymore since I sat on yours, by the way, but I’ll try not to fall asleep.” You tucked yourself under the blanket and flicked the TV on.
When he looked through your fridge and pantry, it only occurred to him he probably should have asked what you had in stock to ensure he could make something decent. His lips puckered to one side in thought.
But Phillip Graves wasn’t anything but resourceful. He’d survived years with limited cooking skills and random ingredients. He’d come up with something.
He started with a pot of water before proceeding with chopping. He glanced over his shoulder at the back of your head, the TV humming in the background as the garlic sizzled gently.
“Smells good,” you called.
He didn’t let you see his smile as he opened the can of chickpeas before dropping the pasta in the boiling water. He gave the garbanzos a quick sauté for some crunch and colour, finishing the sauce with a handful of frozen peas.
Soon, he fished the pasta out and into the pan of sauce before draining the water in the sink, tap running.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
His brows furrowed as he opened the cabinet under the sink only to find it leaking. He snatched a nearby cup to contain the drips.
“Hey, your sink’s leaky?”
“Oh!” You jumped off the couch and rushed to him. “Damn, I forgot to tell you. Can’t pour all at once or it leaks,” you said, taking the cup from him. “I told my landlord weeks ago. He hasn’t got back to me.”
He tended to the pasta, tossing it in the sauce. “I’ll take a look later.”
“No, you won’t.” You grabbed a rag and got on your knees to clean the mess. “I already feel bad enough you’re doing all this your own.”
“I don’t mind. You’re exhausted.” He portioned out the meal.
Back on your feet, you said, “Like you didn’t just come back from… God knows where.”
Phillip shrugged, carrying the plates to the table.
You sat across him, eyes on his. “Thank you. Really.”
“Dig in,” he said, taking his fork with a smile.
It was a simple garlic butter pasta with peas and chickpeas. You needed the protein and… well, it was all you had after a full week away from home.
After a bite, you hummed. “Now that’s what I meant by homecooked.”
His head tilted. “Elaborate.”
“Throwing things together and then have it all work together somehow. The spontaneity is where it’s at.”
Didn’t he know that all too well. Cooking for survival.
“You leaving town for Christmas?”
He didn’t even remember the holiday was just around the corner. “Nope,” he answered too quickly. “I’m already home,” he added before stuffing himself with a forkful of pasta.
He could tell you had something on your mind, but didn’t say it.
“I’ll have a look at your sink after this.”
You shook your head. “You really don’t need to.”
“Just tryna’ help.”
“Please, don’t trouble yourself.”
“Not even as my Christmas gift?”
You laughed. “You sure love being Fix-it Felix.”
“You know it.”
“Okay.” You grinned. “Dork.”
After tending to the dishes, you let him, watching closely as he got under the sink.
Phillip was no plumber, but he knew enough that your worn rubber washer didn’t help with the dripping. If the pipes were clogged and the sink took its sweet time to drain, a fresh rubber seal would at least stop it from seeping around the basket.
He washed his hands. “I’ll swing by the hardware store to grab a new washer.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. I won’t take long.”
“The least I can do is come with.”
He wasn’t going to argue with that.
You had a quick change, and before long, you were on your way. The helpful staff directed you to the plumbing aisle in the back.
“Aw, shit,” you muttered, stopping in your tracks.
“What-?”
You looked left and right before grabbing his arm, dragging him with you into a nearby supply closet. It was pitch black, but you left the door cracked open the tiniest bit as you peered outside. With his back against the racks, your back was almost to his chest.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, alarmed.
“It’s the major,” you groaned, leaning to the side to let him look. “I could sense that moustache from a block away.”
He peeked outside at a man with a basket as he browsed the array of lightbulbs. He did have a glorious grey moustache. Comical, almost.
“One of my haters, I take it?” He stepped back with a chuckle, letting you take the vantage point back. “You said you were glad I didn’t call him for the ball invite.”
“That and, well, no one wants to have anything to do with the Major Adler.”
“Adler,” he mumbled.
“The one and only,” you said dryly.
“That’s my dad’s last name.”
You looked over your shoulder. “Not Graves?”
“No,” he said. “He was a soldier. Young when they met, ‘anything to get out of the barracks’ young.”
He didn’t have to tell you anything, but in the dark, it was too easy. Too easy when it was you, when you wouldn’t give him that look people did. Like he was broken.
“I barely remembered him when they inevitably divorced. Took my mum’s name before I went to high school.”
“So you should,” you approved. “Phillip Adler just doesn’t have the same ring, does it?”
He smiled. “Damn right.”
“Really, you could have been a real fuckin’ bore otherwise. Like absolute, downright, categorical buzzkill. Terminal wet blanket. RPG dodged right there.”
He barked out a laugh, but quickly bit his lip. “Y’know, you usually just pretend you don’t know each other off base, but you and this Adler… Sounds a little personal.”
You sucked your teeth playfully. “I guess you can say that.”
“Oh, so you do have beef with him.”
“I used to date his staff sergeant on my old base. He was still a captain. Never liked me much.”
“Why?”
“Said I was distracting.”
He snorted. He wasn’t wrong. You were distracting. “So what happened?”
“Nothing. Didn’t stop us. Broke no rules,” you said. “Just my luck he rotated here and became the major.”
“Sounds like your ex left quite the impression on him. You like hard chargers, huh?”
You considered. “I do, actually.”
“I knew it.”
“I like men with a smart mouth.”
“I like women with a smart mouth.”
“That one’s obvious.”
Phillip could tell you were smiling, and he wondered if you could tell how big his grin was.
The silence as you maintained overwatch only made him painfully aware of your proximity. Your warmth, the smell of your shampoo, the faint detergent on your shirt. The measly inch between your back and his chest only made his heartbeat pick up.
You might have been taller than him, but if he leaned in, just a tiny bit, his lips would line up perfectly with your soft neck- and oh- he was not the strongest man on God’s green Earth. He braced against the door frame to stop himself, inadvertently caging you in.
“What’s the sitrep, Sergeant?” he said, too lowly. He didn’t mean to, but you’d made his throat as dry as the desert he was in the day prior.
You gasped. Quiet, but didn’t elude him. Did his breath on your skin send a zap down your spine?
“St- Still outside. Seems to be deciding between warm and daylight- oh-“
With no warning, you turned, pushing him back against the racks before burying your face in his shoulder. Well, that sure lit him up-
The door creaked open. The janitor froze at the scene in his supply closet. Phillip only stilled at your hot breath against his neck, just as wide-eyed as the young man (looking like a fucking fool with the honey glow in his cheeks too, probably). It took a second for the janitor to get his bearings to slam the door with a frown, looking like the commander had insulted him and his entire lineage.
Poor guy. As much as Phillip wished otherwise, there was nothing inappropriate happening in there.
“He’s gone,” he managed.
You cleared your throat as you pulled away, facing the door again. “Good.”
Was your neck as hot as his was? Because the room suddenly felt like a sauna as he tried to get his heart to stop racing like a fucking schoolboy stealing kisses behind the bleachers.
“Target’s moving. Picked up both bulbs.”
“Hope he got the right wattage.”
A moment. “Should be clear now.” You pushed the door open as you scanned the surrounding, him following close.
The both of you stood in front of the closet. Your hands shoved in your pockets as he rubbed the back of his neck, both looking everywhere but each other. If you were this flustered… Did you feel it too?
“So the washer-“ he started.
“Yep, that way.” You pointed to the left and marched ahead.
It didn’t take long to find the item needed, and you made your way to the checkout. While the customer ahead was finishing up, your phone rang.
“Evie,” you said. “Must be calling about her dress.”
He pulled out his key from his pocket. “I’ll meet you in the car.”
You nodded with a smile before turning to the door, phone to your ear.
Soon, he moved up and placed the item on the counter which the teenage cashier swiftly rung.
She smiled. “Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes, thank you,” he said, retrieving change from his wallet.
“That’d be $3.50. Oh, and,” she said with a shy giggle. “I just have to say, your girlfriend is really pretty.”
Phillip’s hand froze mid-air before he broke into a grin. His girlfriend, you say? His head was about to explode with the unbridled swell of his ego.
He fished his wallet out again, this time pulling a crisp 100. “Keep the change.”
“For real?!” Her eyes lit up, clutching the bill. “Thank you so much! Have a good one!”
With the dumb smile he wore as he made his way across the parking lot, he knew he would. Was he even allowed to be this pleased from an honest mix-up? One he didn’t bother to correct, too.
“You sure look happy,” you teased when he got into the driver’s seat.
“Just excited to fix your sink, is all.”
“Alright, Felix.”
The drive back only took minutes, and when he was parked, you turned to him.
“I wasn’t going to tell you, but I thought you should know there’s been chatter about you… And me.”
He killed the engine. “Why, from the gun show photos?”
“No. I trust my men.” You shook your head. “Someone must have seen us, so… yeah, maybe laying low would be best.”
He supposed that was why you were extra cagey around the major.
“I hear you.” He met your eyes. “If it’s of any comfort, I can wear a cap when we’re out. And you could change my name on your phone.”
You frowned. “You think your number’s saved?”
“You know just how to break a man’s heart, don’t you.” He clasped a hand over his chest playfully.
Silence. You grimaced.
He dropped the smile. “Wait, you’re serious?”
You cracked up. “It’s just Graves.”
He always loved seeing you laugh openly like that. It made him feel all warm and gooey inside.
“Well, it could be Phillip,” he said matter of fact.
“No one calls you Phillip.”
“You could.”
You considered. “Eh, I like Graves.”
Well, he liked you too.
You went home for the holidays.
As one should. If one still had a home, or family, that was.
It was only 10 days, which would have been nothing, especially if Phillip could text you unlike during your FTX. However, the lack of work while being stuck all alone in his house, too big and too silent, made the distance unbearable.
What the hell was he supposed to do apart from spending hours working out, stuffing himself with takeout before curling up on the couch under your blanket? He’d checked the entire house for leaks and creaks, and there was no more reports to go through.
But he shouldn’t give in. Shouldn’t call you just to hear your voice, or ask for a photo of you because-fucking hell, how many days had it been? Sure, your absence irritated him, but he could wait. He should. He’d waited longer.
On new years eve, you sent a picture of a plate of stuffed mushrooms you helped your family prepare for the party at yours.
He smiled. He might not have been a big fan of mushrooms, but that sure beat eating ramen alone in front of the TV. Which, still, wouldn’t have been the worst thing.
If there was one thing he hated most about the holidays was the fireworks. The city was far away enough for it to not be loud, but in this side of town? Many of his neighbours hosted their own get-together and would set fireworks off even that it was prohibited in the area.
It was true: if one was rich enough, one could do anything albeit with a small fine.
This year was no difference. Five minutes before the stroke of midnight, the explosions started. He was prepared though: earplugs under his earmuffs as he sat in his walk-in closet under his countless suits.
Phillip pressed his back against the wall and pulled out his phone. Something to get his mind off the booms and the bangs.
Got fireworks there?
Dead silent. Small town perks
Nice. Always hated how loud it gets around here
The fireworks sped up. One after the other, sounding closer and closer. His brows knitted as he took deep breaths. Think of something nice.
Having you there would be. Kissing you would be.
The imaginary kiss would have been nothing anyway, okay? Just a thing people did at midnight. Just a thing he wanted to think about to get his mind off all the fucking the noise. Just to go somewhere else.
Hey, ya know what would actually help? If he called an airstrike-
Phillip’s phone rang in his hand.
Did you call to demand him to stop thinking about you? You couldn’t have known, but he felt caught red-handed anyway. Heat crept up his neck as he slipped his phone under his earmuff.
“Happy new year.”
Even through the phone, he could imagine the pretty tug on your lips. “Happy new year,” he repeated. Realising his voice was shaky, he cleared his throat. “You okay?”
As if he was in the position to ask with his heart pounding like that.
“You know what’s good?” you asked, tone playful.
“What?”
“Something cold… And thick and sweet…”
“In a tall glass?”
“Yep.”
“Milkshake,” he decided.
“Not quite. It’s pink though.”
His lips puckered. “Pre-workout?”
“Yeah. Can’t wait to use my private gym again. Nothing to lift around here but furniture.”
He let out a slow exhale, head tipped back against the wall. “Your gym is waiting, ma’am.”
“I’m looking forward to spring so I can finally swim too. Got swimsuits I haven’t got around to wearing last summer.”
“You don’t have to wait. The pool’s heated.”
You chuckled. “Well, you sure failed to mention that!”
“Would be a bit of a waste to have a pool if I can’t swim when it gets cold, wouldn’t it?”
You were right. It was quiet on your end, safe for some rustling.
“Guess what, Evie’s bachelorette’s party is at the end of this month.”
“Will there be strippers?” He couldn’t hide the accusation in his voice.
“No! Pfft.” You snorted. “What the hell, Graves?”
“Good,” he grumbled. He didn’t want you looking at other dudes. Not for fun anyway.
“It’s a weekend trip. She’ll have her dress fitting, and then we’ll have brunch and go to the spa,” you said. “Sound nice, doesn’t it? I could use a massage. Oh, and Chris would definitely want her nails done too. She’ll probably pick a shade for everyone.”
He smiled. You sure sounded excited for it. “You’re driving out there?”
“No. I’m carpooling with A-A-ron’s groomsmen.”
A beat. “Ay… Sorry, who?”
You laughed. “Oh God. I meant Aaron, Evie’s man. We call him A-A-ron.”
“Why?”
You laughed harder. “It’s from a skit. A substitute teacher butchering names. Aaron is one of the names he messed up.”
“What would mine be?”
You took a moment. “Fhh-LIP Gee-raves.”
“Huh.”
“Makes for a pretty cool stage name. DJ Gee-Raves.”
“Could have been worse, sare-gee-aunt.” He barked out a laugh, entirely too pleased with his come up.
“I’d much rather you call me ma’am than that.”
“Oh! And I’d have been gun-airy sare-gee-aunt.”
“You say that once more and I might forget how to say sergeant properly for good.”
Phillip’s smile lingered. He never seemed to be able to stop around you. It was then it occurred to him it’d become quiet beyond his earmuffs. Instead, quiet chatter came from your end.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll be there,” you said quietly before holding the phone closer again. “I gotta go. Stop fantasising about butchering more names.”
“Busted.”
“Goodnight, Gee-raves.”
With that, you hung up. The tingle in his stomach only intensified.
He didn’t miss what you were doing. Talking a lot more, getting him to think to distract him. How bad would it be if it made him want to fantasise about kissing you more?
Not like he was going to. He shouldn’t. You were friends, and friends shouldn’t enjoy hiding together in a dark, cramped supply closet of a hardware store so much. Or have to try that hard to resist the urge to lean in to get a waft of you, let alone think about tasting you.
But you’d be none the wiser, wouldn’t you?
When Phillip got in bed, his phone buzzed again.
First selfie of the year, you wrote under the picture.
It was a simple one of you in a thick hoodie, smiling sweetly. You knew how much he liked you in black, didn’t you? But those lips… they were made for something, weren’t they?
Oh well. That was on you.
The next part is linked above if already up
Masterlist
Phillip Graves | 3.4k | fluff
How fast could one doze off after a meal? (p1) (p5)
As it turned out, 36 hours was more than enough for a man to suffer withdrawal symptoms from you.
Phillip hadn’t spoken to you since he sent the thermal selfie Saturday night. He could text, of course, but as the days passed had proved, he was probably, maybe… reading too much into it. Was it his lizard brain taking over? Wanting what he shouldn’t have, just because.
This wasn’t courting. You’d made it clear, and he was going to honour that because he was a reasonable and practical grown man, and this couldn’t have gone anywhere anyway.
But he could be honest - to himself at least. He could find you bone-crushingly attractive and only see you platonically. It didn’t have to mean anything… He just needed a harmless little excuse.
You free for dinner Wednesday?
Why, you’re off early?
I could be
Don’t want to stay out late on weekdays
Doesn’t have to be far, maybe Chinese again? I can pick you up from base
They know you
I pick you up at home?
How about takeout?
Yes, rearranging his day so he could get off at a reasonable time was unwarranted, but he had his priorities.
Being hungry counted as an emergency, right?
Wednesday night with takeout in hand, Phillip knocked on your door. There was a faint rustle before the door cracked opened, and you greeted him in an oversized shirt and sweats. The warm glow of your apartment behind you lit up the wisps of your hair, loose and relaxed and… home.
He stilled. In that split second, it was like he’d opened the wrong door of reality and walked in on someone else’s life. One he wasn’t supposed to see. A glimpse of the fantasy he only allowed himself to indulge in those final moments before sleep took him in his cold bed.
With his combat shirt off, his black skivvy shirt remaining, it was like coming home after a long day to someone waiting for him. The domesticity made him grind to a halt.
“Come in, it’s cold!” You pulled him in by the forearm.
You’d touched before, carried him on your back- hell, you’d been chest to chest, albeit when you fell on him. But the way you smiled at him, your fingers on him got his belly flopping all sorts of way. An innocent touch that seared too deep.
He cleared his throat before following you to the table where you’d laid down plates and utensils next to two glasses of water. He set the bag down and took out its contents. One box. And two, and three- Oh, was he still going?
“That’s so much food! Are you trying to feed a squad?”
“I’m hungry,” he said lightly.
You laughed, and the way you peered at him made his heart tingle.
Dinner was slow (punctuated by your smiles and quiet laughter), and delicious. It was more like feast with the varieties he got, really, which was indeed too much food. His eyes could get bigger than his stomach indeed.
On the kitchen counter, Phillip moved the leftovers into tupperwares as you tended to the dishes at the sink, and before he turned to the fridge, he found himself staring at you a little longer than necessary. Just to see you being you, with your soft skin and pretty lashes and socks, unadulterated like he was supposed to be a part of this little secret. Like this was normal.
“I actually made cookies,” you said, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand.
He turned fast enough to put the leftovers in the fridge. “Ah.”
“My friend Evie, also from Texas, by the way, sent me the recipe-“ you pointed at a container nearby. “Have some.”
He cracked the container open only to be met with buttery, caramelised aroma. “Don’t mind if I do.”
“She’s getting married next year, and she’ll bake them as favours.”
“Really nice,” he said after a bite. “Can’t go wrong with chocolate chip.”
“You can have them. They’re addictive and I’ve had plenty,” you said, glancing at him. “And I mean plenty.”
“Hard to say no.” He smiled. “I noticed the list on the fridge. I’ll drive you.”
“You need to shop too?”
“No, but I can drive you.”
You must have been tired, and he could be helpful. And honestly? He’d take any excuse to linger.
On the quick shopping trip, Phillip followed close with a basket as you focused on going through your list. Knowing some of your favourite brands were his too made him smile: another piece of you he got to keep.
It wasn’t unusual for two friends to have a quiet weekday dinner before grocery shopping together, right? Wasn’t weird either that it made him oddly happy to be a small part of your day.
And to have you as the highlight of his otherwise exhausting day.
He pointed at a pack of strawberry gummies. “I grew up eat…” he trailed as he noticed the gentleman staring from further down the aisle.
Mid-20s, muscular, and in this side of town? Could very well be a Marine. The fact that he held the eye contact for another moment only told him that he might know the commander.
Phillip turned to you, blocking you out of the man’s view as much as he could.
“You loved these as a kid?” you repeated.
“Bad idea passing through this aisle. Too tempting,” he said, herding you away as you laughed. “Let’s go.”
In front of your building, you grabbed your bags before he could and insisted he didn’t have to walk you up. “Thanks, Graves. See you, Saturday.”
When he was about to exit his Rover at his was when he noticed the small pack of gummies you left next to his phone.
Phillip rationed himself to two cookies a day until Saturday, which was not enough by the way. Because not only were the they delicious, he couldn’t stop smiling at them as they sat on his generous mahogany office desk.
Yes, he’d smacked Oz’s hand with more force than he needed when he reached for the container. His second in command looked genuinely offended as he eyed him. Having known each other for many years, he shouldn’t have been surprised the commander was territorial with his treats.
The meetings and paperwork seemed a little less dreadful if he could reward himself with a small piece of cookie after each one. Just a little something to tide himself over until he saw you again.
On Saturday morning, Phillip buzzed you in, and you parked next to his Rover by the main door. You walked up with a duffle, dressed in a loose shirt and gym shorts, as you returned his smile.
He closed the door behind you. “I’m making a pre-workout smoothie. You want some?”
You followed him to the kitchen where he blended the frozen fruits his private chef had prepared.
“It’s pink!” you said, accepting the glass cup.
“Of course it is. Red dragon fruit is the superior one.” He took a swig.
You had a sip and turned to him. “I shouldn’t get used to this.”
“What?”
“Having someone make me a tasty pre-workout-“ you gestured at the cup in hand and his backyard- “before going to a private gym with a pool.”
He chuckled. “You can come over as much as you want. And I can get the chef to prepare other pre-workout flavours.”
“Oh God-“ you swatted your hand- “Please don’t bother. I’m already more than happy to not have to wear slides in the shower after a workout.”
He threw his head back in laughter. He felt that in his soul. After years and years of public bathrooms, it truly was a luxury.
You both started with dynamic stretches before proceeding with your workouts. He didn’t mean to stare, but he had eyes. You sweaty and tired was something he shouldn’t like seeing so much.
“Let me know if you need a spot.”
You readjusted the load on the chest press machine. “Will do.”
You never did.
Because he had plenty of machines. The very result of him not wanting to need a spotter himself.
No, he wasn’t trying anything. He knew where he stood, and there was no room for negotiation, but could a man not want to be a good host? He just wanted you to have a better time there than in your gym.
To cool down, you hopped onto the treadmill. He took the static bike next to you.
“That was a good session,” you said. “What’s for lunch?”
“Spaghetti meatballs. I’m cooking.”
“Really? You cook?”
He chuckled, amused at the genuine surprise on your face. “Why, is that so hard to believe?”
“You just didn’t strike me as someone who does.” You grinned. “But I’m looking forward to it. Wait, didn’t you say I was paying for lunch this weekend?
“Tomorrow’s still the weekend, isn’t it?”
You laughed, but sadly didn’t take the bait. Good thing you looked ahead so you didn’t see the dejection on his face. Was he crossing the line?
“But you should pick where and when if it’s on you.”
Phillip walked you to the guest bathroom by his bedroom. Later, you joined him in the kitchen, hair damp, smelling fresh. He too had showered and changed into a comfortable shirt and sweatpants.
“You cooked all this just now?” you asked, eyeing the pot of vibrant, bubbling tomato sauce.
“No, I started this morning. My mum’s recipe.”
“I thought I was imagining the smell when I walked in. Can I try?”
He handed you a spoon out of the drawer and you took a sample before lighting up.
“Oh, wow, it’s so good. Your mum must be a wonderful cook.”
The corners of his lips tugged. “She was, yeah.”
It had been a while since he’d spoken about her, but he didn’t expect the pang in his chest. It had been so many years.
“I’m sorry to hear,” you said quietly.
He let that hang in the air. He turned to the other pot and busied himself with the boiling pasta before finally breaking the silence.
“She… used to take me out for strawberry milkshakes after her payday.”
“Yeah? How many did she let you get?”
“Just one.” He stirred the pasta, a smile flickering at the memory. “I didn’t know it then, but it was all she could afford.”
“One is enough if it’s good.”
“It always was. With a mountain of whipped cream and a big, fat cherry on top.”
“The only right way to make a shake if you ask me.”
He grinned at you. “Damn right.”
The timer went off and he tipped the pasta into the colander. You took the plates he’d laid on the counter and helped him portion the meal.
You didn’t ask about his dad.
Probably for the best. Back in his day, if a mother had to work, more often than not, the father wasn’t in the picture. There was nothing to ask.
“Ya know, I think she’d probably suggest Strawberry Company instead of Shadow,” he said with a little chuckle. “Probably thinks it sounds a little cold.”
Phillip expected you to laugh. You gave a soft smile instead.
It was what he needed.
“She would have been really proud of you.”
She might have not been there to see him graduate high school, or when he made Marine. All those ceremonies when he picked up his ranks, or when Shadow Co. became reality.
If there was one thing he wanted to hear, it was that she knew he tried his best. Because he always gave it his all. Like she always taught him.
“I hope so.”
“I mean,” you began, the smile in your voice. “I might look better in black, but it’s not that bad on you so my opinion stands.”
That got a laugh out of him.
You took the meal to the dining table overlooking the large pool in his backyard. He didn’t cook a lot, let alone his mum’s recipes that would take hours, but this time it was different. Because he had someone to share it.
And a meal was always better with company. Especially after so many years.
“You’re coming to the arms show?”
You smiled apologetically. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Williams gave you the green light. Plus I got Friday early access.”
Your head tilted with amusement. “And where will I be Friday?”
He shrugged. “Take the afternoon off.”
“That’s not how it works! Besides, I got a long week ahead preparing for training.”
His lips pulled to one side. “Shame.”
You twirled the spaghetti around your fork. “You can send photos.”
“Guess that’ll have to do.” He took a bite of his meatball.
While you got a small second serving, Phillip had a full one. The hours he spent was worthwhile just for that satisfied smile you wore.
“So what now, coffee? Dessert?”
“I’m stuffed!” you said dramatically before a sheepish smile graced. “But out of curiosity, what’s on the menu?”
“Anything. We can go anywhere.”
“Honestly, not sure I want to leave the house much at all if it was like this.”
He laughed, pointing behind him at the living room. “How about you find us something to watch? I’ll make some coffee.”
When he joined you on his large leather couch with two cups of coffee, you turned to him. “Where do you keep your blanket?”
He set the drinks on the table. “In the…. Bedroom? Are you feeling cold?”
“No, I meant for the couch.”
A beat. “Does a couch… need a blanket?” he asked carefully.
“Yes. How are you going to protect your feet from the monsters otherwise?”
He chuckled. “Well, I got duvets upstairs. They’ll give you better cover.”
“No,” you said, the façade cracking. “I said blanket, because it can’t be too warm.”
He considered before shrugging. “Sorry, best I can do is a towel.”
“Unbelievable. All this and not a throw blanket.” You sat back on his couch. “I’m bringing one next time.”
Phillip should be saying something back, but the thought of next time with you only made him giggle internally as he settled next to you.
Swamped with work the following week, you turned down Graves’ midweek dinner invitation. It was a shame - it was nice seeing a fresh face, and not being alone with the TV at dinner every now and then. Didn’t hurt that he was a fun company with his accent and witty remarks either.
You weren’t planning to go to the arms show that weekend, not with the field training the following week you had to rest up for, but looking at the photos Graves sent you that Friday afternoon made you second guess your decision.
These weren’t items available to the general public either. Without Graves’ VIP pass, you probably would never see them in real life otherwise. Maybe you should have said screwed it and took the day off after all for the rare opportunity.
Captain Williams was missing out. And you too, it seemed.
“Boys, come see this,” you called your men over at the rec room before playing a video of a row of rifles.
“That the gun show?” a lance asked. “I thought that was tomorrow.”
You hummed in affirmation. “But today’s the early access. They’re showing the good stuff to the VIPs.”
“Look at all that cool shit. We should be there right now, Sergeant,” a private said. “Who’s your guy?”
Your phone pinged with a drop-down notification. Another photo from Graves.
“Graves?” Justin Boyle said with exaggerated surprise. "He doesn’t text me. I thought we were friends!”
“You got an ugly mug, Bieber. That’s why,” the other Corporal quipped, earning a laugh from the juniors.
“What else he sent?”
You scrolled down to the newest photo, a strawberry with a dollop of whipped cream. “Close enough”, he captioned. You snorted, but the room stood still.
“I… I don’t think that was meant for us,” one broke the silence. “Yeah, that seems real dirty,” another said.
“No, no! It’s literal. He just really likes strawberry shake,” you defended.
“And how would you know that, Sergeant?” Boyle challenged.
You gave him a sharp look before picking up your phone. “Graves,” you said out loud as you typed, “Cpl. Boyle was wondering why you don’t text him.”
“Hey!” he interjected as you pressed send.
The message was immediately read, as if he had the chat window open. The typing bubble appeared and disappeared under the scrutiny of multiple pairs of eyes, glued to your phone screen in building anticipation.
Instead, Boyle’s phone pinged in his pocket. He pulled it out to discover a text from the commander.
Miss you too Boyle [kissy face emoji]
Saturday was quickly becoming a day Phillip looked forward to each week. How could it not be, if you’d walk up to him on his front step in your workout attire, knowing how much he was going to enjoy the day with you.
Oh and, he promised he was looking respectfully, ok? But you in gym shorts made it so, so hard to look away, and he was just a man.
“Thanks for having me again.”
He smiled. “Pre-workout?”
“You’re spoiling me,” you said with a grin. “I got you this.” You handed him a paper bag of a neatly folded blanket.
He laughed, rubbing the thick and fluffy material between his fingers. “You weren’t kidding.”
“It’s lifechanging.”
“Will have to put it to the test.” He led you into the kitchen. “I actually got something for you too.“ He handed you the bottle of multivitamins next to the blender. ”Keep yourself fit next week.”
“Oh, that’s so kind. Thanks so much, Graves. Next week will be hell.”
He loaded up the blender. “Make sure to rest up tomorrow then.”
You had a light session that day (even less of a reason to need a spotter) and ordered in for lunch. By the time you joined him in the living room, lunch was on the coffee table while Phillip had bundled up in the blanket you got him.
His heavy eyelids flicked open. “I didn’t know being so cozy on the couch was an option. I thought it was only for the bed.”
You laughed. “Careful, you might fall asleep.”
“Could have warned me sooner.” He pushed the blanket aside and straightened up to unwrap lunch. Two subs and a large salad to share.
And cookies. You didn’t forget the cookies.
“Starting to feel bad having you drive all the way here,” he said after a bite. “And paying for lunch too.”
“Just here to settle my debt. Won't be a weekly affair.”
His gaze dropped to your lips. He didn’t mind at all if it was. “Still.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, it’s a lot less likely that I see someone from base around here. Also my gym is a far cry from yours, and like I said-“ you chuckled- “No slides required.”
He tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You saying you want to come more often?”
You snorted. “I’m not!”
“Friends come to each other’s places all the time.”
You turned to him. “I’m no freeloader.”
“Correcto, you’re not. So what’s the problem?”
“I’m the only one doing the coming.”
“I didn’t want to be rude and invite myself over,” he said lightly. “I wouldn’t say no if you ask.”
You stared at him for a beat before your eyes dropped back to the last quarter of your sandwich. “People know you, Graves,” you declared, tone final before taking another bite.
It was true. And he hated that it was.
“Just saying. It’s nice having a gym buddy.”
You. It was nice having you around in his otherwise too-empty house.
After the meal, you asked Phillip to pick something to watch and he settled on a sci-fi show he loved as a teen. You tucked yourselves in on the couch, the blanket big enough for the both of you to be on the opposing ends separated by a respectable distance.
He glanced at you and you turned to him, gaze locking.
There was nothing professional about sharing a blanket in front of the TV on a Saturday afternoon.
And there definitely was nothing professional about your breathing slowing down when you dozed off next to him halfway through the episode, or when he tried to not stare at your pretty face too long before scooting a few inches closer, only to tip his head back with eyes closed.
The next part is linked above if already up
Masterlist
Phillip Graves | 4k | fluff
Sure, he was annoying, but there you were anyway (p1) (p4)
A defiant. It was who Phillip was.
You said it yourself. It would have been different if he wasn’t PMC. And while he couldn’t change that, he could prove to you it didn’t have to mean anything.
Most importantly, you said you had a good time. He wouldn’t have necessarily believed it coming from someone else, but from you? It wasn’t something you could fake, not for so many hours laughing with him anyway.
Yeah, it was nothing romantic, but he was allowed to want your platonic company. He could settle with it: just two people with impossible lives enjoying themselves when they could.
It was the annual Marine ball, held around November 10th to celebrate the Marine Corps’ birthday. Always the same place, same schedule.
It was true: Phillip Graves was infamous. Some Marines gave him the look as he walked into the grand ballroom, dominated by white and red, but he smiled and nodded all the same. There was no bad blood on his side, especially not when he was wearing such a crisp tux.
With the dinner over, the room had loosened up. People had left their tables, gone to mingle amongst themselves, the instrumental jazz low and unobtrusive in the background.
Phillip’s smile widened when he found you in the crowd, a flute in hand with a group of men in their dress blues. You’d done your hair differently, and God- that lustrous black evening gown. In the dim light, it was like it flowed forever, hovering right above the ground with its side slit reaching right above your knee.
You looked too good in black that his feet slowed. If he was any other man, he could have been fooled by how sweet you were. But he couldn’t miss the strength in those squared shoulders, the confidence in those eyes. You were just as lethal in a dress and heels. Perhaps even more so.
Your gaze drifted towards him and you did a double take before that smile dropped. You might have been across the room, but he could read your lips enough. Unbelievable, you said out loud, or something that made the group pause and turn to you. You recovered, excusing yourself before marching towards him.
“What are you doing here?” you demanded in a hushed tone as you scanned the room for anyone looking.
“Told ya we’d meet again,” he said lightly.
Your hard eyes met his, and this close as you towered over him? Those pretty heels were doing something to him. “Who invited you?”
“Captain Williams.”
“He didn’t,” you deadpanned.
“He sure did. In fact, he’s lookin’ for you.” He gestured at your captain with his lieutenants. As if on cue, he looked up from his drink and nodded towards you.
Your eyes widened. “But… How? He’s not…”
“Very fond of PMCs? He seemed fine to me. Rather thankful when he shook my hand earlier actually.”
You stared at him like he was speaking another language.
He tilted his head towards your CO. “Come, don’t want to make him wait too long.”
You regained your composure and made your way across the room, looking a tiny bit too worried.
“Sergeant, hope you’ve been enjoying the ball. Mr. Graves invited me to the gun show next month. I’m afraid my schedule wouldn’t allow, but if you’re available, you should go instead.”
Captain George Williams was around Phillip’s age, maybe a little younger. Sharp hair and trimmed stubble, smile well-practiced. With the officer’s athletic build, one could easily mistake him for a businessman, or a lawyer, if he was out of his dress blues. He had that look in his eyes, like he always had the upper hand and he knew it. Like he could do anything he wanted just because he could, with a smile at that too.
“Sir,” you said.
“Oh, and why don’t you see if there’s anything extra for Mr. Graves in the kitchen?” Your captain turned to him. “Shame you had to miss dinner. We saved you a seat too.”
You gave a nod.
“You’re always welcome on base, Graves-“ he smiled, shaking his hand- “Have a good evening.”
Phillip nodded and excused himself with you next to him. His grin was a little too smug that it needed be. “What did I tell ya?”
You downed your flute, as if not wanting to acknowledge the efficacy of his charm. “You know he was just being polite, right?”
“Sure, but he shouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it.” He stopped in his tracks and turned to you. “But now we don’t have to pretend we don’t know each other anymore. They saw us and the world didn’t explode, did it?”
“You son of a gun.” A smile tugged on your lips as you eyed him. Amused, maybe even a little impressed. “Good thing you missed dinner and most have left.”
“So what do you say-“ he held his hand out- “is being amicable on the table now?”
Your gaze fell to his hand in contemplation before shaking his hand. “Fair enough.”
He was too pleased with himself, wasn’t he? “Well, you heard the man. Why don’t we see if there’s extra food for me?”
You laughed. “Yes, sir.”
Unfortunately for him, there was nothing left in the kitchen, with dinner having have been served over an hour ago.
He turned to you expectantly. “Did you drive?”
“And walk two blocks away from parking in these?” You gestured at your heels. “Hell no.”
“Then you can eat with me. I’ll give you a ride after.”
“At this hour? Nothing’s open.”
“Burgers. I know just the place.”
“In formalwear?”
“Why not? We’re already dressed up.” Perhaps it was a little silly, yes, but he probably wouldn't see you so dolled up again anytime soon, and he wanted to look. “Besides, a man’s gotta eat.”
Your lips pulled. “Fries do sound pretty good right about now.”
You bade your goodbyes to your fellow Marines, and your steps slowed in the hotel lobby as it dawned on you.
“Wait, where did you park?”
Phillip pulled the valet ticket out of his jacket. “No walking for you.”
Within minutes, the staff pulled up in his grey Rover and the commander opened the door for you.
“Ma’am,” he said with commitment to his bit.
You chuckled as you got in his SUV. “Didn’t have to do that,” you pulled the length of your gown out of the way.
“Comes with the bowtie,” he said before shutting the door.
The diner wasn’t far, and was rather quiet at that hour. He’d been there a few times, also after the Marine Balls he attended all those years ago. The place didn’t change much – perhaps a new coat of paint, and new décor here and there.
But one thing he hoped didn’t change? Their thick and luscious strawberry milkshake.
“I can’t believe you actually did that,” you said when the waitress stepped away with your orders.
His brow rose. “Did what?”
“Got an invitation. From Williams no less. How did you do it?” You stared at him with an amused yet bewildered expression.
“I called him.”
“And?”
“Asked if I could get an invite. Worst he could say is no, right?”
“What if he did?”
He considered. “Probably try the Major.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. You always this shameless?”
“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing. I like getting what I want. Don’t you?”
“You sound insufferable,” you teased, shaking your head before sipping your chocolate shake.
“Yet here you are.” He chuckled. “Glad I could still make it though. My meeting ran very late though.”
“All that tux just for a burger and milkshake.”
“It’s the company that matters,” he said, reaching for his drink. “But I’d do a lot of things for a good strawberry shake.”
Your gaze lingered on his chest a beat too long before picking up a fry.
He didn’t mind at all if you wanted to check him out - he did put on the tux for a reason. He too was looking respectfully (tried his best anyway) when he walked behind you. He could only hope he was discreet enough, because damn, it was hard to look away and you were right there in those heels.
Maybe taking his jacket off would make it easier for you…
“Feeling a bit warm?” you asked as he draped his jacket over the seat next to him.
“I like to live on the edge,” he said, picking up his burger. “Should have ordered the spaghetti meatballs.”
That earned him an open laugh before your eyes fell on the scar on his cheek again. He could tell you wanted to ask. You never did.
“I think you still owe me a rematch,” Phillip said before his second to last bite.
“What rematch?”
“At the range. My turf this time.”
“People might talk.”
It might have been a different story if you were out in public, but his Shadows were no snitches. Wasn’t very smart risking a job as such.
“My boys know to mind their own business. Besides, I thought Williams said you should come with me to the arms show.”
“Your base is not the arms show.”
“It could be. I thought you were very interested in the new drones we got.”
You let out a playful sigh as you dipped another fry. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Just saying. And… maybe we could find more glittery drinks after.” He took his last bite.
You looked at him expectantly.
He wiped his mouth and fingers clean. “You got time to think about it. I’ll be away next week, and you can let me know when I’m back.”
You smiled. “Give ‘em hell, Graves.”
Phillip didn’t want to admit he’d been thinking about you. Probably too much for his own good too. But it was a crush, and crushes faded. The sooner he acknowledged it the sooner he’d get it out of his system.
He could text, or call, and succumb to his impulses, but he’d rather save it for when he got back. Only made his return sweeter, didn’t it?
The first thing he did when he hopped on the plane back home was to text you.
You done thinking?
Can I fly the drones?
I don’t see why not
Maybe just a little visit
Hook, line and fucking sinker. He really shouldn’t be this pleased with himself.
For the coming Saturday, Phillip suggested grabbing breakfast before going to HQ, but you refused as you’d be at the gym. Shame, but at least you agreed to him picking you up.
You walked up to his SUV in a black shirt, dark jeans and a jacket. Comfortable, fitting for a few hours in the sun.
“Well, someone looks excited,” he said as you strapped yourself in.
You couldn’t hide that giddy beam. “I feel I’m going to be witnessing something top secret.”
“It is. But you can tell Boyle. I like that kid.”
“He’d be very happy to know.”
He grabbed the paper cup out of the holder and offered it to you. “Had your coffee yet?”
“Not yet, thanks.” You reached for it. “You?”
“No. I didn’t know how you liked it so I was going to have that in case you didn’t want it.”
You retracted your hand. “Oh, you should have it then.”
“How do you like your coffee?”
“Doesn’t matter as long as it’s got caffeine.”
He laughed, holding it closer towards you. “Then we can share.”
You had your half before handing the rest to him. Phillip didn’t intend to brush your fingers with his, and while it didn’t seem to faze you, he didn’t miss the most miniscule jolt that went down this spine.
“Hey, Williams didn’t say anything, did he?” he asked as he approached the HQ gate.
“Nope. Business as usual.”
“Good. Hope that makes you feel a little better about coming out here today. I do want you to have a good time.”
You might not have answered, but the small tug on your lips didn’t go unnoticed.
“Sir-” the guards nodded as he stopped for the scan- “Ma’am.”
“Nice base,” you commented.
“I try.” He drove down the road past depots and warehouses before parking outside the training facility. He turned to you as you walked up to the building. “Should we go to the shooting range first or…?”
“Save it for last. Give your ego some more time to prepare for another loss.”
“Damn. Maybe we should skip the range entirely, if you put it that way.”
You laughed as you walked through the door he held for you.
“Graves,” the Shadow at the armoury greeted before nodding at you. “The drones are ready.”
He led you out to the large, partially-shaded outdoor area. You lit up as you approached the table where the three drones laid. He always liked seeing you get excited about tech, when you could nerd out with him.
“Alright. Let’s see.” He pointed at the palm sized UAV on the far-left. “Recon drone, 8k resolution, unbelievable zoom. Thermal and night vision. 3 hours flight time-“ He moved along, pointing at the quadcopter. “Tac drone. 16-inch wheelbase, foldable to fit in your pack. Marks targets for air strikes and can move small payloads. Often used with loitering munitions.
“And the newest-“ He flipped open the metal case akin to a mint tin to reveal a one-inch drone- “The Hornet. Virtually no acoustic signature, even at its top speed of 40 mph. Flight time is only 35 minutes indoors, but it tries its best.”
What he didn’t expect when he turned to you, though, was the concern on your face.
“God, I don’t want to know how expensive these are.”
“You don’t have to?”
“I feel legally liable to tell you I won’t be able to pay for any damage I might cause.”
“It’s impossible to mess up in this big of a space. And you’ve flown before.”
You grimaced, gaze jumping between the drones, as if weighing your options before turning to him. “I’ll just watch you.”
He chuckled. “I thought you wanted to fly! We came all the way here.”
“Well, I changed my mind.”
“Come on.” He tilted his head. “I’ll be right next to you.”
You eyed him warily.
“I’ll make sure you don’t mess up.” He reached for the tac drone first. “Let’s start with the easiest one.”
You observed quietly as Phillip got it up in the air. He walked you through the different features before coaxing you to fly it, and you relented. You might have been a little apprehensive at first, but that didn’t last long at all as soon as you held the controller, your smile fast blooming.
Next, you tried the recon drone, confident enough now to lift it off on our own before he showed you how to cycle between the imaging modes.
“Can I scout your base?”
“Why not. The airspace is clear today.” He pulled out his phone to dial the ATC. “Shadow-1 to Radar. Be advised, I’m flying a UAV in the AO.”
You flew out the area, past the neighbouring buildings and across the runway. “Damn, Graves. How big is this place?”
He shrugged. “Enough for 500 operators.”
“How many of them do you think dress up as you on Halloween?”
“Doesn’t matter. You did it better.”
You let out a playful gasp. “I did not dress up as you.”
“Think you did. Wore my clothes,” he teased. “Better than me too.”
“Not my fault black’s not your colour.”
He glanced as your shirt. It indeed was not.
“Hey, is that what I think it is?” you asked, the drone hovering above a small, windowless concrete building.
“Yup. The infamous gas chamber.”
“My nemesis.”
“I send insubordinate Shadows there.”
You whipped to him with wide eyes which only made him burst out in laughter.
“Just the ones who miss their weekly barber trim.”
“I was wondering how everyone’s hair is in tip top shape.”
“24/7, baby. Better have your hair in check if you want that year-end bonus.”
You moved along, flying forwards.
“That’s the CQB hut.” He pointed at the monitor. “Moving targets. Pretty fun.”
“Huh, looks like that’s our rematch right there.”
He turned to meet that teasing smile. “Challenge accepted.”
Phillip gave you a virtual tour of the base, even scouted the HQ and showed you the window of his large office. It was surprisingly fun, as he too, had never had an aerial tour of his base.
When you flew the drone back, you aimed the camera at the both of you before switching to thermal vision with a little giggle. “Never seen myself in thermal before.”
“Me neither.” He stepped in closer to you and looked up at the drone. “Take a photo.”
You smiled at the camera and snapped a pic before landing the UAV on the table.
Next, he took out the Hornet from its case and held it out. You started it up and it lifted off his palm.
“Holy crap. It is silent,” you said as it zoomed across the area.
He could only smile when you spent the next few minutes zipping through gaps and between table legs with adorable amusement.
“Pretty cool, huh?” He tucked the Hornet back in its case.
“Insanely cool. You do have really nice toys here.”
He placed the case on the table. “CQB now? Loser pays for lunch.”
You headed back to the armoury to get a rifle and a sidearm loaded with ball ammo. You put on your vest and gloves before Phillip led you to the CQB house.
He set up the course on the tablet by the door and put on the live feed of his body cam. “In case you want to watch,” he said before putting on his eye and ear protection.
“Are you flexing again?”
He pressed start and the countdown started. “I am. But please look away if I miss twice in a row.”
You grinned. “Wouldn’t wanna miss it.”
Phillip missed a few shots here and there, but still finished just shy of two minutes, which wasn’t bad at all for a casual round.
“You turn,” he said, resetting the course and switching to your body cam.
You moved through the rooms with confidence and precision, and were neck and neck with his time. Until you slipped when you rounded a corner.
He straightened up. “You ok?” he yelled out. He wasn’t even sure you heard him, but you immediately recovered and were back on your feet to make it through the rest of the course.
Moments after, you busted out the door with a satisfied smile. “Good run.”
“You alright?” He scanned down your body and instinctively reached for your shoulders, but catching himself just in time before he made contact. “I saw you fall.”
“Been through worse. Not sure you’ve heard, but I fell through the floor with a certain someone.” You brushed off the dirt off your thigh with a chuckle. “So how did I do?”
His shoulders relaxed with the sound before you turned to the tablet.
“Aw, 25 seconds behind!”
“But you slipped. You want to go again?”
“I can take a loss, Graves.” You nudged him with your elbow. “You won fair and square.”
“So a tie breaker then.”
You tilted your head. “This never ends, does it?”
He shrugged, the smile spreading on his lips. Not if he kept needing an excuse to see you.
You called it a day, ready to finally grab lunch. You thanked the specialist at the armoury when you returned the gear before leaving the building
You strapped yourself in his Rover. “So what do you feel like?”
“How about some Chinese?” he asked as he pulled off.
“I know a good place near mine.”
As he drove through the gate, he asked, “You’re doing your laundry tomorrow?”
“Unfortunately.”
“If you do it today, I can help. Not to brag, but I’ve always been really good at folding clothes.”
“Of course you are,” you teased. “You sound like such a suck up.”
Phillip glanced at you with a mock gasp. “You want immaculately folded clothes or nah?”
“Don’t you have better stuff to do, Graves?”
“It’s the weekend, and I’m already out. We’ll be eating while it’s washing, so might as well.”
It wasn’t like you needed the help at all, but what was a man to do for some more time with you? You didn’t mind him sticking around a little longer, did you?
The place you suggested satisfied his craving – salty, crispy and the right amount of greasy. Unfortunately, yet understandably, they didn’t have glittery drinks to offer. When it came time to pay, he nudged your hand away when you pulled out your card.
“Hey, I thought I was paying,” you said when the server left.
“You’ll pick it up next time,” he said, slipping his card back in his wallet. “Next week?”
“You’re talking like you’d be in town.”
“You’d be the first to know if I wasn’t.” He got up and you followed suit.
“I had the impression you were rarely home.”
“Not wrong. Which is why I try to make the most of my time when I am.” He held the door for you. “You want to work out at mine Saturday? My gym isn’t too bad, and you can swim too.”
“You invite your friends to your place a lot?”
“If we’re friends, yeah.” He turned to you. “Are we?”
You smiled, a little softer than he expected. A little too genuine for the banter. “I suppose we are.”
He looked away too fast. The sun didn’t have to make your eyes that much more beautiful. “Well, then it’s just two people hanging out. Doesn’t have to mean anything else.”
Back at yours, you separated your laundry to fold on the dining table.
“I know what we can do for our tie breaker,” Phillip said. “We had a sleeve rolling competition in boot. I was the best in my platoon.”
“Unbelievable.” You shook your head. “Aren’t you the golden boy.”
He grinned. “I take pride in it.”
“What did you win?”
“More bragging rights.”
“I doubt you know how to roll anymore though.”
“Hey, my sleeves were never short of stellar even when I left.”
You laughed. “Alright, let’s see if you still got it, Commander.”
He set up the timer on his phone and you both got to rolling. It had been a while since he properly rolled his sleeves, but it didn’t take long for the muscle memory to kick in. Old habits died hard after all.
You both held your hands up when the timer went off and inspected each other’s work. You didn’t do bad at all, but well, he’d had a few more years of practice.
“Damn, that is crisp, especially in 5 minutes.” You ran your finger over the smooth cuff. “Yeah, alright,” you admitted with a playful tone. “You still got it.”
“Sorry, you’re paying for lunch next week.”
You smiled as you unrolled the sleeves. “Looking forward to it.”
That little phrase didn’t have to make him feel so weird in the belly.
He helped you with the rest of your laundry, and while you didn’t hint at him to leave afterwards, he didn’t want to overstay his welcome and excused himself shortly after.
When he arrived home, he sent you the thermal photo the specialist extracted from the drone. It was silly, really. Just the both of you in nondescript red and yellow blotches on shades of purple.
Looks like red is your colour, you replied.
I’ll consider rebranding to Ketchup Company
Strawberry Company is more like it seeing how much you like strawberry shakes :P
Phillip tried not to giggle.
Was it the emoji you sent? The first one too, as if this was how you officially became non-professional. Was it because you remembered his favourite flavour? Or was it from the fuzzy feeling that hadn’t left since you smiled at him in front of the restaurant?
All he knew, though, was that next Saturday was too long a wait to see you again.
The next part is linked above if already up
Masterlist
Phillip Graves | 3.8k | fluff
You had no business looking so good in black (p1) (p3)
You indeed didn’t say you’d call.
In hindsight, Phillip was silly to even think you were going to. Yes, his little visit was fun, but you weren’t interested, probably even had someone at home. You looked like someone who wouldn’t have shortage of suitors after all.
Regardless, he wasn’t going to play games with the time he didn’t have. It was all kicks and giggles for you, like it was supposed to be for him too.
Two weeks later, he’d almost forgotten about you. But then you finally sent him a text, and whatever he told himself to cope fled him real fast.
Wanted to thank you for the help. Does Saturday lunch work?
He didn’t mean to smile so wide. He didn’t even check his calendar. Depends. Is it a date?
It’s not. Never mind if it’s a bad time.
Fucking hell. How embarrassing was that. His attempt did not land. In fact, it belly flopped spectacularly. He was just thankful you weren’t there to witness the shade of his damned cheeks.
Saturday works
Casual. He could do casual. It didn’t have to mean anything more than friends. He had a working brain up there after all.
Yes, you were wildly attractive – in a strong, deliciously intimidating way that he was growing addicted to, but he wasn’t trying to escalate this. The life he led wasn’t made to keep anything long term. You’d know this of all people.
Still, he was presentable in his light blue polo and jeans. You’d rejected his offer to pick you up, which he’d predicted. He’d expected you to be on time, and of course you were.
Phillip smiled as you made your way over, comfortable in your fitted tee, cargos and baseball cap.
“So-“ you glanced at his foot with a grimace- “How’s the knee? Sorry for kicking you.”
“Never better,” he assured. “Your arm?”
“Healed.”
“Good. It looked pretty bad.”
The server came over with the menu, and you, in innocent joy, lit up as you ordered the seasonal items: pumpkin fries to share, black pasta and some glittery purple drink. He let out small chuckle as he ordered the same.
“Thank you for making it today,” you said when the server had left. “I wanted to thank you properly, for the help.”
“Just doin’ my job.” He grinned. “So this really isn’t a date?”
You gave an amused smile. “Don’t make this weird, Graves.”
Alright, he’d admit he was kinda pushing it, but would you blame him for shooting his shot? He kept his manners intact, didn’t he? “I like to double check.”
“People like us don’t have the privilege to say what we don’t mean, do we?”
His lips puckered to one side in thought. “Hm. Sounds personal.”
You shrugged. “Just too old to play games.”
“I respect that.” Phillip held his hands up. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable after all. “Y’know, I didn’t realise it was Halloween.”
“Why, would you have dressed up for the occasion?”
He laughed. “Yeah, with my boys too.”
“Oh, you got kids?” Your eyes softened. “How many?”
“No, I meant-“ he chuckled, shaking his head. He was thinking of his Shadows. Some would be more than happy to dress up, he was sure. “No, no kids. Don’t think having a relationship in this line of work is very responsible.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“You know what they say, if the Corps wanted you to have a wife-“
“They’d issue you one- yeah, yeah. That’s the oldest one in the book.”
“I mean-“ he shrugged- “at this point you gotta admit there’s some truth to it.”
You smiled. “So you were married?”
“Nah, never got that far at all. Only have so many hours in a day.”
You nodded. You knew what he meant.
“I hit 30 and thought fuck it. If no one understands what I’m doing, so be it. I’m not gonna be someone I’m not.”
The conversation was interrupted by the server as he placed the drinks on the table. You might not mean to show so much excitement, but it made him smile nonetheless.
You took a sip and he followed. “Tastes good,” he commented.
“I come here every year, just for this.” You stirred the purple concoction with a small smile. “Will probably be what I miss the most when I change stations.”
“See, that’s a common deal-breaker for civilians: moving around every few years for your partner.”
You leaned back in your seat. “Like it isn’t enough of a hassle for us having to restart every few years.”
“They just don’t get it, and end up becoming another thing for you to worry about.”
“Easier to do your job when no one’s missing you.” You took another sip.
“True. But probably would have been different if she had a military background, or was a Shadow…” he trailed off, the corner of his lips pulling.
You blinked.
“Ya know, short deployments with a better pay and no relocations-“
You set your glass down. “Graves, I swear if this is a recruitment pitch-“
Phillip barked out a laugh. "No, I like you in MARPAT. God knows you’d look better in black than me. Can’t have that.” He leaned in. “But if you’re ever interested, I’m sure you’ll feel right at home. We got plenty of Marine vets.”
You smiled. “That was definitely a pitch.”
It was a force of habit. It’d been a while since he’d had a meal out in a non-business setting. Even with his men, it was hard to not talk about work when there was nothing else but work.
The pumpkin fries arrived and the conversation turned to his time in the Corps and how he made Gunnery Sergeant at 30.
“You got tips for me to rank up?”
The hopefulness made him pause. “You don’t need tips from me.”
“Well, maybe I do,” you countered, an edge in your voice as you dipped a fry- “I was passed over. There will be a vacancy next year-” and popped it in your mouth.
“That’s normal for NCOs, especially as you climb further up. It is competitive.”
You averted your gaze, and he didn’t miss the way you clenched your jaw.
“I don’t think you got much to worry about with your track record.”
Your eyes flicked back to his. “You’ve never been passed over, have you?”
He shook his head.
You laughed, the playfulness back. “Of course. Coz that sounds like something someone who’s never been passed over would say.”
Phillip understood your concern. The military had an “up or out” policy. If you were passed over for a promotion twice, you’d probably be terminated. But he meant what he’d said – your dossier was impressive.
“You know your priorities. So it’s just a matter of time for you,” he reassured, reaching for his glass. “I know.”
You smiled back with a knowing look, and for a second it seemed like you believed him. “If you say so-“ you took another fry- “Golden boy,” you teased instead.
The main dish was served and you loosened up more over the delicious meal. You ordered another round of the purple drink for the table before asking about the latest tech advancements in the industry, and please excuse him for nerding out- but you did ask, so he had to tell you all about the new toys he got on base, didn’t he?
He appreciated how inquisitive you were, not shying away from each opportunity to learn. He didn’t understand your concern about getting passed over again. You were exactly the kind of personnel he’d vouch for. If he was your superior, he’d have you promoted the first chance he got.
You twirled the last bite of your black pasta. “I kind of want to see myself in black now.”
“Damn, the pitch worked?” he joked, mostly in disbelief.
You covered your mouth to stifle your laugh before swallowing. “God, that ego of yours.”
“Well, it is Halloween. No better time to play dress up than today.”
You stared at him. “You know what, put this on.” You took your blue baseball cap off and offered it to him.
“Careful, where I’m from this is a pretty big deal,” he said, but put it on anyway.
You snorted. “You look like Fix-it Felix.”
His brows furrowed, but your amusement was contagious. Between laughter, you pulled up a photo of a cartoon character, a blond handyman in a blue blouse and cap, holding a golden hammer.
He threw his head back. “We’re halfway there. We should dress up. Go bar hopping.”
You glanced at your watch. “Screw it. Let’s go.”
The both of you finished up and Phillip meant no disrespect at all whatsoever when he put down his card on the bill holder – it was a force of habit. He chuckled when you smacked his hand away. He led you to his grey Rover outside and drove to his place to get your outfits together.
“You sure do get your bills paid to hell and back,” you said as he pulled into his driveway past the automated gate. “How many people live here?”
“Just me. Not even here as much as I want to, unfortunately.” He cut the engine and led you into the house.
You hung back in his living room, looking out the bifold glass doors at his pool while he fetched you the outfit from his closet upstairs. His combat shirt and trousers were there, but it took some digging before he found his old tac vest and versipack to finish the all-black look.
By the time you came out of the guest bathroom, he’d swapped to tan boots and put on a matching versipack and gloves.
You snorted. “I’ll have to start calling you Felix.”
He smiled, giving you a once over. “And you’re an insignia away from being mistaken for a Shadow.”
You looked yourself over. “Gotta admit, it looks real sweet.”
And you had no business looking so good in black. In his clothes.
He gave you a bag for your folded clothes and headed back to the car. Through the neighbourhood, he drove past groups of laughing families dressed up for trick or treating.
“How about we give out some candy first?” you asked, smiling out the window.
At the nearest supermarket, Phillip carried the basket full of sweets to the check out before you stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“You know what would be fun?” you asked with a mischievous smile. “Crayons.”
He laughed, turning towards the stationery aisle.
You strolled in his neighbourhood as you munched on a chocolate or two while giving away candy (and a small pack of crayons to the little ones). You were all smiles when you complimented the kids’ costumes, making small talk about their outfits – not a sight he imagined involving the wounded sergeant in the abandoned hospital he met weeks ago.
The blond boy in the pirate costume piped up, “If he’s Fix-it Felix-“ he gestured at Phillip- “Does that mean you’re Sergeant Calhoun?”
You smiled, crouched in front of him. “I guess I am.”
He lit up. “I love her. She’s such a badass!”
The boy and his parents thanked you again, and you continued the walk while Phillip glanced at you. “Who did he say you were again?”
“Sergeant Calhoun. They got married at the end of the movie.”
He opened his mouth to crack a joke, but stopped himself when another family approached. He never realised how lively his neighbourhood was on Halloween, probably because if he was home, he’d be cooped up in his office anyway. It was a waste to live in the area if he didn’t get to enjoy it.
“You do this a lot? Trick or treating?” Phillip asked.
“Not at all, but I did dress up a few years ago.”
“Yeah? As who?”
You turned to him with a smile. “A crayon. We dressed as a pack.”
He thew his head back in laughter. “What colour were you?”
“Red, of course.”
“My favourite.”
“You? When was the last time you dressed up?”
He looked up in thought. “God. I don’t remember. Definitely not as an adult. Middle school, maybe.”
You turned to him. “Seriously? Not with your buddies on base as a private?”
He shook his head.
“Not even in your own uniform pretending to be your sergeant?!”
“Nope.”
“You’re no fun, Graves.” You shook your head, looking genuinely disappointed. “No wonder you were the golden boy.”
He laughed. “Maybe we need to celebrate at HQ every year. Best costume gets a week off,” he said. “You’re invited.”
“You’ll be the best boss they’ll ever have.”
Your generous stash of candy depleted fast. The group of little Disney princesses (you seemed to have been genuinely impressed by their glittery dresses and tiaras) took the last few bars before the both of you even made it halfway through the neighbourhood.
“Time for drinks?” You looked up at him from the empty bag.
The sky was turning dark, but he could tell how much you were enjoying this. “We have time for another trip to the store if you want.” He gave a teasing smile. “And I know you like showing off your costume.”
You laughed and turned back towards his parked car.
Maybe Phillip had been ambitious with the size of his second candy purchase (seeing how sweet you were with the kids made him feel some type of way, okay?), but you didn’t get to finish it in the neighbourhood.
And so you walked further and further out to find more kids until it was well past dinnertime. It didn’t feel like much time had passed for him though, especially with your company. Being out was a nice change of pace, talking about random things. An excuse to get away from all the work that always occupied him.
Still with a few chocolates in your bag, you slowed down in front of a pizza shop.
You turned to him. “How about we call it a day?”
As if on cue, his stomach rumbled despite the handful of sweets you’d shared throughout the walk. He ordered 2 slices for each of you. Which later turned into 3, and eventually 4 for him – bar hopping long forgotten as you made each other laugh and laugh at that small table in the quiet corner of the shop.
He turned towards the kitchen door again. “God, that creak is really grinding my fucking gears. If I could just-” he balled his fist with an exhale- “give it a little jiggle.”
“How did you even survive the Corps? Everything creaks.”
“Nothing much I can’t fix.”
You laughed. “Alright, Felix.”
“I don’t know what to tell ya’.” He shrugged. "Might not have had a lot of friends as a kid, but WD-40 and duct tape were always there for me.”
“Might want to dress up as WD-40 next.”
He smiled. “If you’d be the duct tape.”
It was easy talking to you – too easy, when you could coax these silly bits out of him. It almost felt like he’d known you forever, like you actually knew him, not just the commander he was.
It wasn’t just him, was it? With the way your eyes lit up, he was starting to think maybe you’d had a change of heart about what today was. Even if you didn’t, well, maybe the next one wouldn’t just be ‘wanted to thank you for the help’.
And oh, Phillip didn’t want to be hopeful. You’d said what you’d said, and he was a grown ass man who could take a no, but… Maybe if he could just keep you smiling like that. He shouldn’t want to look at you so much.
The staff started closing for the night, and you didn’t pay your watch more than a glance - you still had a few minutes. But when a group of rowdy young men walked past, you straightened up, turning towards the wall. He paused, following the group with his eyes. Early 20s. Athletic.
When the door closed behind them, he turned back to you. “You okay?”
“We should go. They’re closing.”
You stood and he followed suit. “I’ll drive you home.”
“It’s fine. I can just order a ride from here,” you said, already pulling out your phone.
“But your clothes are in my car. So I might as well.”
The drive to yours was much shorter now that the traffic had simmered down. You’d grown quiet since leaving the pizza shop, but Phillip chalked it up as tiredness from the day. With a soft smile, he stole a glance at you looking out the window. No matter. He liked your company regardless.
He pulled up at the entrance and turned to you. “You can keep my uniform if you want.”
“No.” You unbuckled the seatbelt and reached for your bag of clothes in the backseat. “I’ll get it washed and mail it to you on Monday.”
“No rush. I can pick it up next weekend, or whenever you have the time.”
“I’ll be home tomorrow so that’s when I’ll do the laundry,” you said. “Which means I’ll return your uniform on Monday.”
He chuckled, holding his hands up. “Okay, you’re the boss.”
You gave a polite smile. “Thanks for today, Graves. You take care.”
He didn’t have to, but he waited until you got in your apartment before he drove off. He would have loved an excuse to see you again, but now that the ice had been broken, he could always be the one asking next.
Still, his stomach didn’t have to flip at the thought, did it?
What sort of sign from the universe was it that your cap was on the floor of Phillip’s backseat the following morning?
When you got in his car after the pizza, you’d taken off the vest and versipack while he (vaguely) remembered tossing your cap on top of your open bag of clothes. It must have fallen out during the ride. He was going to grab breakfast nearby, but maybe it wasn’t a bad idea getting something with you instead. It was a slow Sunday after all.
Your cap’s still with me. On my way to yours, he texted.
By the time he got to yours, you still hadn’t replied. Deciding it would have been rude to go up to your door, he called instead.
There were many rings before you picked up with a hoarse voice. “Graves?”
“Mornin’. I’m downstairs.”
“What? Why?”
“I texted you. I’m dropping off your cap.”
“You did?” you said, fading out as you pulled the phone away from your ear, he assumed to check the text.
“Should I come upstairs?”
“No,” you said, groaning. “Meet me in the laundry room. First floor, far right.”
You were the boss.
Phillip made his way there and waited, leaning against one of the machines with his arms crossed and your cap on. Moments after, you opened the door in a faded, oversized shirt and shorts, a hamper of laundry on your hip, your hair still unruly.
He didn’t mean to wake you, but it was hard to feel terrible when he could see you like this. Why did he like your messy hair so much? It felt like it wasn’t something he should be witnessing: you at home being you.
This was unprofessional.
Like it ever was ever since you wore his uniform yesterday. Looking that good in it too.
“Damn it, Graves. It’s barely 10,” you said, barely acknowledging him, as you turned to the nearest machine, your back to him.
He laughed, approaching you. “Sorry. Thought you said you’d be home all day.”
“Yeah. Sleeping,” you replied dryly.
Leaning against the machine next to you, Phillip kept his eyes on you as you unloaded your hamper. God, what was it with you? Something about you made him want to stare endlessly, even if you were just putting detergent in the drawer with that little frown.
When you popped in the last coin, he pulled your cap off his head and put it on you. “How about some brunch while we wait? What’s good around here?”
You took the cap off and placed it in the hamper before turning to him. “Look, Graves. We can’t keep meeting like this.”
He looked at you expectantly, but you didn’t elaborate. “Like what?”
“Like this-“ you gestured at the room- “Non-professionally. People on base know who you are. It’s not a good look if it reaches the officers.”
Was that why you turned away from the group of men at the pizza shop? “I don’t see how that’s any of their business.” He shrugged. “Ain’t nothin’ illegal.”
“I can’t be-“ you sighed- “associated with you past what the job requires.”
He chuckled. “What about yesterday? It can’t have been more professional than this.”
Your jaw ticked, finding no humour in this. “I was thanking you. For your help. And now that’s done,” you declared, eyes narrowed. “I know you don’t get it, but I need to rank up. Can’t afford to get passed over again.”
Phillip pressed his lips to a thin line as he straightened up.
Right. So this was your excuse: you didn’t need a distraction. You’d been upfront from the start; never hinted let alone promised anything, and you kept your end of the bargain. He couldn’t blame you – he’d been in your shoes too, but it didn’t mean disappointment didn’t rear its ugly head.
He shrugged. “Well, that’s a shame. Thought we had a good time.”
“We did, but that’s not the point,” you countered. “Look, it would be different if you weren’t PMC, but some of the officers aren’t a fan of yours, and I don’t want to be on their bad side.”
He snorted. “Wait, you think they don’t like me?”
“They don’t,” you deadpanned.
“Oh, they do,” he said, matter of fact, unable to help his pleased tone.
You blinked, doing your best to not look like you thought he was fucking stupid. You opened your mouth and closed it again, tilting your head in consideration before moving towards the door.
He didn’t budge.
“I’ll mail your uniform tomorrow.” You looked over your shoulder. “You take care, okay?” you said, softer now, like you meant it more than you should.
Phillip straightened up, smile widening. “You sure are making it sound like you’re not going to see me again.”
“Unless I need another rescuing, which I really hope I don’t-“ You yanked the door open- “Don’t think I will,” you said before walking out.
The next part is linked above if already up
Masterlist
Phillip Graves | 2.9k | fluff
A Fix-it Felix and Sgt. Calhoun retelling (p2)
It was a rescue mission. A Marine Corps Sergeant.
She and her team were tasked to raid an Al Qatala cell in Al Mazrah and secure the hostages held. However, they were ambushed during exfil and the Sergeant stayed behind to protect the extraction plane from the heavy enemy fire. She ordered the pilot out of the battle zone.
Her comms went silent soon after. Her men promptly asked for a retrieval team, but under the circumstances, her CO deemed the recovery too risky.
It was subordination, but her men reached out to General Shepherd instead. 12 hours later, Phillip Graves, his Shadows and her men got off the SUVs at her last known location to no trace of her. The unit split up and widened the search area.
It didn’t look promising. Her life was in an hourglass and it had been many, many hours. If she had survived, she’d have found a way to make contact back home. But she hadn’t, and that usually only meant one thing, no matter how lethal she might have been according to her dossier.
But Graves wasn’t a quitter - he was going to try his best to find her. He would have wanted his men to do the same for him if he was the one missing, and her selflessness to finish her mission wasn’t going to be unrecognised.
He and two of his boys reconed an abandoned hospital, the one he’d shot up to hell and back a few months ago on his AC-130 when giving air support. Combing through the building silently, he made it to the top floor, and a few steps into the room- a sharp strike to the back of his left knee, and he fell to his knees.
“Identify yourself,” the woman commanded, metal pressing against the back of his neck.
He dropped his rifle and held his hand up, ignoring the flare in his knee. He scanned the room, the pack and the Marine uniform on the floor in the corner all too familiar.
“Are you the Sergeant?”
“I said-“ she jabbed the sidearm harder- “Identify yourself.”
“Shadow PMC, here to extract you.”
You took a beat before exhaling, retracting the sidearm. “Took you long enough.”
“Well, you didn’t make it easy to find ya.” He began to stand, planting his foot in front of him.
“That’s kind of the point.” You holstered your weapon as you circled and studied him.
He froze at the way you towered over him. Yes, he’d got a hold of your dossier. Seen your photo, where you were from, your birthdate and height, but he didn’t expect you to look like that. The unruly hair and the grime smudges on your face only made you more gorgeous.
You folded your arms across your chest. “What are you looking at?”
He cleared his throat and got up on his feet while snatching his rifle from the ground. “You got shot?” he gestured at your bandaged left arm before meeting your eyes.
Phillip wasn’t short by any means, but this close, the few inches you had on him were in full effect.
“Just a scratch.” You turned towards your pack and pulled your uniform over your green skivvy shirt.
A scratch wouldn’t bleed enough for it to seep through bandages.
“Did my men make it?”
“They did. Mission was a success.”
“Good.” You buttoned your blouse down. “Where’s the exfil?”
He reached for his radio. “Shadow-1 to all stations. Found ‘er, need medical. RV outside.”
“Gold Eagle Actual to Shadow-1. Roger that, Graves,” the General’s voice crackled through the comms. “Knew you’d find her. Report back when you’re RTB.”
“Out here,” he replied.
You got to your feet and fastened your pack. “What’s your name again?”
“Phillip Graves. Ya know, I think we might have crossed paths before.”
You hummed. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“I’ll take point,” he said, turning to the door.
With your rifle drawn, you followed behind him. “Hey, watch your ste-“
You didn’t even get to finish your sentence when the ground crumbled under him. With a gasp, you scrambled to get a hold of something but lost your footing all the same. It was second nature to pull you close to shield you as you fell on top of him onto the floor under. He blinked up at you and for a stunned moment you both froze.
“You broken?” he croaked.
You pushed yourself off him. “Never,” you said, turning away.
“Commander,” the comms crackled alive. “You heard that?”
“Yep, that’s me. Fell through the floor. Watch your steps, boys.”
“Rog.”
He sat up, some sort of starstruck as he stared up at you dusting the front of your uniform off. “You’re bleeding again.”
You inspected your arm and tsked. “I’ll live,” you said before observing the room.
The rubble had blocked the door out. You tipped your head up to the massive hole in the ceiling you both fell through.
“I got a hook, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to climb up with how weak the structure is.“ You turned to the collapsed window. “Suggest we rappel down instead.” With no answer, you turned to him again with a frown. “You gonna get up or what?” You offered him a hand.
He cleared his throat and took your hand. Your grip was strong and warm as you pulled him to his feet, but white-hot pain shot up his leg and his knee buckled. The same one you’d kicked minutes earlier.
You gripped his arm to steady him. “Aw, shit. Did you fuck up your leg?” You zeroed in on your rifles tossed a few feet away from the fall and handed it to him. “Let’s get out of Dodge. I’ll set up the line.”
He hopped away from the rubble to follow you.
“DON’T! I’m not falling down another floor!” you scolded, whipping to him. “Just hold onto me.”
With his arm around your shoulder and yours around his waist, you led him to the solid wall near the opening.
From your pack, you pulled out a coil of rope, and the buddy strap which you tossed towards him. Next, you secured the line around the corner structure with practiced hands before tossing it out through the shot-up wall. Phillip could only watch you get shit done in awe.
“Ma’am, I just gotta tell ya. You are one dynamite gal.”
You paused before looking up at him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t call me ma’am,” you countered.
He grinned. As a Marine NCO, he never liked getting called sir either, even then as a commander, but it was always fun pushing a button or two. And he wanted to see you smile.
“A Gunny should know better.”
“So you do know me. My last rank?” He chuckled. “I’m flattered. What else do you know?”
“Shut it, Graves.”
The smile only widened. “That an order?”
“You sure talk a lot for someone who isn’t helping.” On your knees, you zipped your pack back up.
He hobbled over. “I’d love to help, but you have everything under control.”
You held your hand up. “Just put on the strap.”
“Case in point.”
You rolled your eyes.
He shouldn’t be having this much fun with you, should he? With a chuckle, he followed your order before speaking into his comms, “Erikson, give us overwatch. North side wall. We’re rappelling down.”
“Rog,” he replied.
You put your pack on him, and with your back against his chest in a squat position, pulled the buddy strap over your shoulders. “Who contacted you?”
“Your corporal, via General Shepherd.”
You straightened up and pulled the straps tight, securing him to you. “You mean my captain?”
“No. Corporal Boyle.”
You stilled. You knew what that meant.
Phillip grimaced. Maybe he shouldn’t have told you. “Your men have enormous respect for you. The kid fought tooth and nail to get you back.” He might be staring at the back of your head, but he could imagine you pressing your lips into a thin line.
“It’s nothing personal,” you dismissed, stepping over the two ropes and brought the sides over your hips for the makeshift harness.
It wasn’t his first time being carried at all, but by you, and so effortlessly? It wasn’t everyday someone as gorgeous as you helped him. He couldn’t help the flare in his cheeks. Was it his knee making him delirious? He latched on, legs around your waist before you stepped backwards towards the edge of the building and off it.
“Graves, is that you?” Erikson called.
He turned to his men on the ground staring up at the both of you.
Dipaolo snickered before piping up, “Thought you meant the medical was for the Sergeant.”
“Not a word,” he warned.
When you made it to the ground, you set him down gently and turned to him. He looked up at you, eyes wide, face impossibly hot. “T-thank you,” he muttered.
The beginning of a smile -the first one- flickered on your lips. Until giggles rang behind him.
You scowled, gaze moving past him to his boys. “Alright, enough with the goo goo eyes.” You drew your rifle. “Let’s head back. Your commander looks like he might be having a fever.”
Oh, it was just the awful, awful honey glow in his cheeks.
Erikson drove and Dipaolo tended to your “scratch” while Phillip filled him in on his knee, which thankfully looked like it only needed a few days of rest. You were quiet on the ride as you hydrated and had snacks. Poor gal, you must have been exhausted having been on the run all alone.
When the vehicle pulled up at RV, your men jumped to their feet.
“Appreciate the help, boys.” You clapped the back of Erikson’s seat and nodded at Phillip. “Graves.”
He smiled, but you’d turned and stepped out of the vehicle.
“Sergeant! We assumed the worst!” the corporal exclaimed as the group jogged to you.
“Likewise. Good to see you boys.” You smacked Boyle’s shoulder.
Phillip held onto Dipaolo as he helped him to the building. “Your ride’s waiting. Take care boys.”
“Aye, sir!” the men answered.
He might have rounded the corner, but he still heard the suppressed laughter.
“Oh shit. Why’s he limping?” “Sergeant, did you kick his ass?” “He must have called you ma’am.”
“Park it,” you ordered. “Let’s head home.”
Shadow stayed back and finished their business in Al Mazrah before heading back to HQ the following week. It didn’t use to matter where Phillip was, with no one waiting for him at home, but this time, it was different. There was something he was looking forward to.
It was a pleasant surprise your base and his were in the same county. Okay, it wasn’t a surprise. He’d known this having read your dossier, and it was the last base he was stationed in, and it just happened to be that you were there too. It was a coincidence, but what good was a coincidence if he didn’t do anything about it?
It was Thursday when he pushed the door into the open office. There you were, scribbling away at your desk when everyone else was in the chow hall.
He walked up to you, but you didn’t look up. He waited. A chance to look at you freely: your creaseless uniform, your hair combed – not a strand out of place. Was it bad he thought you were just as gorgeous the last time he saw you?
“If you have nothing to say you can leave,” you finally said.
“Nice base.”
That got you to whip up to him. Your eyes widened for a split second. Did you like him in civilian clothing? He did try to look good in his jacket and jeans.
“Ain’t mine,” you countered. “The general’s not here.”
“Well, I’m not here for him. Here to see ya.”
“For? Hey, how did you even get clearance?”
Phillip chuckled. “Wanted to see if you’re free this weekend.”
“And why would that be any of your business?”
“Oh, I don’t know-“ he shrugged, looking away playfully- “Maybe because you owe me one. As I recall I found you in Al Mazrah, and you kicked me behind the knee.”
That got a smile out of you. “And what about the fact that I had to buddy rappel you?”
“Which is exactly why I owe you a coffee.”
“I’m good.” You chuckled, going back to your papers. “Don’t need any more coffee in my system.”
His blue eyes slid down to your ring finger. “Well, will someone get jealous if I called it a date?”
You failed to hide that amused smile.
“How about we settle it in the range? If you win, I don’t ask again.”
You paused before meeting his eyes. How much was he allowed to enjoy having you look up at him for a change?
“You know what, I think I do need to shoot something.”
He grinned. “We have time.”
You led the way to the range. Not because he didn’t know his way, but because if he hung back he had all the time in the world to eye your strong shoulders, square as you walked with your boots thudding assuredly.
“This was my last base,” he said with a fond smile, taking in the halls. “Place hasn’t changed much at all. Some people still recognise me too.”
“You’re infamous. Everyone knows you.”
Phillip smiled. “Not you though.”
You sucked your teeth playfully. “I’ve only heard of you. But I think I was already here before you left.”
You were, according to your dossier. It was very possible you’d met years ago but were none the wiser.
He quickened his steps to be next to you. “Am I really infamous?”
“The verdict is split. Some think it’s not very Marine of you to do it for the money. And some think…” You let out a light chuckle. “Well, bills don’t pay themselves.”
He barked out a laugh. “And which camp are you in?”
“As long as you’re fighting for the right cause, it doesn’t matter which colour you wear.”
He nodded. “Well said.”
“Why did you leave?”
“I don’t like getting told what to do-“ he shrugged, turning to you- “Very pedestrian, huh?”
You laughed, loud and open.
That resonated with you, didn’t it? The sight made him smile. “I’m not complaining about the bills getting paid though.”
“At least you’re honest, Graves,” you said, a glint in your eye.
At the training facility, you unlocked the weapon’s locker and gestured at the line of handguns. “Pick your poison.”
With Phillip’s choice in hand, the both of you headed to the outdoor range. You stopped at the 7-yard lane.
“10 rounds. You go first,” you said.
“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped up and pulled back the handgun’s slide.
“Thought you didn’t like getting told what to do,” you teased.
He assumed his stance. “Thought you didn’t like getting called ma’am.”
“Touche.”
He aimed down range. “I don’t mind you telling me what to do.” Bang. “I’ve always been pretty good at taking orders after all-“ he glanced over- “ma’am.”
“You can call me that if I get to call you sir.”
Bang. He didn’t mean the smirk. “Threatening me with a good time?”
“God, you’re impossible.” You rolled your eyes, but smiled all the same.
He didn’t want to be cocky, but he wasn’t a bad shot at all – wouldn’t have challenged you to it if he was. But you took your shots with so much poise that he frowned. Were you going to beat him after all?
The both of you walked up to the board for the score. He got 89 out of 100. Respectable. You, though, got 91.
“Fuck me,” he muttered. He didn’t mean to.
You laughed. “Sorry, Graves,” you said, not looking sorry.
He huffed. “Well, you sure are one dynamite gal.” He was going to honour his promise, but it didn’t make it any less disappointing.
You put away the pistol and headed back, Phillip silent next to you. Personnel had started to return to their stations from the chow hall, greeting you as they passed.
“Oh, come on! Don’t go sulking now.” With a chuckle, you bumped his shoulder with yours as you approached the building. “It’s just 2 points, was probably home-court advantage.”
“Do I get a rematch then?” he teased. “My base is just an hour and a half away.”
You smiled.
He couldn’t help returning it. “Joking. Well, you got friends nearby, if you ever need any help. Corporal Boyle knows how to reach me.”
“I don’t.”
He turned to you, brow raised. “Are you asking for my number?”
“How am I going to call you otherwise?”
“Will you?” he challenged.
You shrugged. “I don’t know yet. You’ll have to find out.”
He laughed to himself. You were having too much fun now. He liked seeing you so. He placed his phone in your open hand and you texted yourself.
“I’ll be waiting for your call.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“Didn’t say I would call.”
“Oh, but I think you will.”
You smiled. “Right, now get out of here. Don’t need people talking about this.”
It was embarrassing the smile Phillip wore the whole walk back to his SUV.
The next part is linked above if already up
Masterlist
It was one hecc of a bullet that went through my chonky hindleg in Las Vegas.
I didn’t want to cry or be a bad boi for not protecting Hesh, but I couldn’t even stand that Logan had to carry me as the team fought their way to exfil. Nothing had ever hurt so bad.
On the helo ride back as Hesh patched me up, he said Papa Walker was gone. I whimpered. The last time I saw him was in the safehouse, when we were ambushed and he commanded me to hide.
I never liked those prickly things they had at the vet, but I was too tired to fight Hesh when he jabbed it into my paw. I was my first time seeing his eyes wet. With the little energy I had left, I licked his hand before my eyes were too heavy to open.
The Ghosts continued with their mission in South America and with a ‘mwah’ on my forehead, Hesh left me with Uncle Merrick, now the captain as he replaced dad. It was probably for the best. I was still so tired and couldn’t stand for too long yet.
Almost a week later, Hesh came back in pain. Something was wrong with his chest, wrapped in white strips like my thigh was. I climbed up onto the bed, resting my head on his thigh and stayed until it was dark outside. When Logan came to get me, I whimpered. I didn’t like being away from Hesh because I couldn’t protecc him.
“It’s okay, Riley,” Hesh said, patting my head. “I promise to not get hurt anymore.”
We didn’t get to see each other much while he recovered because he was in bed most of the time and couldn’t take care of me. They called it ‘out of commission’, like I was.
“Sorry, buddy,” Logan said, as he locked me in my crate after tending to me.
He kept me there most of the time and didn’t let me play with my K9 frens while my wound healed. I promised to not lick it, but he put a heccin lampshade on me anyway. He knew it made me stupid, rendering my whiskers useless that I kept bumping into doorways and stuff. Traitor.
I liked him a lot though. He’d wrestle me and gib delicious hooman food, but when I finally got this satellite dish off, I was going to steal his noms.
“Two don’t technically make a gang, but we’re Logang, okay?” he said, booping my paw with his.
I turned to Hesh, smiling in his bed.
Logan turned my face back to him. “No, he’s too old to be included.”
But he always said we were a pack anyway. Papa was the old Walker, Hesh was the big one, and he was the medium one. I was the smol (and furry) Walker. I liked that. I liked having a pack, because that meant no one would be alone.
Sometime after Hesh and I got better, we moved out of the base to an apartment near a park. It was nice. I’d missed him a lot. No one gave better scratches than him.
But he was different, and I didn’t know why. At night, he’d look out the window for a very long time. I also liked looking out windows, but only during rides (especially in cars with a round hole in the roof I could stick my head out off) because I liked the wind in my face.
He never did this back on base, probably because we were rarely alone and he was always doing something. Hoomans thought a lot. They talked about these things I didn’t understand, and sometimes didn’t talk at all for a long time. Us doggos, we preferred to nap, but I learnt hoomans didn’t nap as much as we did.
Maybe Hesh didn’t know what to do with himself, like me when I was stuck in my crate imagining rolling on the grass outside and all the things I could smell and bark at.
I know! Walkies always did me a happy. I jumped off my bed and boofed at the door. Hesh rounded the corner and chuckled when I whined at my leash hung behind the door.
“I guess a walk isn’t a bad idea.”
I had enough exercise on base, so Hesh didn’t have to walk me so much anymore, but it was nice to finally explore the park. I liked smelling new smells. This late, the park was quiet, but I could tell many doggo frens had been here before. Maybe next time I could meet them!
As we neared the end of the park, I tipped my snoot up to smell the air. I let out a smol bork towards the delicious scent.
Hesh laughed. “Of course you smell it, huh.”
Mlem.
We continued, approaching the crowd. My tail swayed at the food trucks, lined up under the warm string lights. The customers’ chatter didn’t drown the metal clinks and sizzling.
Hesh was too predictable. Of course he picked the loaded hashbrowns truck. He carried the nom to an empty table nearby before slipping my leash under a chair leg and stabbed the cup of lemonade with a straw.
It was only then the smell hit me. This caramelised, krispi bacon sprinkled over the cheese sauce on his food. I put my paws up on the table, sniffing it. I supposed he did have a good taste. I leaned in as I mlemed. A little lick wouldn’t hurt…
“Hey!” Hesh pulled my ear.
With my paws back on the ground, I whimpered, giving him my best puppy eyes. He had to share. We were a pack!
He sucked his teeth. “Alright, just a bit.” He tossed me half a hashbrown and I caught it effortlessly. Mlem.
Hehe. Worked every time.
Hesh did that every so often: stayed up late looking out the window before buying his favourite meal. At least he always paid the Riley tax. Sometimes when I rested my head on his thigh watching him eat each bite, he’d talk about dad. About how he’d have loved to see San Diego in peace like it used to be. Peace meant happy walkies, so I agreed. I thought he’d have loved the bacon bits too.
One night, he went out again, but this time, it felt like he took longer than usual. He was doin’ me a worry so I got up from my bed to wait at the door.
When he eventually walked in, for the first time, he showed me his teeth. He even bought two loaded hashbrowns - one for me surely. Something must have happened for him to be in such a good mood. If he had a tail like me, it would be wagging.
I boofed, following him to the dining table.
Hesh started taking me out on walkies almost every day after work with a bounce in his feet I’d never seen before. It was a weird, but welcomed change. I loved walkies, no matter how late, but I still hoped to meet new frens.
During one particularly late walkie, Hesh slowed down as he waved. I followed his line of sight. Oh, a fren shape!! The hooman jogged towards us and I panted as the heccin angery lookin’ doggo neared. If he had bright eyes, he’d do me a frighten, like Uncle Keegan when we first met!
“David! Hi,” she said before looking down at me. “And you must be Riley.”
She knew me! Did she come to give treats? I boofed.
“You can pet him,” Hesh said as her doggo circled me, tail swaying.
“Hi, Riley.” She let me sniff her hand before scratching my neck. “This is Colin.”
HENLO FREN!
Colin kneaded, not looking angery anymore. He was a big fren. A woofer. My first, because all my frens on base were other German Shepherd doggos just like me!
He had mostly black floof, with brown bits on his chest, legs and face - the colour of perfectly golden-brown cookies. Unlike my big, upright ears, his were droopy triangles on the sides of his round face.
Unfortunately, Hesh’s friend didn’t have treats, but she offered to walk a lap together and handed Colin’s leash to Hesh. Double unfortunate though, because we walked past the food trucks, despite Colin and my whimpers.
I liked my new fren. He knew how to be a doggo.
Maybe next time. Hesh was already doin’ me a happ showing his teeth so much when talking to her. I didn’t know he had so many teeth.
At one of the gates, he stopped. “Do you like chicken nuggets?”
CHIMKIN NUGGIES?! Colin and I boofed.
She laughed. “Of course. Who doesn’t?”
Exactly. Why was Hesh asking such a silly question?
“You want to get some with me sometime?” he asked, suddenly smelling a little sweaty. “We can go to a dog park afterwards.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’d love that.”
Oh, did that mean I was going to meet Colin again? He would do me a heccin’ fun, wrestling with me.
We watched as she and Colin walked away before Hesh led us back home, his teeth still showing.
That Saturday, Hesh woke me with his grunts. He was pushing the floor, all sweaty, before bathing and blasting his chest with the pfft pfft that made him smell wrong.
He told me to eat and brushed my floof. He never brushed my floof in the morning. He was doin’ me a suspicioso. I thought I was healed! I didn’t mean to start shaking.
“Oh, Riley, no, no. We’re not going to the vet!” He grabbed my shoulders. “We’re meeting Colin!”
He sounded too happy to meet my fren, but it was enough to stop the frighten. Maybe we were getting the nuggies he mentioned! I shouldn’t have eaten my kibbles.
When we got to the park and laid on the blankie Hesh laid out, I finally understood why he was so happy. It must have been someone’s birthday, with all the snaccs his fren had packed us. There were peanut butter sandwiches, chimkin, eggs and colourful cronch sticks.
No wonder Colin was such a big woofer. He ate heccin good. Maybe Hesh wouldn’t mind if I had a sleepover at her house.
After lounging around and playing with Colin’s toys, Hesh drove us to get ‘pupper cups’ as she’d suggested. I’d never heard of them, but when I had a little taste of the fluffy white cloud, I knew I wanted her to be my hooman. I still loved Hesh very much, but she’d take a wonderful care of me.
And then she booped Hesh’s cheek with her face. He must have been very thirsty by now - showing that much teeth only made my mouth dry, but with the way he was looking at her, I knew he wanted her to be his hooman too.
We started going on walkies together after work.
The first time we went to hers, Colin angery borked when I walked in. He did me a surprise, but then showed me how to wipe my pawpaws on the doormat to keep his house clean.
“Alright, dinner’s ready,” she called from the kitchen while we wrestled by the couch, and we came running for the chimkin dindin.
I was right. Everything was better at hers. Even Colin’s kibbles tasted better. If I stayed here long enough, I’d probably become a woofer too.
I saw Colin more and more, and Hesh and his fren started licking each other’s face. When we stayed over, Colin was really nice to share his bed, even though only half of our bodies could fit in it. She came over to ours sometimes too, but then only our heads fitted in my bed. I have since wiped my feet on the mat at home too. Hesh seemed to like that very much.
He would take us to the pet shop and buy us new toys – squeakies, chewies and ropes. I didn’t want to be ungrateful, but my favourite game was wrestling with Colin. The hoomans told us to not do it at home anymore though, because one time we hit the table and spilt colourful water on the carpet.
Eventually, Hesh left my spare leash at hers, and got me my own water and nom bowl to put next to Colin’s. I liked how often I saw him and his hooman. She took a good care of him and was always so nice to me, giving me pats and scratches. If Colin loved her, I loved her too.
I wondered if Logan would too, because I could tell Hesh really, really liked her.
When we finally met the medium Walker, Colin looked angery, like he always was around strangers. I tried to tell Logan it wasn’t Colin’s fault his face looked like that, but he didn’t seem to understand and kept his distance. I tried to cheer him up with a few licks on his hand.
Later that day, when Colin got more kibbles and decided Logan was a good boi, he slipped between Logan’s legs with his tongue out when we waited for lemonades from the food truck. With big eyes and many teeth, he said we were officially Logang.
After that, Logan would take us on walks or hikes. As a gang, he said. Colin liked him a lot too – he gave us good wrestles… and more treatos and fries than our hoomans.
While Logan always went on missions with Hesh, I didn’t. I usually stayed on base with the other K9s when I wasn’t needed, but one day Hesh made me stay with Colin. As much as I loved my frens on base, his hooman fed me way better and took us out on walkies every day. That, and it was a lot less lonely than having to be all alone in my crate at night because Hesh’s fren let us join her in bed if we wanted. She even gave us bedtime ‘mwah’s!
Soon after Hesh came back, the park had a party with plenty of frens! There were so many new smells, and I was so excited to meet everybody. But unlike the parties Hesh’s fren made for us, Hesh told me to find the treats myself in the fenced playground.
He called it a scavenger hunt, but it was like what we usually did on missions. The treats didn’t smell as good as bacon, but they weren’t hard to find. This time, everyone looked so happ when I found all three hidden treatos.
“Riley, good job, bud!” Hesh said, patting my side.
A woman gave me a shiny necklace and people said I was a good boi. Hehe. I liked this scavenger hunt thing. Mlem.
We joined Colin outside the fence, who entered another area to sit with other woofers, all in harnesses. Next to the others, he didn’t look as big, but he was still the angeriest. I liked that about him, because it meant he could protecc Hesh’s fren.
And I knew how much Hesh liked her. He licked her face often, always latching onto her at bedtime. Like I did to my favourite blankie when I was a pupper.
I boofed at Colin, and he boofed back before panting. People secured ropes tied to boxes to the woofers, and their hoomans waited at the other end of the arena. The whistle blew and frens made their way across the field as people cheered. I could tell the weight was heavy because they were moving in slow motion.
But not Colin and another brown doggo. I think that woofer might be bigger than my angery brother, who’d stopped halfway down the field.
“Colin, you can do it!” Hesh yelled, and I borked.
When the brown doggo slowed down, Colin charged down the field to Hesh’s fren and the whistle blew again. A man walked up to them, but Colin made a face. He gave her the necklace instead.
We went to see a very nice man who gave everyone with a doggo with a shiny necklace a big box of treats. He gave Hesh two. Colin and I wagged our tails. We must have been very good bois!
Back at Colin’s house, the hoomans ate their noms on the couch while we laid by their feet.
“They’re raising the rent in two months,” she said.
I knew rent. Logan said it was something you paid with what you got from working. It meant she had to collect more treats to stay in her home.
Hesh looked up from his burger, and she continued. “I’ve been looking at new places nearby, but the ones within my budget don’t allow pets. So it looks like I’ll have to move a little further out.”
“Oh, how far?”
“20-30 minutes on foot.”
There was a pause while Hesh started smelling sweaty. “You know, I’ve been thinking of asking you to move in with me. My place is a little bigger, and well, we already spend most nights together.”
“David, you know I didn’t tell you so you’d ask me this, right?”
“No, no, I know. But I meant it. I’d love to make that permanent, and I know Riley likes having Colin too.”
She looked away, like Colin would when he was in trouble.
“You don’t have to answer now. But we’ll come see you no matter where you go-“ he turned to me- “Right, Riley?”
I boofed. I liked him saying my name.
“I like having you both too.”
Hesh showed his teeth, scooting closer to her. “If you want, we can find a bigger place too. So the boys don’t have to keep bumping into the furniture when they wrestle.”
She pressed her head on his shoulder with a small laugh. “I’d love that.”
I was hoping Hesh would forget about his burger, but he held onto it when he licked her face.
We got a new home. This time, it looked out at the food truck park, not the other end of the walkie park anymore. Colin and I liked to stick our snoots between the bars of the balcony railing and smell all the smells.
We slept near the bedroom door so we could protecc our hoomans. We didn’t have to share our bed anymore, but with how Hesh and his fren always looked so happy pressed together in theirs, I wouldn’t mind if we had to share.
It was then I realised Colin was not my fren anymore. He was my brother. Like the big Walker and the medium Walker. Colin was bigger than me though, so it looked like I’d have to be demoted to be the tiny Walker and he’d be the smol one.
Hesh didn’t look out the window so much anymore, even that the view was better. If he did, it would be to check if it was dry, and the four of us would go on a walkie.
And as for Hesh’s friend, I understood she was his mate, the way he always wanted to be close to her. Bringing her treats, making sure she was warm and comfortable will at the blankies. And that meant along with Hesh, I had to protecc her too like the good boi I was.
Our family (hooman word for pack) was bigger now, and I liked it because we could take care of each other. I knew Papa Walker would have liked it too, especially when Hesh was all teeth and she could make his imaginary tail wag like that.
Phillip Graves | 2.1k | smut
oral + rimming (f receiving), switch Graves?
Phillip makes it clear swimwear is optional at his pool
“You ever skinny dipped?”
On the lounger by his pool, Phillip had you in his lap, arms around you under the dimming sun. His shoulders still soft and slick with oil from the massage you gave.
Next to your ear, he let out a chuckle. “What do you think?”
“Well, considering how far your neighbours are, I guess I didn’t have to ask.”
“I keep my swimming shorts on around you just to be polite.”
You looked over with a teasing smile. “Since when are you polite?”
He laughed, pressing a kiss on your shoulder bare shoulder. “Tryin’ my best, sweetheart.” His hand slid down your inner thighs.
“Case in point.”
“Don’t hear you complaining,” he mumbled against the side of your neck.
You spread your legs, enough for him to cup your clothed mound. “I do like you a little rude.”
Phillip nipped your shoulders before trailing kisses down your spine – the way that made you shiver, as he teased your opening over the smooth fabric of your swimsuit. When he licked the cuff of your ear, you arched your back with a hum, the ass he loved so much pressing against him.
“Kiss me, sweetheart.” With the way he hardened in his shorts, it didn’t come out as a command.
You turned and straddled him with an amused smile. You didn’t miss the plea in his voice. You ran a hand down his abdomen feeling the ripple as he shivered, palming his erection under the strained fabric. You liked seeing him soft for you, didn’t you?
With his hands on your waist, he pulled you into a kiss and you wrapped an arm around his neck. When you grabbed his blond hair, he let out a small gasp before rocking your hips against his. You grinded on him, his tip rubbing against your clit deliciously, making you moan into his mouth. He slid his tongue past your lips, coaxing a little gasp out of you.
The way your tongue swirled with his made his cock twitch under your heat. His rough hands slid down to palm your ass, fingers caressing and twirling the strings of your bottoms. He gave the flesh a squeeze, nails digging into your skin before pulling away. Your breathing’s picked up, eyes hooded with lips slick and perfect.
He pressed kissed along your jaw and you tilted your head, giving him access as he sucked your neck. His lips trailed down your sternum, a hand kneading one of your tits before sliding your top aside to suck on a nipple. You hummed, back arching. With you still in his mouth, he smiled. He loved doing that to you.
“Show me how wet I made you.”
You leaned back, and he rubbed along your slit before pinching the gusset of your bottoms. He pulled it back against your clit, the fabric nestling between your dripping lips. He shouldn’t be this pleased with himself, but he couldn’t help the smirk.
“Get up, baby.” He patted your ass, and you obliged. “Let me taste what’s mine.”
Phillip bent you over and you held onto the backrest of the lounger before he kneeled behind you. Rough hands kneaded your gorgeous ass, before he kissed and bit it with playful aggression. Pulling your bottoms aside, he leaned in, laving at your slit. He reached around, circling your slippery clit with two fingers.
Your back arched, your pussy drooling for him as his tongue slipped past, the tip of his nose pressed against your puckered hole. Your breathing picked up, barely supressing your moan
Did you have any idea how catastrophically bad he was into this, how deranged he was for you? Please excuse the slurping – he couldn’t help it.
“No need to be quiet, baby. No one can hear us.”
He retracted his hand from your clit and spat on your ass. He watched his glob of spit slid down to your pussy before he fucked it right into your tight, wet hole. Your legs quivered when he picked up his pace, juices running down his hand. You were getting there, weren’t you? The stifled moans you let out only fuelled him.
He buried his face between your cheeks, moaning pathetically as his cock pulsed in his shorts. His tongue circled your puckered hole with so much worship, he’d have to thank you for the privilege of tasting you like this afterwards.
When he finally pulled away, he landed a slap on your ass just to watch the jiggle before undoing your bottoms. He slid himself under you and leaned against the back of the lounger. He guided your hips over his face as he palmed himself over his shorts. Your fingers slid into his hair as you hovered over his mouth, barely allowing him your taste.
Your tentativeness was adorable, but you were doing him an awful disservice with it, and he was determined to make you sing.
“Ride my face like you mean it, baby,” he said, fingers digging into the fat of your ass, pulling you close.
You gasped - the way you tugged his hair was addicting. You obliged, and you had no idea how much he fucking loved it when you listened. Like you were all his, and his only.
You were perfect, head tipped back like that, nipples hard, moaning for him. Because of him. He didn’t mean to be so smug, but having you use him for you own pleasure made him swell with pride.
He slipped two fingers in, pumping, the noise wet and lewd.
Your breathing quickened. “Don’t stop, Phil,” you panted, voice pitching up in your neediness.
He wouldn’t even think of it.
His lips sealed over your clit, sucking gently. It was your weakness.
You came with a moan, hips bucking, and he held you to his unrelenting mouth as your thighs shook with the waves. When you pushed off him, he grinned up at you before wiping his wet mouth and chin with the back if his hand, way too proud of himself that he made you unravel.
Breathless, you curled up on his lap against his chest.
“That’s my good girl.” With a chuckle, he stroked your back. “You did good, sweetheart.”
You giggled, skin glowing, body buzzing as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. He had no shame when he took his time licking your taste off his fingers.
When you breathing evened out, Phillip looked at you. “Want to give me another one?”
With a little nod, you got up and straddled his hips. He took his time undoing the strings of your top, enjoying the view. His blue eyes flicked to you biting your lip in anticipation, eyes lidded. He chuckled, pulling the fabric aside before sliding his shorts off.
Your pretty fingers wrapped around his weeping cock, giving it a few pumps - as if he could get any fucking harder for you - before you sank down on him, hands on his shoulders. His head tipped back, sighing in satisfaction as he finally had you again. You sank a little further before sliding back up. And down, and up again.
He opened his eyes to a teasing smile on your lips as you fucked yourself on his tip.
He gripped your waist. “You think you’re funny, sweetheart?” He meant to sound more playful, but his desperation was a boulder in the way.
You let out a small laugh before sliding all the way down. You both moaned at the sensation of him filling you up. You rode him, slow at first - your hot, tight pussy squeezing him.
“You always feel so good,” he hissed. “Fucking perfect around my cock.”
You leaned in, breath hot as you panted in his ear. His hands dropped to your hips to rock you faster and you pulsed around him, dripping all over his trimmed pelvis.
You leaned away from him, hands behind you on his thighs as you continued to ride him, your sopping pussy stretched around him, speared on his cock on full display. Poor little clit got no attention, hard and twitching and begging for it. Someone had to change that.
Phillip planted his feet on the ground before fucking up into you. He landed a gentle slap on your pussy, making you clench down on him with a mewl.
He gasped, his high suddenly so close. He didn’t want to stop yet. “Keep doing that and I won’t last baby,” he warned, punishing you with a thumb swiping over your clit.
“You feel too good,” you whined.
“One more?”
You nodded, eyes shut. “Yes. Yes, one more, please.”
He smiled, always loved seeing your face flood with pleasure and desperation like that. Vulnerable and open as he fucked you just like this. Your gorgeous tits bounced with each thrust, nipples hardening as you neared your high.
“Look at me when you come,” he commanded, giving your clit a gentle squeeze with his fingers.
Your eyes flew open with a gasp as you clenched down deliciously on him again. “Oh- Phil-“
“Want to hear you. Let me hear you.”
He was a little rougher than he needed to be, but he wanted you- fuck, needed you so bad. The way your eyes fluttered, wet lips parted, it almost made him fold. How did he get so lucky with you? You drove him insane, and he was just a man.
“Come for me.” His thumb circled your clit mercilessly and you squeezed him again. “Want you to come on my cock.”
You nodded, biting your lip before you let out a moan, body trembling with another orgasm. His thumb slowed as you rode out your high.
With a pleased smile, Phillip gathered you in his arms and laid you down on the lounger. He climbed over you, bracketing you between his forearms giving you a slow, gentle kiss. You gripped his biceps, humming into his mouth, shivers running down your beautiful body.
“Did good for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck. His lips moved down to your collarbones, thumb caressing your hip. “Always so good for me, hm?”
You wrapped an arm around his neck as you reached down, stroking him languidly. He sighed, cock still painfully hard and drenched in your juices. Your hand was perfect around him, wasn’t it?
He gave you a peck before planting a foot on the ground, the other knee remained on the lounger. He pushed your knee up, sliding his length back and forth along your slit before slipping back in with a low groan.
He meant to kiss you when he started thrusting, but with the angle so deep, the way your pussy squeezed so perfectly, he could only moan into your mouth. He picked up his pace, lost in the pleasure as his balls slapped against your ass. He was too greedy to let go of your lower lip though, so he nibbled on it between broken moans and whines as he chased his own high.
You let out a small chuckle, hand rubbing his chest before pinching his nipple. His hiss broke into a moan, making you coo. Oh, you liked him all pathetic, didn’t you?
“You getting close, Phil?” you asked against his lips, a little mean, a little amused.
Like he hadn’t been holding it the whole time. He just didn’t want to stop rearranging your insides yet, but it was surely getting increasingly harder when you looked at him like that, like you couldn’t get enough of his cock.
“Want you to come for me, Phillip.”
With a grunt, his head dropped next to yours, breath hot against your skin.
“Want you to come in me.” You cupped his face, planting kisses along the side of his face. “Would you do that?”
He groaned, getting so fucking close. “I’ll fill you up, baby,” he panted, rutting harder but losing his rhythm as his abdomen clenched. “I’ll fill you up so good,” he promised.
You bit his earlobe, and it was his undoing.
He groaned, cock twitching each time he spurted deep into your pussy. He shivered when you bit the crook of his neck. His hips slowed as emptied himself in you.
When his orgasm subsided, he pressed his forehead against yours, chest heaving and damp with sweat. “Fuck, baby. You make me crazy.”
You gave him a quick peck before he grabbed you and rolled you on top of him. The way you smiled down at him like you were proud of yourself made him want to fuck you some more.
He took handfuls of your ass and leisurely pumped into you, your pussy even slicker now filled to the brim with his cum. You leaned in with a tender kiss.
“Just so we’re clear, clothes are optional at my place,” he said against your lips.
You smiled. “Rog, commander.”
This is a bonus scene after Ch 6 of Paint and Sip series
Masterlist
Phillip Graves | 4.4k | fluff
A little promise to get the other end of the couch (p1)
Truth is the first casualty of war.
Shepherd denied ordering a hit on the 141. Phillip on the other hand… Well, saying he didn’t act on the order wasn’t a complete lie. He’d given the Brits a chance, a chance they didn’t take, before he acted.
He had to admit, at least Shepherd had been thoughtful with the order, authorising him to bypass a confrontation by nipping the problem in the bud lest it escalated. But he was not taking the fall for anyone.
While walking into that courtroom had felt like opening Schrodinger’s box, it turned out Shepherd didn’t have much at all against him. Oz had done a fantastic job erasing his commander’s trace when he laid low after the tank incident. He’d learnt well after the mishap in Al Mazrah.
The hearing quickly turned into a “he said, she said” impasse. Fucker was banking on Phillip folding, but the commander knew a thing or two about bluffing too.
The ticking bomb had no explosives. If he couldn’t win, at least Shepherd couldn’t either. If the general wanted to be on a power trip, he could go right ahead and pull his contracts. If he could find a better PMC, that was. He’d only get reminded of why Shadow Company was Shadow Company.
Phillip headed straight to the airport after the hearing. When he showed up at your door later that night, you gave him a long hug and kisses all over his face. You led him in by the hand, past a large luggage by the couch filled with your stuff from his place Oscar had hauled up earlier that day.
Freshly showered, he climbed into bed and pulled you to lay on his chest.
“Johanna, she knows my name, right?”
“What? Of course.”
“It’s- I think she called me Felix last night.” He stared as you burst into laughter.
“She calls you Fix-It Felix.” When his brow rose, you asked, “You don’t know who that is?”
He shook his head and you pulled up a picture of an animated character. Some blond man in a light blue button down and jeans holding a golden hammer – a comically joyful handyman.
He barked out a laugh. “That is me.”
“His magic hammer fixes everything.” You placed your phone back on the nightstand before snuggling back up to him.
He pulled you close. “Could really use a magic hammer right now.”
“You don’t need one. There’s nothing you can’t fix.”
He smiled. He supposed he didn’t need to have everything figured out, if you’d be with him either way. It was more than what he could ever ask for.
He kissed the top of your head. “I was thinking. How about we host Thanksgiving for your friends this weekend?”
You turned to him. “Really?”
“Yeah, I never got to meet them properly. I know it’s last minute, but if they’re in town.”
None of you had ever initiated it. He assumed because you wanted to know this was steady, for the lack of a better word. He didn’t take it personally, remembering once upon a time, his schedule made it seem unmanageable.
For him though, when he made his intentions clear at that park after you appeased him with an ice cream sandwich, when you thought he was joking about asking you out on a date. There had never been an ounce of doubt that he wanted you for more than a long time. If his people were yours, your friends were his too, right?
“Oh, P, that would be so nice.”
He returned your smile, patting your head. “About time Isack cooks us a feast.”
Phillip’s favourite thing about staying over at yours was that you’d get up before him to get ready for work, and you’d wake him up with kisses on his face. With your skin cool from your shower, he’d pull you back to bed and pin you under him for a few more minutes as you laughed.
That morning, Oscar waited in front of your door in his suit. You glanced at Phillip with a raised brow. He took your hand and led you to the Rolls Royce Phantom parked at the building’s entrance.
You laughed. “Are we meeting the Queen?”
“I take my job of making sure you get to work in style very seriously,” he said, opening the door for you.
You shook your head as you got in. He hoped you’d never get tired of his shenanigans. You settled in the plush airline-style seats, and Oscar drove off after Phillip tapped the frosted glass of the privacy partition.
You leaned back, looking up at the LED stars on the ceiling. “How is the head rest so soft? I might fall asleep.”
“See, I knew you’d like it.” He pushed the button on the upright console between your seats, revealing another compartment. “What if I have a milkshake in here?”
“No way.” You pulled the handle to reveal an empty mini cooler and gave him a playful pout, “Okay, I wasn’t even thinking of it, but I’m kind of disappointed now.”
He kissed your hand. “I’ll get it next time. A milkshake for your breakfast.”
“That sounds like your thing.”
“Might be your thing too, judging by how excited you got.”
“You did this to me.”
Nearing your work, he pulled you in for a kiss. Well, not just one, really. What use of such a large seat if you couldn’t sit on his lap?
He wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb as you smoothed down your top. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
“Lunch? Won’t you be at work?”
“I’m taking the day off.” He patted your thigh.
“You, away from work?” You poked his nose with a laugh. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
He smiled, kissing the dip at the base of your neck.
See? You were wrong. Phillip was away from work.
Well, he was doing what he did for work, but it didn’t count if it was personal, right?
From across the street, he watched as the woman exited her house wearing a skimpy black dress and heels, a coat folded on her arm. She tossed her wavy hair over her shoulder before her green Beetle unlocked with a beep.
He hopped off his Rover. “Mikaela,” he called in a cheerful tone.
She whipped to him. “Oh- Graves, I-“ Her gaze dropped to her feet, tucking her hair behind her ear, cheeks tinting as she bit down a shy smile. “I wasn’t expecting you. Is everything okay?”
He continued his leisurely steps towards her, hands in his jacket pockets as he smiled. “I wanted to see you.”
“You did?” she asked hopefully.
“Mhm.” He closed in on her, making her back up against the side of the car with an enthusiastic gasp. His dimples flashed. “You’re messing with my woman, Mikaela.”
Her smile flickered as she let out an awkward chuckle, averting her gaze. “Oh, I-“
“Careful now, I'm not a very patient man when it comes to loose ends.” He leaned in with a sneer, voice dipping, “I prefer when they... Disappear."
Her breath stuttered, body tensing. He pulled away to her wide eyed as she clutched her coat with trembling hands.
When she let out a broken sob, he didn’t look back.
With the next hearing a month and a half away and no upcoming deployments, Phillip figured he could step back from work a little and make up for lost time with you.
He spent worknights at yours, and drove and picked you up from work, and took you to his for the long weekend, the large luggage in tow. He’d missed his home, but most importantly, you in it. At least your stuff would fill a fraction of the void if you couldn’t be there with him.
On Sunday, you and him hosted Friendsgiving dinner. Isack (who still called you Mrs. Graves) had been cooking all day, filling the house with the fragrance of warm spices. Rafe seemed to enjoy the smell too, accompanying the chef for the most part.
First, two of your friends arrived together with their significant others. They exchanged pleasantries with Phillip before you led them in.
“So that’s the infamous cowboy hat,” one whispered before the other giggled as you passed the foyer cabinet.
You swatted her arm. Phillip shot you a knowing look, but you were too busy pretending you didn’t know what was up with the hat.
Soon, as you served drinks, the door buzzed again. You told him to get it this time.
He swung the door open, Rafe next to him. “Johanna, welcome.”
“Graves. Thanks for having me,” she said, gazed dropping to her feet. “Hey, I… wanted to apologise for last time. I-“
He patted her shoulder. “It’s all good, no need to apologise.”
She looked up at him, surprised. “Oh-“
“It’s fine, really. If any, I’m glad you have her back,” he said. “You’re a good friend.”
A smile flickered on her lips.
“We’re happy you could make it. Come in.” He stepped aside and led her to the dining room.
With everyone present, Isack served the first course. When he noticed the 8th seat was empty, Phillip said it was his. The disbelieving, yet grateful gasp the chef let out made him chuckle.
Between bites, one of your friends said she’d always wanted to go to France which prompted Isack to share his stories about his hometown, a small village with plenty of fine wine. His wife, his childhood sweetheart, lived right down his street.
The other asked, stars in her eyes, “How did you know she was the one?”
“My mother always said, ‘Isack, it’s not about being easy, because everyone is there when it’s easy.’” He smiled, fondness in his eyes. “’You need a girl who wants to lift the other end of the sofa when you need to move it’. Ma chérie-“ he chuckled- “she’s sometimes not good at it, but she always wants to help, and that’s more than enough.”
The table aww-ed, and Phillip turned to you, but you were already looking at him with a small smile. Something swelled in his chest, the kind that made him want to give you everything.
“To Mr. and Mrs. Graves,” Isack said with a grin, raising his glass. “À la vôtre!”
The table fell quiet. The chef peered around the table, the growing silence made his eyes grow wider and wider, arm sagging in the air.
“You guys are married?!” Johanna exclaimed.
“No!” you interjected. Should Phillip be offended by how flustered you got? “Isack called me that when we first met and- well, we never corrected him.”
“Merde,” he muttered before letting out an awkward laugh. “Ah, it’s bad luck to not toast after you raise your glass, so-“ he straightened his arm- “Santé. Cheers!”
“Santé!” the rest of the table replied with laughter, glasses raised, before taking a sip.
“Remember to never assume, children,” he mumbled before following suit, cheeks rosy.
After dessert (the most decadent lava cake with vanilla ice cream), Phillip and the boyfriends discussed sports in the living room while you and your girls chatted on the pool deck. It was fulfilling, hosting, doing something with you. Like you were a real couple, with witnesses.
Through the accordion glass doors, you caught his eye. He winked and raised his beer at you, and you blew him a kiss. If his cheeks got hot, he was blaming the alcohol.
Before it got too late, the guests excused themselves, thanking you and Phillip (and Isack) once more for the wonderful dinner.
“That was nice,” Phillip said after he locked up behind the chef.
“It was.” You smiled, pulling him in for a peck before taking his hand. “Come, let’s get ready for bed.”
Freshly showered, he got under the covers to wait for you. Now that his work was slower, he should- His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He tilted it and scowled. What the fuck did Shepherd want, texting his private number at this hour? It was a little too late now to be amicable over Thanksgiving-
Soap was KIA, shot in the head point blank
His stomach sank. This wasn’t something anyone would lie about.
Their last interaction might not have been the most memorable, but… This wasn’t what he imagined for the Scot. A wave of melancholy swept low. He’d seen how well the sergeant had got along with Ghost and his Shadows, well-loved by everyone around him. Like sunshine, like the first smile after a rush of tears.
Phillip was reminded again of his mortality. That life and death were only separated by a razor-thin margin, a high wire he walked. That eternal darkness could very well be a blink away.
What would people have to say when it was his turn? Who would he hurt with it, if there was anyone to hurt?
Would you be there?
“P, you okay?”
Your concerned voice snapped him out of his thoughts. You’d climbed in bed next to him. He searched your eyes, the devotion clear as day in them.
You would, wouldn’t you? You’d be with him through it all. He could feel it in his bones. You were it.
“You should take Friday off.” He pulled you into a firm embrace. “I’m taking you on a weekend trip.”
You chuckled. “Boss won’t let me on such a short notice.”
“Ask.”
You gave a knowing smile. “Am I asking or announcing?”
“Whatever you wanna call it, baby. I’m still hauling you away.”
“Excuse me, I can’t do whatever I want!” You laughed. “Unlike you.”
He smiled, pulling you with him as he laid back.
It took some digging, but within days Phillip learnt Makarov had shot Sergeant Mactavish in the London tunnel last Tuesday. He was disarming a bomb, trying to save lives. Like a true soldier, gallant, pushing on with abandon for the mission.
Ruthless. Unceremonious. Such an abrupt end for a bright young man, without even the dignity to fight for his life.
There was only one person to call.
“I heard about Soap,” Phillip started. “I’m sorry. He was a good kid, fearless. Spoke so highly of you.”
Price scoffed, paused, and let out a deep sigh. “He saved my life,” he said, gravelly voice barely a whisper.
His eyes shut as Vance crossed his mind. He’d done the same.
It just got personal. If the captain hated the man in front of him, Phillip loved what was behind him.
“What do you need from me?”
The Brit let out a dark chuckle.
Friday morning, Phillip pulled up to yours in a shiny blue Mustang with its roof down. Rafe, now officially retired, panted in the backseat wearing his goggles, tail wagging at the sight of you.
He grinned, pushing his aviators up on his head. “I bought it.”
“You weren’t kidding.” You laughed, placing your bag in the footwell of the backseat after giving the doggo a few pats.
“You liked it, and I couldn’t resist.” You got in the passenger seat and he gave you a kiss. “We could have taken a helo, but, well, I wanted to show off,” he said, zipping up your (his) jacket.
Yes, it was 100% yours now, but he really liked knowing it used to be his, and that you were his, okay?
“That’s kinda your thing, isn’t it?” you teased as you strapped yourself in. “Showing off.”
“Damn fuckin’ right, sweetheart, especially when it comes to you.”
The road trip took a little over 4 hours, including stops for Rafe. After lunch, you checked into a luxury cabin right outside the national park. You got geared up, looking forward to exploring the rest of the iconic desert landscape, and hike amongst the unique trees and rock formations.
After a BBQ dinner (unfortunately not as good as his steak), you settled in for the night. But wait, there was one more thing to do.
Phillip led you to the solarium, made for stargazing with its tall ceiling and large glass panels. He dragged a massive beanbag chair to the middle of the room and made you sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he leaned back, arms around you. Rafe curled up on the other chair in the corner.
The Andromeda galaxy stretched as a band across the dark sky. Its dense stars clusters swirled and twinkled against streaks of dust lanes, glowing vibrant purple and rust.
He handed you a pair of binoculars before looking through his own. “You see the three bright stars in a curve? That’s the Orion belt. Pretty, huh?”
You hummed.
“But the best thing about him is under his belt-“
You laughed.
He chuckled. “I didn’t mean it like that. See the pink fuzz down there?” he asked, gazing at the interstellar clouds, like strokes of watercolour blooming as they bled into the dark. “That’s the Orion nebula.”
“Fitting,” you said. “How do you know all this anyway?”
He put his binoculars away, turning to you. “I read up. Wanted to impress you.”
“Well, I am impressed,” you said with a soft smile as you continued to admire the sky.
“There was this one time. I was still a Lance, and we were in the middle of the ocean. Pitch black. The entire sky was mirrored on the water. Felt like I was floating in space.”
“That sounds incredible. Did you ever get to see that again?”
“No, but I don’t mind.” Not when you make me feel the same way. He reached for the large velvet box he hid under the folded blanket next to the chair. “I wanted to give you this,” he said, placing it on your lap.
You lowered your binoculars, and at the sight of the black jewellery box, you straightened up. “Oh, P.” You turned and wrapped your arms around him.
He propped himself up on an elbow and turned the flashlight on his phone on. “Open it.”
You lifted the lid to reveal a layered diamond necklace with three stones strung vertically as its centrepiece. “Oh my God,” you gasped.
“You like it, baby?” he smiled proudly.
“Wow- it’s gorgeous, thank you so much. But… Phillip, if I wear this out, I’ll be robbed within 5 minutes.”
“Why?”
You looked at him like he was insane. “Look at how obscenely huge it is!”
“You don’t have to wear it out if you don’t want to.” He lowered his phone, heart racing. “It’s just-“ He averted his gaze. Why was he losing his words?
You looked at him expectantly.
“I want to… Put a ring on your finger,” he mustered, before adding, “It’s not now, or anytime soon. Not if you don’t want it yet.” His face warmed as his eyes cut to you. “But it’s something I want with you. So when you’re ready. It’s just-” He cupped his hand over yours as you held the box- “A little promise. To get the other end of the couch.”
“I want that too.” You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “But maybe we should consider moving in first. I like my nights with you, and mornings.”
He grinned and kissed you for two beats. “Me too, but especially mornings.”
You set the box aside before laying on his chest, looking up at the stars again. “Sky’s so gorgeous, makes me want stay forever.”
He wrapped an arm around you. “You can.”
You poked his side with a laugh. “If I want to lose my job.”
“I’m sure there’s a position open at HQ.”
You turned to him, chin resting on his chest as you played along. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Whatever you want.”
“I can do whatever I want?”
He nodded.
“I thought that was only for Mr. I-can-do-whaetever-I-want.”
“I mean… If one day you’re gonna be my Mrs. I-can-do-whaetever-I-want.” He smiled. “Or if you want me to be the wife, I’m cool too. As long as it’s you I’m with.”
You laughed, trailing a finger along his stubbled jaw.
“Thinking of restructuring. So I can be home more.”
Your expression turned serious. “I’m not asking that from you, P,” you said softly.
“I know. But I want to. For you.”
You turned back to the sky with a small smile. “We have a lot of time to figure it out, big boy.”
You laid under the stars in each other’s arms a little longer before heading back to the bedroom. You unzipped your bag and placed the necklace inside.
“I know you don’t want to wear it out, but… Can I at least see it on you?”
You smiled and let him put it on you. You didn’t even turn to him before you raced to the en suite bathroom. “Oh, I need to see!”
Phillip chuckled at your squeal and pulled out his burner phone from his nightstand drawer to a waiting text. A little word of confirmation on a certain incident in DC.
He couldn’t help the smirk that graced his lips. It was just another reason he was going to hell, wasn’t it? With practiced hands, he pulled out the SIM card and snapped it in half.
“If this is a little promise, I wonder what a big one looks like,” you called from the bathroom, making him turn to its door.
You stepped out wearing the necklace. Only the necklace, the centrepiece cascading down on your sternum. Glinting. Perfect against your bare skin.
His breath stuttered in his throat. Did you think you could play him like that, bring out the dog in him?
He was not himself when he quite literally pounced on you.
For the holidays, Phillip took you to Texas. He gave you a little tour of Dallas before heading to his grandpa’s ranch, the one he’d bought back for his mum a few years ago. He wanted to keep it in the family, and she got people to run it.
After unpacking in the rustic cottage he got built for his mum’s visits, he took you around the area in a pickup truck (you said he looked really happy driving it) and taught you how to ride a horse. He’d missed riding so much, and having you with him only made it better.
On Christmas morning, you shook his shoulder gently. “P, wake up,” you whispered.
He groaned.
“Your mum’s cooking something. It smells so good.”
His eyes opened as he took a deep breath before propping himself up with a grin. It was always his favourite part of Christmas.
“What?” you asked, confused but amused at the same time.
“We need to go.” He jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom to clean up, leaving you laughing on the bed.
When he returned, you were holding two red paper bags, one labelled with his mum’s name and the other with his own.
“We don’t do gifts-“
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Commander.” You side eyed him with a knowing smile. “Like the Mustang wasn’t one. Couldn’t be more obvious with it too.”
You weren’t wrong. The convertible had been parked at your building, for when you didn’t have Oscar with you. You liked picking him up from HQ on Fridays anyway, didn’t you? He could only give a shit-eating grin.
You climbed down the wooden stairs to his mum placing a hefty dish on the table. Your footsteps made her look up.
“I was about to wake y’all up.”
Phillip pulled out a seat, eyes fixated on the piping hot lasagna as he bounced. “No need. We could smell it.”
She chuckled. “Merry Christmas to you too, Phillip.”
He turned to her with a grimace and gave her a hug. “Sorry.”
You joined in, exchanging your wishes. When you pulled away, you held up one bag towards her. “Madeline, I got you this.”
“Oh-” she laughed, swatting her hand, still clad in a paw print oven mitt- “You and your sweet gifts, sugar. Thank you.” She took the seat next to him, removed her mitts and opened the bag.
“And this is for you,” you said, handing him the last bag with a giddy smile before pulling out the chair across him.
“Thanks, baby.” He sat back and peeked into the bag with a satisfied smile. He might not expect gifts, but he always loved them from you.
“Ah, pyjama pants!” his mum said as she pulled out the donut themed bottoms.
“You got us matching ones…?” he asked as he, too, pulled out the same pair – light blue with pink sprinkled donuts all over them.
You nodded, barely hiding your giggles.
“I’m going to try them on,” she announced, disappearing into the bathroom with a click of the door.
“What do you th-“
He stood up and looked out the large windows at the winter-swept land before stepping out of his sweatpants right in the middle of the dining room.
“Phillip!” you gasped.
“Nothing you haven’t seen, baby,” he said simply as he pulled your gift on before looking down on himself. “You should have gotten a pair for yourself too.”
You laughed. “I did. We’ll wear them together at home.”
“Nah. I’m wearing ‘em to work. Everybody needs to know how much I love donuts.”
“Of course.”
Moments later, his mum returned. “They’re so soft, aren’t they,” she said, rubbing the side of her thigh in delight before looking up. “I like ‘em!”
“There’s something else in there,” you said, pointing at the bag.
Back in her seat, she reached all the way in the bag and pulled out some sort of voucher. “I don’t have my glasses-“ she squinted at it before handing it to him- “What does it say, Phil?”
“It’s a ticket to a paint and sip class... In Dallas!” He threw his head back in laughter. “Can’t forget this time.”
“Busted,” she said, snatching the voucher back with a chuckle. “But I know you’re glad I did.”
Phillip turned to you, face radiant, your kind eyes always brighter in the morning sun – he could stare forever.
Especially then, when you were smiling so sweetly at him. He couldn’t help the tug on his lips.
Yeah, he was more than glad.
Thank you so much for sticking around until the end!! This is my longest fic to date and it was such a pleasure to write especially with your support :D take care and see you around! (hope Mikaela got what she deserved)
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Phillip Graves | 5.5k | angst
The vengeful man on a vengeful path (p1) (p12)
At sunrise, Konni wiped out Shadow Company’s docked cargo ship - not even three hours after Makarov’s breakout. Shadow and the ULF suffered heavy losses from the attack, and while they couldn’t prevent the interception of the missiles, Farah managed to place trackers on them before they were hauled away.
Phillip didn’t get to see you before he left town to regroup with Shepherd in his hideout. The sinking sensation settled in his stomach, like a premonition that everything - everything that he’d tried to wrap and pile up neatly - was about unravel.
He could only call you on this flight out to apologise for missing dinner. He said it more than once, maybe because he was really apologising for the decisions he made leading him there. Because it was why he didn’t know what was waiting for him at the other end. Because it might be the reason he’d never get to see you again.
But you reassured, with that soft voice and a little giggle, that it was okay and blew him a kiss.
Shepherd opened the wooden door of his small, secluded cabin in the Eastern European countryside.
“Graves.” He stepped out onto the porch to scan the road, nodded at his Shadows standing guard by their black SUVs, before leading Phillip into the kitchen.
Seeing the general in the flesh again after a year sparked something in him. That smirk, that drawl, the way he walked around like his shit didn’t stink. Like he’d never heard of the word ‘no’ in his life. Like a bullet between the eyes wouldn’t kill him.
“How’s your mum?” Shepherd asked as he poured the second cup of coffee, his back to him.
“Just had my fix,” he said, thumbs hooked on his tac vest as he scanned the room.
Yes, Phillip smiled. It didn’t make him want to slap the stupid mustache off his face any less, the grey mustache he’d been busy growing while he was on the run. It only made him want to throw hands more, maybe even put a hole through him. Just to test the hypothesis.
Shepherd let out a small scoff. The half-filled mug thudded in the sink. He didn’t offer anything else.
He didn’t have to bother with the pretence, really. It wasn’t like Phillip didn’t know why he was there.
Still on a leash. Still an obedient dog to a master.
His Shadows worked tirelessly, tracking down each and every lead. Two days later, they got a lead on Makarov’s bankroll: Milena Romanova, an oligarch who had been doing Makarov’s bidding for years, tucked away on a private island with Konni running security.
Oh, it was Christmas morning for Shepherd, wasn’t it? The piece of intel was his golden ticket back to the good ol’ U.S. of A. The win that would eclipse the missile fuckup and the mess in its wake if it ever came to light.
Another shiny and sticky sweet chest candy for the patriot.
Shepherd contacted Kate Laswell after his extended absence (he’d shaved his mustache and put on his dress uniform for the occasion, like everything was fine and dandy). Phillip might be laughing on the inside, but it was all business – and he knew all about business. It was parlay. A twofer. An insurance. He was there for the same reason, wasn’t he?
At the revelation that the commander was alive and well, Soap’s reaction was amusing to say the least. He’d always liked the kid for his fire. Would you blame him if he pushed a few more buttons? He’d get his entertainment where he could, even made finger guns before the call ended.
The next day when he contacted Shepherd for a sitrep, he was unresponsive. Phillip snorted. He provided the intel in good faith. If Shepherd conned the 141 again and had to go MIA for it, it was none of his business. Perhaps, playing stupid games was the only thing amusing the general these days - going off the grid must have done things to you. He shrugged it off. Shepherd would call if he needed him.
By noon the next day, he learnt Konni had taken Shepherd and the 141 rescued him in Siberia. Unintentionally. Despite the bad blood, they didn’t toss him back into the frozen lake - the Romanova intel must have been solid. Phillip was just glad his paycheque was still paychequing.
Meanwhile, the ULF had tracked Konni to an airstrip in Northern Urzikstan, believed to be Makarov’s forward operating base. Shepherd, now toasty and dry in DC, tasked the commander with air cover for the 141 and the ULF in their pursuit.
Despite the warm reception from Farah and Alex as they geared up for the mission, Cpt. Price and Sgt. Garrick disregarded the Shadow. Perhaps he was reaching - being in a truce didn’t make them buddies. It was just business.
With his AC-130 overhead, Ground Team pushed to locate the chemical weapons while his gunner neutralised threats and took out Makarov’s alleged helo. When the chemicals were rendered safe, a missile levelled the hangar down to dust, and with a job well done, Shadow-1 was RTB.
Price radioed to all stations the kill wasn’t confirmed, but Shepherd ordered Ground to stand down instead of getting a PID on the target. It was not in Phillip’s jurisdiction, but not seeing an assignment through didn’t sit right with him. Wasn’t that what the military ingrained into your brain? Take no prisoners.
But Phillip had done his part and he wasn’t dead. He’d redeemed himself, erased the target on his back and it was all water under the bridge.
He took his heavy vest off, dropped himself in his chair and let out a long sigh as he tilted his head back. He could make it home in peace and have you in his arms again.
I’m back. Will be at HQ until late
Thursday afternoon, you perked up at Phillip’s text, not expecting him to return so soon. The way he spoke days ago made it sound like he was going to be gone for a while, and you’d arranged a day out with your girls on Sunday.
You didn’t like cancelling, but they’d understand, right? You weren’t supposed to miss him so much so soon, but you did. A slow weekend in with him sounded perfect. You smiled, already thinking of the desserts you could make him. With Oscar in tow, you swung by the shops to pick up the ingredients.
The next morning, much to your disappointment, you woke with nothing from him. He must have had a long night. The thought of him still in bed, shirtless and face down in his pillow only made you want to ruffle his hair and kiss his forehead.
Morning P <3 sleeping in today?
Still at HQ
You frowned. That’s not good. I’ll see you tonight, right?
I don’t know yet
You stared at your phone. Have you slept at all?
Still with no reply, you texted again at lunch. At least make sure you’re eating pls
His reply came when you were on your way home. I love you so much
You let out a little sigh. You could give him some space – you knew how he could be fresh after an op, but was it selfish to ask if you still hadn’t seen him after two nights in town?
I love you <3 come by whenever
Not tonight. I’ll be home tomorrow
Okay, good. Can’t wait to see you
By Saturday morning, he still hadn’t answered. Probably still asleep. His past few days seemed extremely stressful. Oscar drove you over to Phillip’s, meaning to prepare him breakfast. The fact that his grey Rover wasn’t there was disappointing, but not surprising.
You put the dessert in the fridge as you called him.
“When you said you’d be home, well, I assumed you meant since last night,” you tried to joke, but couldn’t help the edge in your voice.
“Sorry, baby,” he said, voice heavy and rough. You could imagine him holding his head in one hand as he sighed. “I’m still here, but I’ll be home.”
You softened, embarrassed of your attitude. It wasn’t like he was having a good time at work. “What time?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a humourless laugh.
A beat. “Can you at least eat? Please? Should I get you something?”
At the other end, the door swung open followed by footsteps. “Hey, sweetheart? I love you. So fucking much, okay? Don’t forget. Now I have to go-”
“Wait! I’ll- I’ll see you later, right?”
You weren’t sure he even caught your words before he hung up.
You blinked at your phone. Was this happening again, was he shutting you out? He’d promised to not do it anymore, but he’d barely talked to you.
He wasn’t doing it on purpose, was he? His job was important. It would have been much easier for him if he didn’t tell you he was back if he didn’t want to see you, but he did. You wanted to understand, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
It was fine. Phillip would be home later. You just had to see him for a bit and after some cuddling, everything would be fine again.
Let me know what time you’d be home. I miss you, P
You set your phone on the kitchen island and turned towards the glass doors. It was the end of the year, but the sun was still warm enough for a little swim.
You made your way to the master bedroom on the second floor. You pushed the curtains open, letting the sun illuminate the room before stepping out onto the balcony. You smiled remembering the first time you stood there, and he literally jumped off the second floor and into the pool with a mischievous smile.
He might not be so young anymore, but you always loved his energy and ability to spark fun out of everything. You’d have to jump from there again with him soon.
You went to your side of the closet, pausing when your belongings weren’t there, instead filled with his items like it’d been months before. You frowned, opening the other doors and drawers, but no. There was nothing – not even the bags and shoes he gifted you.
On your way out, you caught sight of the bathroom - marble floors and counters always pristine, yet clear of your toiletries. The cabinets and drawers too.
Was his housekeeper mistaken? This had never happened before. She’d always left everything the way it was.
Maybe she’d moved your stuff to one of the other rooms? You checked each one and came up emptyhanded, while his mum’s guestroom didn’t look like it’d been touched.
Your lips pressed into a line. Surely, there was an explanation. You never told Phillip about the conversation with his mum at dinner. You’d chalked it up as overthinking, when he implied she had no reason to not like you, that she was going to reprimand him if he didn’t treat you right. It’d sounded so reassuring.
But it was that: an implication. Had his mum been there recently? It was like any sign of you had been erased.
With slumped shoulders, you made your way back to the living room couch to watch your favourite show. With a drink and a few snacks, you got comfortable.
Unfortunately, at lunchtime was when you discovered there was no meal prepped in the fridge. His assistant always made sure the chef came in so Phillip had proper food as soon as he was back. The HQ must have been in chaos if it slipped her mind. Shame. You’d been looking forward to Isack’s cooking.
More hours passed and the sky darkened. The house was getting too large and too quiet, until your phone buzzed. You reached for it with a smile. It had to be Phillip letting you know he was heading back.
It wasn’t. In fact, it wasn’t anyone you wanted to have anything to do with.
Look, I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but I said what I said for a reason. That Wednesday Ms. Graves was flying back, she was making a fuss about you all morning and Graves said you were temporary. I didn’t want to tell you, but I thought about it and I’d rather know the truth if I were you
Your heart dropped. Was this some sort of sick prank?
Any other day, it wouldn’t have bothered you. You didn’t see a point in Mikaela lying about getting set up with Phillip by her cousin, but you didn’t miss the bashful looks, or how cutesy she acted in front of him despite not showing up in her dresses and heels anymore. She was never in your corner, was she? She was a liar, and you hated yourself for denying it.
But this. The time checked out. You remembered her coming in that morning and he drove his mum to the airport after. The same night was when he made you and him official.
Your lip quivered. No. He wouldn’t have said that. You knew he wouldn’t.
With shaky fingers you typed out, You’re coming home right?
A wave of resentment washed over you. You could have gone out with your friends, or hung out with Johanna instead of loitering in his house alone for the entire day. But maybe it was your fault to want to see him that much, to not want to waste a second without being with him.
You put away the rest of your snacks, barren of appetite. You got ready for bed and put on one of his soft button downs before curling up in his warm and cushy bed.
It was getting late. He would be back any minute. You’d ask him about everything then.
You woke up the next morning alone in bed. Still no text from Phillip.
You made your way downstairs, the house was just as quiet as it’d been. You headed to the front door past the long foyer cabinet where his cowboy hat was displayed. You smiled in relief when his key sat in the bowl. Minus the crochet heart. It was unfortunate it fell off - you’d have to make more. You headed back in. He must have been in his office.
You knocked before cracking the door open with a grin. “Morning, P. I didn’t even know you were back. What time did you come home?”
He grunted, but didn’t look at you. He was in a loose black tee full of creases, multiple mugs on his desk. He looked exhausted with the circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept recently. What was he doing to himself? Your heart ached for him.
You pushed the door open further. “Hey, how about-”
“Can you just leave me the fuck alone?” he snapped, turning to you.
You didn’t even react. The door clicked softly as you stepped out.
You took no time to clean up before you left. You certainly got your work cut out for you, when your things weren’t there anymore.
Maybe Mikaela was right. It hurt less when it came from her, when she sounded like a resentful woman who couldn’t have what you did. Because it sliced much deeper when it came from Phillip. When he cut you off without even the decency of being upfront about it. If this was his cowardice way of telling you it was over, then so be it.
It was just as well you were temporary. You weren’t going to feel invisible for another minute.
Phillip Graves’ state of fortune was an oxymoron.
He was the luckiest and the unluckiest man simultaneously. One who was blessed with everything he wanted, but cursed with no means of keeping it.
On his flight back, he was going to announce his arrival to you. Instead, Shepherd called from the comfort of his Pentagon office about the congress hearing on Monday.
“I’ll tell them the truth. You’ll do some prison time to keep up appearances, but I’ll get you out in no time,” he said, easy, as if he was making lunch plans with a buddy.
He scoffed, looking away in disbelief. This motherfucker.
“You got nothing to worry about. Oz will take over meanwhile. He’s proven himself last time.”
“Do you hear yourself?” He leaned in with a hardened gaze, gripping the edge of the desk. “This is your mess too.”
“Don’t be stupid, son.” He chuckled, getting up from his seat to face the fiery sunset out the large window. “Play along and my contracts don’t have to be suspended, huh?” He turned back to the laptop with a smile. “Just for a bit. I’m sure your little girlfriend wouldn’t mind.”
He shouldn’t react, shouldn’t deny or confirm.
So he smiled, dimples showing. “If it has to be one of us,“ he said before gritting his teeth. “Then I’ll see to it you’ll be the one behind bars, General.”
He laughed. Loud, open. Like he was untouchable. “On what grounds? Your fingerprints are all over this.”
His knuckles turned white.
“There’s only one way this is going, Graves. Don’t make it harder for the both of us.”
Was this the deal Shepherd made with Kate, with the oligarch intel he provided? Was this how he was repaid for his allegiance that spanned decades? Or was this what he traded for his pathetic, faithless life in Siberia?
No matter. He was going up against the biggest asshole he knew, the same man who’d do anything for another fucking win to his name. Phillip’s alibi had to be bulletproof, because this time, he had everything to lose.
Phillip wasn’t going to tell you he was back, knowing he had zero time to waste in preparation for the hearing in four days. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to stay away from you otherwise. But he was just a man, so of course he had to tell you he was well, despite being stuck at HQ with his lawyers for literal days with no proper sleep.
Shepherd could have been bluffing, but that subtle threat was getting to him, wasn’t it? He’d instructed Oscar to keep his eye on you 24/7, and removed anything traceable of yours from his house. This was not making it to you no matter what.
He meant to come home Saturday. He did. He told himself whatever happened, regardless if they found concrete evidence or not, he was spending Sunday with you uninterrupted. To make up for lost time. To make amends if it was his last day as a free man. Before his fight out to DC Monday morning.
No one was surprised when they’d come to an impasse by late Saturday.
Phillip walked into his quiet home with heart so heavy, he was sure it was dragging across the marble floors. At that hour, you’d slept, but he didn’t even get in bed. He just sat there memorising you, your figure in one of his button downs outlined by the warm column of light from the hallway.
It was a dead-end. It was over for him. He was getting locked up. The world was going to believe what they were told, and you, you were going to hate him. All the times Phillip thought Shepherd was aloof and cut-throat was because he’d always been steps ahead and cleaned up his tracks.
And then you sighed in your sleep, your breathing even and deep.
Would he forgive himself if this was the last time he’d see you like this? If he never saw your smile again, and the twinkle in your eyes?
He couldn’t give up now, could he? Not when he had this, something he could only dream of once upon a time. There was so much more he wanted with you. If it wasn’t for him, then it was for you.
Phillip pulled another all-nighter, fuelled by a lethal amount of caffeine and self-hatred as he went through every single shred of report he could get his hands on. All for a speck of hope. But things were always so much easier said than done. He’d been chasing his own tail and there was nothing more he wanted to do than just lay down and wake up when it was all over, even if it was in a hundred years.
But it didn’t make it okay for him to snap at you, or tell you to leave him alone. It was the last thing he wanted, to have you away from him. But he didn’t know what to do with his pride, fatally wounded by his incompetence, that his own superior hustled him to hell and back. Knowing that he was losing his empire – the one he’d devoted his entire life to, and you won’t even be there for him in the brutal aftermath.
And wouldn’t that be the most hurtful thing? He could crawl and build his business back up, but he’d never have you again. He could never erase his sins. The mistakes he’d made. The blood on his hands. It was enough to send anyone running – his private hell for walking down this path in life.
But if he could have you just for another night, just one last time. He’d spend every minute telling you how much you meant to him. Even if everything would crumble by sunrise.
Past 9 p.m. when he finally believed his body that it was on the brink, he emerged from his office, with nothing in his favour having changed the past 24 hours.
“Sweetheart?” he called.
Silence. You weren’t in the kitchen nor on the pool deck, not in the bedroom either. He rang you, and why was he acting surprised when you didn’t pick up? He checked the cameras. Embarrassment filled him how he didn’t notice you’d left that morning.
But wait, that wasn’t Oscar, nor the company car.
“Where the fuck are you?” he barked into the phone as soon as the line connected.
A beat. “Home…?” The Shadow offered.
“I made it very clear you have to be with her the entire time,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, but you said she’d be with you all day today.”
It was his turn to still. “Fuck-“
Alright. It was Sunday night. You’d be home getting ready for bed.
He raced to yours only to find the lights off. With no answer, he pressed his ear to the door. It was too silent for you to be in. Odd. You didn’t like being out so late on worknights.
Phillip sat in his car for a little longer before panic inevitably set in. What if Shepherd wasn’t bluffing? He reached for his phone as a grey sedan pulled up at the entrance.
You stepped out, all smiley and dolled up in a pretty black dress blowing kisses at the driver. With a bounce in your step, you made your way into the building.
What sort of repulsive, fucking deja vu was this? Was he allowed to be jealous? You were on a date. That’s why you didn’t pick up his calls.
What was he the maddest about this time? That he got played by Shepherd? That he was an asshole to you? Or that someone was already swooping in?
He didn’t have the time to decide because this time, he stepped on it to cut off the offending sedan. The car screeched to a halt, horn blaring. He threw his door open and stalked towards the driver. He could use a fist fight, one that would let him blow off some steam, or at the very least, one that would knock him out a few hours because he needed a fucking break.
But when he neared, his steps faltered.
The window rolled down. “Look who’s here,” the voice dripped in sarcasm. “It’s Fix-It Felix!”
He softened. He could recognise those long curls from anywhere. “Oh, Johanna-“
“Listen here, buddy. You’re too old to be acting like a fuck boy, it’s embarrassing,” she spat. “Yeah, sure, you’re busy and rich and handsome and all that, but the least you can do is show some respect even when you’re ending things. Even if she’s oh temporary.” Her eyes narrowed. “Now move. Next time I might floor it when you brake check me.”
He stared, too stunned to speak. With another dirty look, she peeled off.
Ending things? Temporary? What the hell was she talking about?
Phillip hopped back in his Rover and ran up to knock on your door. “Baby, it’s me,” he called.
“Are you here to drop off my stuff?” you deadpanned.
Of course you noticed that. He didn’t even get to tell you. “No, but I need to talk to you.”
Your footsteps receded.
“Please, open up.”
“Thought you made yourself awfully clear,” you called sarcastically.
“Let me in and we’ll talk, okay?”
Your thuds approached fast. “Where are my things, Graves? I’m done with your games. I don’t care about your gifts. I want my stuff back.”
You called him Graves. He didn’t like that. “I had them moved. Ox will bring them over tomorrow.” He exhaled. “Please, if you open up, I’ll tell you why.”
You yanked the door open, still in your dress. “Why, because your mum doesn’t like me anymore? Because I’m not thinking about kids? Because I’m temporary?”
His brows furrowed as he asked carefully, “Where’s all this from?”
“That not what you said the day your mum flew back?” you retorted. “Mikaela heard you.”
His shoulders sagged with a soft sigh. “Sweetheart, I never said anything like that, and I never will.” He took a step in, closing the door behind him. “You cried on her last day,” he started. “Is this what she told you?”
“No one needs to tell me anything,” you spat. “You got rid of my things with no explanation, and can’t even be bothered to talk to me the past few days.” You meant to yell, but your voice betrayed you as the tears brimmed. “You said you’d be honest,” you choked, “If you were done.”
He did it again. He hurt you again. Why did he keep doing it when it was the last thing he wanted to?
“No, no, baby. I didn’t-“ He placed a hand on your shoulder, averting his gaze. “I moved your stuff because- I should have told you sooner-”
“Then you fucking tell me!” You shrugged his hand off. “Because what else could it mean?!”
He closed his eyes. If he explained everything, you’d hate him - you had all the right to.
“I messed up. Last year-“ He ran his hand through his hair- “Fuck!”
He dropped onto your couch, burying his face in his hands. He couldn’t keep running away from the truth, hiding it from you and hurting you because of it. You’d find out on the news eventually, and by then, only God knew what kind of story would have been spun out of the fact.
“My past is catching up. I’m going to jail. I don’t want anyone tracing you back from me.”
The room was quiet for a few beats before the seat dipped next to him. Your hand was tentative on his shoulder.
“What did you do, Phillip?” you whispered, sympathy and caution rolled into one, like your heart was breaking with his.
He told you about Al Mazrah, and how he went all in in Las Almas to clean up the mess. To not let Vance’s death be in vain. The tale of the vengeful man on a vengeful path.
“You should walk away.” He shut his stinging eyes. “Before more people want me dead. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you because of me-” He took a deep breath- “I’m not who you think I am.”
You retracted your hand. The room stood still for a long moment, his confession heavy in the air.
“I know what Shadow Company is,” you started. “What it does, how it differs from the military. And I trust you. You did what you had to.”
“But didI have to, really?” he said under his breath, shaking his head. “I don’t know what life will look like after tomorrow.” A tear fell and he pressed a palm over his eyes. It didn’t make it stop. “What do I do? Tell me what to do,” he choked as his shoulders shook.
He was no commander - just Phillip. A scrawny boy from Texas who cried over his scraped knee when he was shoved for his faded clothes. The one who never had friends for sleepovers. The same one who took the only birthday present his mum ever got him to school, only to have it crushed into tiny red pieces.
He wished you’d tell him everything was going to be alright. That it was all just a nightmare. That tomorrow was going to be another Monday where you’d make him coffee. He’d smile at you across the table because your blue coasters matched, and he’d drive you to work and you’d kiss him in his Rover. But what was just the boy in him wishful thinking.
Because this wasn’t for him. It never was. He’d always been on borrowed time.
But you held him, arms firm, your chest against his back. He shut his eyes tighter before turning towards you, staining your shoulder with his tears until his breathing slowed.
“This,” he said against your skin. “It won’t be the same anymore. Are you bitter towards me?”
“Chaos and war, there’s no escaping it.” You stroked his hair. “But you never have to do this alone.”
He let the words fill the void in his chest and pulled you closer. “Sweetheart, I want you watching over me until the very end.”
It was then your shoulders shook, arms loosening around him. You looked away, wiping at your pouring tears, and he pulled you back to his chest until the tremors waned.
He nuzzled your hair, the smell always soothing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t… promise you anything. About the future.”
“At least we have now,” you mumbled into his shirt.
“I love you. So much. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t. That, I can guarantee.”
You fisted his shirt and kissed him. He smiled, the restrains around his chest loosened, and you laughed when you pulled away. Another tear escaped you as you reached for tissues, wiping his face with them.
Phillip let out a wet chuckle. He was an ugly crier, wasn’t he? Must have been all flushed and wet and snotty. Your eyes were puffy too, but they were still his absolute favourite to look at.
“I don’t know what you heard, but my mum. She loves you, never said anything bad about you.” He wiped your stray tear away with a thumb. “And I know because she’s only ever got me one gift, and it wasn’t even a handbag.”
You didn’t want to smile at his lame joke, but you did anyway.
“Did she… mention kids?”
You nodded, averting your gaze.
“She’s always liked babies,” he said and let out a soft sigh. “It feels silly to talk about it right now, everything else considered, but I’m fine with either. If you want kids, of course we can have ‘em, but if you don’t, it’s okay too.” He tilted your face to him by the chin. “It’s about us. No one else.”
He didn’t miss the flash of your bittersweet smile before you turned and leaned back against his chest.
He closed his eyes, arms around you. With your gentle breathing, comfortable silence settled. There was too much to do in so little time, but he’d take it - anything to pretend like the clock wasn’t ticking, like his flight to the beginning of the end was far further than it was.
He only needed now.
“How many are we thinkin’ though? Because I already have 500 kids or so.”
You snorted. “You mean your Shadows?”
“Yep.”
“Even the ones who can beat you up?”
“I didn’t hear that.” He chuckled. “So you want to be the mum, or no? They can’t feed themselves donuts, ya know.”
“Does that include the K9s?”
“Those are my grandkids.”
You laughed, light and clear, resonating in the depths of his soul as it warmed him from the inside. He wanted to remember the sound forever, no matter where he’d go.
“Rafe will retire at the end of the month. Would you take care of him for me?” he asked. ”If I can’t?“
You tipped your head to him, the softest smile on your lips. “I’ll wait for you, big boy.” You might have muttered the words, but your resolve was loud.
Phillip had lost enough in this lifetime. They could take it all again, but this, he’d die trying to keep.
I shouldn’t run. I should fight.
He was done living like a roach. No one was standing in his way this time.
Especially not Shepherd.
The next part is linked above if already up
Masterlist
Phillip would have to be shot dead before he’d admit he was losing it.
Shadow Company continued assisting the ULF, and Commander Karim was more than thankful for the aid. Can’t be much a help if I’m dead, he’d said, dimples showing, and Farah shook his hand in understanding. She might be loyal to Price, but there was nothing she loved more than her country.
With no real threat of him getting ratted out, he shouldn’t be so bent out of shape. But could you ever be too careful in the line of work?
Sure, he had impeccable poker face, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t struggling. Because how could he keep it together when it was you? When every moment he spent with you could be the last? If he had a bounty on his head, so be it, but he would never let you be collateral.
It was only natural to want to keep you out of harm’s way, right? To not be in public with you, away from prying eyes and snooping ears. But you liked the gifts, didn’t you? You wore them, looking so pretty and sweet for him. Still, you looked best in his button downs, the ones you deemed too soft to not wear to bed. He let you.
He wanted to get you everything, anything you wanted. A house, a car? You just had to say the word, and it’d be yours. There was nothing he wouldn’t give you. It was the only thing keeping you from leaving him.
A man wasn’t much else without his influence and millions after all. It was just a cruel fact of life – one he’d had to learn too early.
Had he been loaded when he was younger, his relationships would have worked. Even if it didn’t make them real. But he had you now, and he was not going to lose you. He had to keep you long enough, tide you over until everything blew over. Until the loose ends were tied.
Las Almas was a ghost peering in the shadows.
Phillip could never erase the past. On his own volition or not, he’d done what he’d done: taken over the Mexican Special Forces’ base on the Colonel’s suspected association with the elusive El Sin Nombre, and ordered the hit on 141 after they attacked when told to stand down.
It wasn’t only that. In the pursuit of Hassan, the cartel had assassinated Las Almas civilians for information on their missing leader. Because he’d detained Valeria. Because he had to find the missiles. All because of that fucking night in Al Mazrah.
The consequences of his actions.
Despite raiding the town and executing corrupt police and cartel associates, Shadow Company couldn’t get further intel on the “Major’s” whereabouts.
Not Ghost and Soap’s either, who’d killed a handful of his men on their way through. Men they’d been comrades with just hours prior. But perhaps it was just as well - he’d never wanted to use lethal force before they crossed the line.
No matter. As long as they were out of the picture and he could finish his mission. He didn’t need to lose more men to right a wrong.
Yes, Valeria proved to be tight-lipped in his custody, but he didn’t sweat – she just needed some motivation, didn’t she? Until the 141 and Los Vaqueros took the facility back, that was, and Phillip “died” in some crusty, fucking tank.
Yet after everything, would he have told Shepherd to fuck off and burnt the bridge? Would he have abandoned his orders in Las Almas and let Vance’s death be in vain? Would he have ordered QRF that night in Al Mazrah against the general’s wish, saving his squad but exposing the illegal operation and risked everything he’d dedicated his whole life for?
Phillip didn’t plan this. He never planned on meeting you, let alone starting anything or feeling so deeply about you. It never crossed his mind his filthy hands would touch something so sacred, something that was never supposed to be his. What would you think of him if you knew?
And perhaps it was why this, too, had scared him. More than all the times he could taste the thrill of death on his tongue. You shouldn’t look at him like that, with that kind of smile like he was the best thing that had happened to you. He wasn’t the man you thought he was.
Maybe that was how the fire of fear produced its first wisps of guilt, sticking to his hair, swirling and filling his lungs opaque. How dare he want so much with you?
Not when he hadn’t fixed this. Not when he wasn’t acquitted.
Phillip and his best team sifted through any scrap of evidence with a fine-toothed comb, something that would give him bulletproof cover if he ever needed it. That while he’d fired on blue and torn through the town – despite all the fatalities, it was fully authorised to get that third missile back with all means necessary.
You’d forgive him one day, right? When he was a better man, when he didn’t do things he’d regret anymore. When his sins were dead and buried, maybe then he could look you in the eyes again.
All for the greater good.
The commander jerked in his seat when the pistol’s spring and barrel clattered against the table.
“Why are you here, Phillip? Why-“ you gestured at you and him- “You don’t have to keep pretending you want to see me.”
He frowned. “Of course I want to see you. I’m here, right?”
“Like I’m some chore that needs tending to.”
He stared, unfolding his arms. “Why would you say that? I do want to be here.”
“You’ve been…” Your hand rose, clenching. “You’re barely there, acting like… Like I don’t exist.” You dropped your fist with a sigh. “When was the last time we did something, actually spent some time together without you getting distracted by work?”
His gaze drifted.
“That’s what I thought,” you spat sarcastically before taking a deep breath, eye shut. “If you’ve changed your mind, decided you don’t want this anymore-“ your voice shook, brows furrowing- “The least you could be is honest.”
“What- Baby, what are you saying? I haven’t changed my mind. I still-”
“It doesn’t look like it, does it?” you snapped. “Why did you assign me a driver? So you can get me off your back? Because I’m not good enough for you to take out anymore?”
Phillip stared at you, your lip quivering, tears brimming. His heart clenched. What had he done?
“Sweetheart, it’s nothing like that. I promise.” He got up and knelt down next to you, a hand grasping yours in your lap. “I can’t tell you everything, but last year-“ He sighed and met your eyes- “I might have made an enemy or two.”
Your features softened, tone dropping in caution. “Are you in danger?”
“I’m not,” he stated. He wasn’t lying – he was in no more danger than he always was. “And you’re not either,” he added with confidence.
That was true at least. No one wanted civilian blood on their hands. That ghost was too heavy for anyone to carry.
“I just need some more time to work through this, okay? I hope you trust me.”
You turned away. “Not when you make me feel like you don’t want me.” Your voice cracked, and the tears finally slipped.
That sliced him open. He’d been working himself to the bone for what? It didn’t matter if he saved himself if it wasn’t for you, to come home to you. If he had to hurt you.
He laid his head on your lap, arms around you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to make you feel ignored, or unwanted.” He paused. “I know sometimes I forget everything else when I’m buried in work, but please. Tell me next time, okay? Yell at me if you need to.”
“It’s not about that, P,” you murmured. “I just want you to be there with me, even if we’re doing nothing.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.” He pressed his cheek against your stomach. “And I want you. I do, always.”
You sniffled, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “I know we’re not together, but I-“
“HWh0t-“ He yanked himself off you, staring right into your stunned eyes. “Are you serious? We’re not together?” he repeated in disbelief, pointing between you and him. “My mum flew in just to give you a handbag, and- You’re the only non-personnel allowed on base, and we’re not together. What the hell do you think this is?”
Your gaze fell away. “Well- I mean- We never… talked about it.”
“What are you implying?” he asked, hurt bleeding into his voice. “Has there been anyone else?”
“No,” you affirmed, gaze cutting to his. “And I know there hasn’t been anyone else for you either.”
Phillip searched your eyes, still glassy, but they told everything he needed. His heart swelled. Despite his responsibilities, you wanted this just as much as he did, and he’d be the stupidest man to mess it up.
“Damn fuckin’ right.” He smirked. “We’re together when you put on my hat. I thought you said you knew this.”
You gave a tiny smile, but another tear slipped. “Your mum, she’s okay with it?”
“Why would she not be?”
You shook your head, and he wiped the tear away with his thumb.
“I better be your only big boy, or we’re gonna have a real problem here.”
That got a chuckle out of you.
“Everyone knows you’re my woman. You’re the only one who didn’t know; I can’t believe it.” He cupped your face, stroking your cheek before a devious smile graced him. “Hey, even your neighbours-“
“Phillip!” You gave his arm a playful shove before hiding your face behind your hands. You only lasted two seconds before losing against the urge to join his laughter.
When it simmered down, he said, “Now, I hope you didn’t tell my mum about this. Or she’s going to send Ox to beat me up.”
You gasped, eyes twinkling in mock disbelief. “Are you… scared? Commander Phillip Graves?”
“Oh, you think this is funny, huh?” He grabbed your sides. “Why do you think he’s called Ox? Do you know how much he benches?”
This was a joke, of course. Well… Maybe he meant it a little. He might be the one signing the cheques, but he was convinced Oscar would listen to his mum over him in a heartbeat. Perhaps he needed to revisit his contract.
You erupted in laughter, bending forwards in your seat, too weak to fight off his tickles. It reminded him of that time he rolled up in the pink Mini cabriolet, losing it like you’d never seen anything quite as hilarious. He wanted you like this all the time.
His fingers eased and he took your hand to his lips. “You want some milkshake?”
“You want some milkshake.”
He grinned. “Only if you do.”
For the first time in a while, Phillip stayed over. He wore one of your oversized shirts and held you all night, face buried in your hair. In the morning, he had his coffee with the sandwich you made (it was supposed to be for lunch, but his stomach wasn’t cooperating).
When he swung the door open to drive you to work, he paused in the doorway. “Ox?”
The broad figure turned with the precision and efficiency of a soldier. “Graves. Miss.” He nodded at the both of you. “Good morning.”
“I told you not to come today.”
“You did,” he agreed, blinking as it dawned on him. “I don’t know why I’m here,” he said in incredulity, mostly to himself.
“Oh, no.” A hand on his shoulder, you leaned in to whisper, “He’s a sleeper agent and he’s here to beat your ass.”
Phillip barked out a laugh, and with it, you took off. “Oh, you’re gonna get it,” he called as he quickly locked the door before dashing after you, leaving behind Oscar who was still dealing with the product of his force of habit.
When he caught up to you, he threw you over his shoulder, hauling you to his Rover. It only made you giggle harder as you hung onto him.
Nearing your workplace, you held his hand on your thigh. “I’ll order you lunch.”
“I’ll get you something too.” Not taking his eyes off the road, he brought your hand to his lips. “Not gifts,” he quickly added. As per your request.
Within days, you slipped back into the old routine, texting throughout the day, calling before bed. Phillip had let chaos consume him, and in result neglected you. And himself, you reminded, and insisted he didn’t skip any more meals. He’d forgotten how easy it was to be with you, how good it was to let you to fuss over him.
He wanted to prove to you he was taking care of himself, see. He was on top of his game, pumping iron to infinity and beyond, trying to get the bulk back for you. Did you like him sweaty and shirtless? He liked to imagine you were all flustered at work looking at the photos he took. After he kicked out the Shadows in the gym who failed to hold their laugh, that was.
Did they want toilet duty? Because there were plenty of toilets to go round on base. If only they knew Miller the Sniper had to beg to get off his. They were just jealous they didn’t have a sweetheart to send photos to.
Instead of weekly staycation, you wanted to see new places. The metallic blue convertible Phillip picked you up in on Saturday was mainly for himself. With a bashful smile, you zipped up your jacket (formerly his) as you declined his offer to drive. The Mustang’s white racing stripe on the bonnet and the ‘5.0’ badge on the fender intimidated you.
And so he drove and drove under the clear sky. The engine roared through foreign backroads, gold and deep green all round. You had your hand on his thigh, and with the wind in your hair and lungs full of crisp autumn air, he didn’t need to look over to know you were smiling. He stole a glance anyway. He didn’t expect you to be looking at him with such soft eyes.
Along your way to nowhere, he made stops, because he needed to take care of his sweet little princess, didn’t he? First for some corndog, and second for a burger where you smiled at him in the parking lot.
“Maybe you should enjoy the view this time.”
“That so?”
“It’s rude to hog the passenger seat, don’t you think?”
He laughed, tossing you the keys.
You grinned ear to ear as you stepped on the pedal. He remembered that addicting feeling when he first drove a fast car, like his chest was about to burst with exhilaration, like he could fly with the lurch of the engine as his blood pumped with adrenaline. He patted your thigh.
Your next stop was a diner where you got a slice of apple pie to share. He looked at you after the waitress took your orders.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Did you like the Mustang?”
“Was that another test drive, Mr. Sales Advisor?”
“Might want a weekend ride.”
You tiled your head. “Really?”
“Why, you don’t like it?”
“You don’t even like going out on the weekends!”
“Which is why you need to also like it so we can share. It’s a nice car, isn’t it?”
“Mhm. Sounds really good too.”
He lit up. “It’s the V8, cranks out 450 hp. The Mach 1 is even better.”
“But you better drive it if you get it! It’s too scary for me,” you said, but drove the whole way back home.
Meanwhile, Phillip’s assistant found new private chef candidates. The commander set aside the next Saturday for the most promising one. He couldn’t resist the plump, perfectly rolled chocolate croissants and the colourful macarons in his portfolio.
That late morning, you both welcomed Isack to the house. He was in his mid-60s with experience at various Michelin restaurants throughout his career before retiring a few years ago, private cheffing ever since.
“Mr. Graves-” He shook the commander’s hand with a grin, clasping his left one over it before taking yours- “Mrs. Graves. Thank you for having me,” he said, French accent thick and rich.
Before you could react, he replied, “Pleasure is all ours,” pulling you to him by the waist as he smiled. He didn’t correct the chef on the delightful mix-up.
Rafe trailed behind, sniffing the chef in curiosity as you gave him a little tour of the kitchen before leaving him to prepare lunch. Meanwhile, you got changed and hopped onto the donut floats.
“Mrs. Graves, huh,” you teased. Attempted to at least. It wasn’t very convincing when you had to bite down your smile as you patted Rafe on your lap.
Phillip chuckled. You liked that too, didn’t you? “Far better than when my mum is called that.”
You turned to him. “Seriously?”
“I know. I don’t look that old.”
“I was going to say she doesn’t look that old.”
He laughed. “Well, you’re the one here with me, aren’t you?”
You opened your mouth, and closed it again. “Touché.”
“I knew you liked my greying hair.”
“Busted.”
He leaned in, giving you a chaste kiss. The proximity made Rafe jump off and swim away. On the deck, he shook himself dry and lay down with his tongue out.
Phillip leaned back on his donut, hands behind his head. “You know, I dyed my hair black once.”
“No way.”
“Yep, right after bootcamp. Always wanted to see what it looked like on me. Those $400 cheques made me feel like a millionaire.”
You smiled. “Well, how did you look?”
“Good. For a day.” His lips pulled to one side. “Turned out I was allergic to it.”
“Oh no, how bad was it?”
“I came home with red, itchy scalp. At least my mum said black suited me.”
You laughed. “She must have missed you.”
“She wasn’t very happy that I enlisted, but I had to get off her back somehow.”
The Corps promised him food, a roof and a steady pay. They kept their end of the bargain and with how life had been, he couldn’t ask for much more.
He shrugged, a playful smile on his lips. “I like to think she’s at least a little glad I did.”
You patted his hair.
“So only blond or grey for me now.”
“I like you either way.”
The way you looked at him so softly didn’t have to make his stomach flip. Would you get to see him grey?
He cupped your face in his rough hand. He didn’t have to lean that far forward, really, but he did anyway.
“Phillip,” you warned against his lips, before his weight capsized your float. You resurfaced with a laugh, pushing water off your face before pinching his side. “You keep doing that!”
“What can I say?” He gave you a shit eating grin. “Love getting you wet.”
At noon, Isack served a colourful salad and the most flavourful onion soup, followed by a generous serving of golden, bubbling potato gratin. One bite in and you shared a look. His cooking had enamoured you just as much. The orange crepes he made for dessert sealed the deal.
You’ll hear from my assistant very soon, Phillip said at the door. The chef, a very smiley man as you’d discovered, thanked you again for the opportunity before giving Rafe a few pats. The K9 panted and let out a little bark. Phillip still didn’t correct the Mrs. Graves situation.
You took Rafe to the park and after a few laps, you settled on the bench for the K9 to rehydrate. You leaned against Phillip’s shoulder, his arm along the backrest.
He kissed the top of your head. “I found out what my shirt’s made of.”
You glanced at his white button down before facing him. “What is it?” you asked innocently.
“Boyfriend material.”
You pressed your lips into a line before bursting into laughter. “Oh God, you and your lame jokes. What a dork.”
He grinned. “You love me anyway.”
“You’re lucky I do,” you said with a light tone, leaning back against him.
It’d always been too easy bantering with you that he almost forgot what the words meant. He stilled at the realisation. Was he blushing? Could you feel his heartbeat against your back?
“If I said it, would you say it back?” he said into your hair, eyes pinched shut.
“Say what?”
“What I said,” he muttered.
The pause felt much longer before you turned to him fully, eyes twinkling. You smiled, a little teasing, a little giddy. “You’ll have to find out.”
He looked into your eyes, the way they creased, how bright they were in the sun. He let out a small sigh. “I love you.”
You broke into a grin, and he mirrored you in relief, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Well?”
“It back.”
The smile flickered as his brows furrowed. “What?”
“I’m saying ‘it back’.”
He stared. “I’m going home.” He pushed himself off the bench.
You laughed as you grabbed his arm. “Wait, no! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You cupped his face, pulling him in for a kiss. “I love you, Phillip.”
His spine tingled at the words, or the way you fisted his shirt. It didn’t matter. He might have giggled against your lips as his chest burst.
The conversation back at your place wasn’t easy, but you were glad for it because your Phillip was back. He took you out like he used to, spent time with you and stayed at yours after taking you out to get groceries once a week. Oscar managed to get his habit under control and stayed home when he was told.
Something seemed to shift after the exchange. Phillip’s shoulders were a little looser, smiles a little wider. Maybe it was the acknowledgement of what this was, or the admission that he, too, could lose himself sometimes.
He’d always been that guy. Unfazed. Someone who always had his matters together. Yet what you thought of him didn’t change. He was still the blond boy from Texas who went through hell and beat the odds, the one who was pounded on the anvil of life and asked if it was all they got for him.
But he was more human to you now, and you liked it that way.
He still stayed late at work sometimes, or locked himself in his office on the weekend, but he’d take the time to check up on you. You were happy with the arrangement - he listened. And maybe, not being kept in the dark allowed you to give him more grace.
It was easy to forget about the months of disconnect with the change, and his confession on the park bench only solidified that. He’d gone beet red for it, his heartbeat picking up, and you’d never seen him more honest.
Maybe your prank had been a little mean (he accepted your apology in return for a few, long kisses), but you meant it with your soul when you repeated the words back. Especially that same night before bed, when you rubbed the cuff of his ear with your thumb and he pretended to not giggle while his shoulders shrugged. You told him again and his face instantly combusted. You pressed a kiss on his forehead.
Come morning, while Phillip was in his office with the coffee you made, you welcomed Mikaela for her last day. Rafe barely rounded the corner before making his way back to the living room. He’d never cared for Mikaela, not even on her last day, unlike he’d been for Isack just the day before.
“Someone looks happy,” she teased as she placed the grocery tote on the counter.
You could only bite down your smile.
She made all your favourites that day, even if she had to do some of the prepping at home. Parting gift, she said. While you helped here and there, Mikaela told you more about her new client, and how she was considering moving to cut down on travel time.
You invited her to eat together, but she refused, unfortunately pressed for time for another client. Phillip waited for you at the table when you walked her to her Beetle. You gave her a squeeze.
“I admire you, you know.” She retracted her arm from your shoulder, giving you a mock concerned look. “You’re really brave pursuing someone like Graves. You gotta be at least a little… delusional, especially when you’re…” Her eyes slid down your body as she stifled a smile.
Your heart stopped. What-
“Don’t get too comfortable. You know his type. With options lined up, they don’t have to stay bored.” She got in her car. “No hard feelings, yeah? I’m just looking out for you.”
You stayed frozen in place as she drove off. When you finally snapped out of it, you rushed back to the house, barely holding your tears back. You didn’t mean to slam the main door before locking yourself in the bathroom, ignoring Rafe’s concerned whine.
Moments later, came the knocks. “Sweetheart? Everything okay?”
“Just give me a minute,” you managed as evenly as you could.
Things were just getting good again. You were not acknowledging whatever she’d just said. You refused to breathe a soul into that fucking lie. She was not getting to you, someone who could only dream of having what you had.
You calmed your breathing before coming out, finding Phillip leaning against the nearby wall. You thought your eyes weren’t too puffy, but it was him.
“Aww, baby.” He pulled you into a tight hug before kissing you on the temple. “You can always see her again.”
You hoped you never had to again.
“Come on, let me feed you before lunch gets cold.” He led you back to the dining table, the K9 and his wagging tail following close.
The following Thursday, Rafe’s retirement date had been settled. Phillip couldn’t wait to tell you in person when he came over for dinner later, already imagining your smile.
Despite having to supervise a routine shipment to Farah on comms in the evening, it was a relatively slow day – predictable. That was, until he received the call.
The tone, only reserved for emergencies, ominous as it blared in his silent office. He straightened up in his leather chair, thoughts racing a mile a minute as he pressed the phone to his ear.
Makarov was out.
The next part is linked above if already published
Masterlist
Phillip Graves | 3.2k | angst
If things were too good to be true (p1) (p10)
Maybe you should have agreed to a driver much earlier.
Oscar was your personal InstaCart and DoorDash all rolled into one, helping you with your errands during the day. It didn’t hurt that Phillip gave him the company credit card either.
He’d since dressed in casual attire too, all black, of course (very Shadow, very demure). You sent him home for lunch, sometimes with sweet treats too for his wife and kids. He looked awfully sincere when he offered to clean your place weekly in return.
While you’d joked about it when Phillip first offered, now that you had your own ride, he didn’t go out with you on weekdays anymore. He didn’t stay over either, only got takeaway to have at yours.
As silly as it sounded, you missed shopping with him. But you understood it was a chore and he’d rather spend his time doing something else, especially since he’d been so busy lately.
You’d come over on Friday night only to wait until 9 for him to come home with Rafe. He’d inhale his dinner and you’d run him a bath before he climbed into bed with you, the Malinois curled up by your tangled feet.
Saturday morning, you’d make him coffee he’d have on the pool deck before Mikaela came to bake with you, and he’d lock himself in his office. You’d spend the rest of the weekend watching movies with Rafe at your feet or working on a craft project together before Oscar would drive you back home.
That Sunday afternoon, you looked over from your lounger. Phillip had spent the day at his desk, only then taking a break from his screens after your coercing.
“Should we go out for dinner?”
He turned to you, pushing his sunglasses up to his hair. “What do you want, baby? I’ll order in.”
"Oh- well, it’s just, it’s been a while since we went out.”
It was something he suggested often, but always turned down these days. Yes, he was injured, and had been too stubborn to use his crutch as long as recommended, but he’d been working out again for weeks, was even scheduled for a mission the coming week. You weren’t asking for walks either, just some time out together.
“Not tonight, sweetheart. I still have a lot of reports to read.” He brought your hand to his lips. “But you can go if you want. Ox can drive you.”
You averted your gaze. It was okay. You could wait. His responsibilities weren’t for the faint of heart. If you couldn’t help, the least you could be was understanding, right?
He scooted to the edge of his lounger, waving you over. You rested your head on his shoulder, arm around his bare waist. Your thumb brushed over an old gunshot wound on his side.
It had only been a few months, but had the novelty of this burnt out? It’d been so lovely and you savoured it knowing it would pass. You didn’t know it was going to be so soon. It was always too good to be true, wasn’t it? Someone so sweet and giving and accomplished like Phillip. It didn’t hurt that he was so good looking too.
“Sorry, you know how busy it can get before I leave.” He kissed your forehead. “I’ll plan something for when I’m back, okay?”
No matter. As long as he still wanted this.
You thought the staycation following his return was just that, but he started booking it weekly, where he spent most of the day in bed with you. You didn’t complain.
“You definitely earned bragging rights,” you teased, fingers tracing his signature smirk.
He leaned in, nose rubbing down the side of your neck. “The way you say my name is all the validation I need.”
You didn’t know where all the energy was from. Pent up frustration from work? Or did he think you weren’t satisfied? The pleaser had been nothing but generous.
But he’d sit with his laptop with that faraway look in his blue eyes, hair still tussled from your fingers, pyjama pants slung low on his hips.
You plopped yourself on his lap; the gesture always made him smile. He’d authorised you to latch onto him whenever you wanted, as long as he wasn’t on a video call.
You wrapped your arms around his neck. “There’s a perfumery workshop next week.”
“I’ll have to pass on that.”
“I can look up something else.”
“Raincheck?”
Your eyes travelled across his face. His heavy eyes and more pronounced cheekbones. The scruff that usually gave him a handsome ruggedness made him look tired and older this time.
“Can we bake later then?” You pushed his hair back and away from his face. “Let’s try something new. Something with a lot of coffee in it.”
He laughed, tapping your nose. “Whatever you want. We can bake all night.”
Then the gifts started. It was a bottle of a foreign perfume the very next day. A bouquet of flowers sent to work another Thursday, and after driving you home some Monday, Oscar handed you a bag topped with a large bow from a jeweller. It was a bracelet at first, then necklaces and rings. Keeping everything in a drawer seemed a little obvious, so you started putting them in random spots in your place, hoping you wouldn’t forget them.
Then came the watches, bags, shoes and dresses. They were more than beautiful and you couldn’t stop thanking Phillip, but you didn’t need these extravagant gifts. He knew this, right? You never asked for any of it.
He didn’t take you out anymore, let alone to classes – only nearby drive-thrus at most, or the restaurants at the hotels which were mostly empty and secluded. Was he embarrassed, maybe even ashamed of you? Was it why he bought you all these things? He always had an expensive taste, but did he not like you for you anymore?
He had options. Everyone knew a man like him could have whoever he wanted. It wasn’t like you didn’t take care of yourself, but you started wearing the things he got you. You’d send a selfie wearing a necklace to work, or a dress to a nice dinner with your girls. He always complimented you, still kissed you, still rested his hands on your waist as he told you how beautiful you were, but nothing changed.
The gifts kept pouring. When you ran out of space at yours, you brought them to his. You finally had enough to fill the part of his closet he’d cleared for you, but with rows and rows of bags and velvet boxes that lined the shelves, it might as well have been a storefront. A storefront of items that wouldn’t get to see the world.
On the donut float, Phillip admired the large, stupidly shiny rock on your middle finger. “It’s perfect on you,” he muttered, pressing a kiss on your ring finger before frowning at you. “You getting a little cold, sweetheart?”
You shook your head, not trusting your voice.
“You sure?” His gaze dropped to your chest, chuckling at the peaks poking from under your swimsuit.
Being in the pool was new “going out” - the only time you had him completely, away from his screens. Could you blame yourself for staying until your fingertips wrinkled?
“Come on, let’s shower and eat.”
You squeezed his hand. “Can we look at the stars after?”
Guilt gripped you for even thinking about it, but you almost missed it when he was away. When each call or text was devoted to you, like it was the only time he needed you.
“For a bit, sure. I still have stuff to do. But bring a blanket. Don’t want you to catch a cold.”
Phillip had always been a bit of a hermit, hadn’t he? When you first knew him, he almost never went out. Never really had a reason to, he said, until you.
You tried to understand, really. He couldn’t be where he was without his sacrifices. You knew this full well, and still decided to try. So you stuck around, baking and cooking with Mikaela, taking Rafe on walks around the quiet neighbourhood.
When he eventually found out about your walks, he went red in the face. Like he was a hair away from exploding, yet said in an eerily calm tone that you were never to be out alone, and left it at that.
But waiting around in a house that wasn’t even yours as he stewed in his office for hours on end was getting exhausting, pathetic even. It was almost like he didn’t want you there, like these things he threw at you were to fill a void or pacify you. It only highlighted what you missed.
While you went on staycations on Saturday, you started spending your Sundays with your girls or hanging out at Johanna’s, only coming over to his to stay the night. The way he pulled you to his chest in his sleep was the only thing you could hold onto. That he still wanted you, wanted this, even the tiniest bit.
Something simmered under the surface. Phillip’s sombre mood that lasted no more than a day or two post mission had stretched to months now.
You should have realised it sooner, that something had stolen the shine in his eyes. When he ordered you take home the pistol he kept in his nightstand after the Uber incident. He explained how the components worked and taught you how to field strip it. He made you do it at least twice a month.
But was it your place to ask? To demand answers, his time and attention. You weren’t his wife.
You told yourself it was temporary. You could wait. For the Phillip you once had, even when you didn’t know how long it was going to be.
How foolish were you to think that Saturday was going to be any different?
It was the first time in a while you were over in the morning, as Phillip would meet you at the hotels for the staycations. Mikaela had been offering to show you how to make her new salad recipe, and after weeks, you finally agreed.
Phillip kissed you at the door before hurrying back into his office, and once more, you were left with the panting Rafe to wait around. Soon, you welcomed the chef and helped her with washing vegetables as she chopped them, telling you about the spa she visited the week before.
You hated yourself for even entertaining the thought, but perhaps this was what the human mind would do in the dark, when it clutched at nothing for too long. There was no one else, you told yourself. Especially not Mikaela.
She’d been around for over a year. Yes, the chef had shot her shot, even tried to touch his arm that time she mixed up her schedule. You didn’t want to be mean, but it was comical how she’d blush and giggle when he barely even looked at her. But she could do whatever she wanted, tell herself whatever helped her sleep at night. You were the one he paraded around on his arm.
The pride and reassurance that once filled you had morphed into shameful bitterness. You couldn’t help but remember you were once pathetically invisible to him too. Even right then. Seeing her only made your stomach twist further.
“Hey, you okay?” she asked, pausing her knifework.
“Sorry.” You blinked, scrambling to turn the faucet off. “What were you saying?”
“I said I’m putting in my two-week notice.”
“What?” you said incredulously.
She gave you an apologetic smile. “I meant to tell you sooner, but I hadn’t seen you in a while.”
“Oh, what happened?”
“I’m working with a new client, an athlete couple, 6 days a week. I have to drop a few of the current ones.” She chuckled. “Hard to say no. The cheque is fat.”
Relief and guilt clashed in you. You didn’t want to admit you might have wanted her out of the picture, especially when she hadn’t done anything. But at least she seemed happy.
You smiled, shoulders relaxing. “Wow, that’s great, Mikaela. Congrats on the new gig.”
“I’ll miss baking with you.” She gave a playful pout. “You’re such a fast learner.”
You laughed. “I’ll miss having you around too.”
“Promise we’ll stay in touch?”
“Of course. You’ll have to keep giving me bakery recommendations.”
After the chef left, you called Phillip for lunch before heading to the hotel he’d booked. At the table, you brought up Mikaela quitting.
“We’ll have to look for a new chef then. How about you pick this time? Make sure you like their cooking.”
It was irrational how his cool smile pleased you, like a confirmation he didn’t give two shits about her. But he’d never given you a reason to doubt him.
You nodded.
“Oh, also,” he said after swallowing his bite. “My mum’s flyin’ in Tuesday.”
“From New York? I thought she was with friends.”
He nodded. “She got you a handbag. Wanted to deliver it to you personally before she flies back home.”
You let out a small laugh. “Why would she do that?’
“Because I wouldn’t use it if she got it for me.”
You poked his side, making him jerk with a chuckle.
Phillip had arranged dinner at an Italian for Tuesday night, the same upscale one his mum had her birthday brunch at. No one was surprised he was stuck on base and couldn’t make it.
Oscar picked you up after work with Madeline in the backseat. Just because he can’t make it, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go, she’d said. That, and she wasn’t going to pass up on their panna cotta.
“Always working, that boy.” She took a sip of her red wine. “I hope he still spends enough time with you at least.”
You considered. “He’s been really busy these days, yeah.”
“You should to force him out sometimes, even if it takes Ox to haul him out of his office. If he complains, tell him it’s on my order.”
You laughed. The paint and sip was one of the methods, wasn’t it?
When the laughter simmered down, she clasped her hand over yours. “Sugar, I don’t mean to overstep, but I was wondering,” she said with a shy smile, gaze drifting. “Have y’all made plans yet?”
You stared. “Sorry, what plans?”
“Oh, you know. Marriage. Kids.” She waved. “I mean… He’s not getting any younger.”
You let out an awkward chuckle. “We haven’t talked about that.”
“But you do want kids, right?” she asked hopefully.
You shifted in your seat. “Oh- well, I haven’t really thought about it.“
“Right, sorry. Forget I asked.” She gave you a reassuring smile before retracting her hand. You didn’t miss how her shoulders sagged. “As long as y’all are happy.”
You nodded, but couldn’t meet her eyes for the next few moments as you swirled your drink. But Madeline being Madeline, steered the conversation and got you chatting again in no time. Knowing you had your bedtime to stick to, she didn’t keep you too long after dessert.
In front of your building, you thanked her again for the lovely handbag and gave her a squeeze, wishing her a safe flight back the following day. You were always happy to see her – she was a sweet woman, but the way your stomach churned, you could barely hold your tears back as you made it to your door.
You could barely concentrate on Wednesday.
The events of the night before tugged on your mind. You told yourself it wasn’t personal. It wasn’t weird to want your son to get married or have kids. But maybe all the staycations were for that. Maybe Phillip wanted kids, but never told you. You never even spoken about labels.
Him being busy was one thing - you could be patient. But now that you’d lost her approval, someone he held in such a high regard? How could you not lose your footing when you’d disappointed her?
It didn’t help that Phillip drove his mum to the airport for her late morning flight. Did she talk about you, shook some sense into him? Would she do that, after how nice she’d been to you? She only wanted the best for her son, but what if you weren’t good enough for him?
Your mind had been a cruel place these days, how it kept shoving you under no matter how much you fought for the surface. At least he’d promised to make it up to you for missing dinner, that he’d come over. Cuddles would help calm your ruminations, remind you why you were sticking around. For your thoughtful and sweet Phillip under all his responsibilities.
Nights at yours were rare, away from his reports, no matter how late and unusually quiet he was that evening. It didn’t mean his mum said anything, right? Your gaze travelled to his car key as he set it down at one end of the table. The heart keychain, disfigured and dirty from wear seemed to mock you. He’d promise to take care of it.
You tried to not let the dull ache in your chest take over and did your best shoving your favourite takeout down your throat. Your stomach didn’t seem to want to keep anything down.
He stole glances. You couldn’t decide if it made you feel better that he didn’t ask. When you finally pushed the last half of your meal away, he looked up.
“Was too hungry. Snacked a bit earlier.”
He nodded, gaze back on his plate.
“I made you a sandwich while I waited. For tomorrow.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, followed by more silence.
And you watched him, fork poking around at his food as he chewed. You noted how he barely looked at you. He didn’t kiss you at the door that day, instead gave you a loose one-armed hug.
But his tired eyes made your heart throb. He’d missed more meals, hadn’t he? His watch sat lower on his wrist.
“You got time to watch something tonight?”
He swapped his empty plate for yours. “Not too late for you?”
You offered a smile. “No, I can stay up.”
You cleared the table, but instead of moving to the couch, he stayed put.
“Take your pistol out.”
Your gaze dropped to the dishes you were holding. “Can we do that later, after the movie?”
“No. Now,” he answered, like you shouldn’t have asked. Like you shouldn’t want things.
Phillip leaned back in his seat, sharp-eyed with his arms crossed as he always did when supervising you.
You let out an uneven breath as you popped the magazine out. With shaky hands, you struggled to pull the tabs to remove the slide. When you finally did, you shut your eyes and took a deep, long breath. You didn’t mean to slam the disassembled pistol down.
The next part is linked above if already published
Masterlist
Phillip Graves | 3.6k | fluff
Rather be safe than sorry (p1) (p9)
The intel was good. Konni was in Al Mazrah, manufacturing chemical weapons in a bunker under Zaya Observatory.
Farah Karim welcomed Phillip to her base to discuss battle plans. Her Lieutenant, Alex Keller, addressed the elephant in the room: his alleged death. Oh, but he was never in that tank, was he? When asked what else he knew, Farah cut in – as pragmatic she always was, stating they had no time for rumours with her own battle to fight before Konni moved into Urzikstan.
With his supposition confirmed, Phillip smirked. She needed his help, which meant she’d keep his status under wraps. At least for the time being.
With ULF on overwatch, Shadow Company underwent Operation Rogue Arsenal to destroy the plant and contain the munitions. The mission was successful, or so he thought.
Unfortunately, one of their exfil choppers turned out to have been compromised. Two Konni operators posed as Shadows and slain four of his men for the secured gas canisters. The pilot, ever vigilant, sent a distress signal before he landed at the demanded coordinates. Realising it was an ambush, the operators fled, forced to abandon the gas.
Phillip hurt his ankle in the fruitless chase, but it didn’t matter as long as the cargo was secured and they were a step closer to taking down Konni.
Was he licking his wounds, if the first thing he wanted to do was to see you?
After a trip to the med bay that Friday evening, he made it to yours on a crutch with your favourite takeaway. You opened the door with a smile which dropped in an instance.
“Phillip, you’re hurt!” You took a step in, a hand on his arm before taking the bag off his hand. “You didn’t say anything. I wouldn’t have made you climb the stairs.”
“It’s no big deal.” He hobbled past your door.
“Phil…” You eyed his ankle, clad in compression sleeve.
“Just a sprain. Will be fine in 2 weeks.” He looked over his shoulder at your concerned expression. “Baby, we eating or not? I’m starvin’ here.”
You helped him to the couch, and after the meal, he laid his head on your lap. With the TV on, you played with his blond hair, the way that always made his eyes flutter. He was no stranger to suffering casualties, but you always made it better somehow, even just a bit.
“How about we go to yours tonight? I can’t have you climbing up and down these stairs.”
“My house has stairs too.”
“But only one flight.”
“Are you offering to carry me to my bed?” He turned to you with a smirk. “Bridal style?”
You laughed. “I can try to drag you at most.”
“You know what, that’s good enough for me.”
You drove to his and ran him a bath (lukewarm, as to not worsen his swelling) which he eventually persuaded you to join. What use was a large tub if you weren’t in it? With the lights low, you sat between his thighs, back pressing against his chest. He planted kisses on your shoulder, the scrape of his stubble making you shudder in his arms, before resting his chin there, eyes shut.
You bathed and dressed him, not letting him leave the bed the rest of the evening as you elevated and iced his ankle. How nice was it to have such a sweet little thing fuss and dote over him? And he let you. Damn, could you take care of him forever?
At bedtime, with the lights off, you came up behind him to spoon him, nuzzling his blond hair. He was overdue for his weekly trim at the barber on base. At least you liked it when he had a bit of a stubble, right? Made you giggle more when he kissed you.
He pulled your arm closer around him. “Am I still your big boy?”
You laughed, your breath warm on the nape of his neck. “What else would you be?”
He was a lucky bastard, wasn’t he? He couldn’t help but wonder what his men would think if they saw him like this, so soft and pliant for his woman. He surely would never hear the end of it.
The following morning, ever the stubborn bastard, Phillip shuffled to his office to retrieve his laptop to work in bed. Beyond the partly drawn curtains, a golden glow fell upon your sleeping form next to him. With the climb of the sun, the beam crept over your face. He sighed, his gaze swiping over you. The rhythm of your chest, the gentle breathing, the peace across your features and the lashes over your cheeks.
He smiled, stomach flipping. He was allowed to look, wasn’t he? You certainly never objected when he stared at you with unabashed enthusiasm. Perhaps land a playful slap to his arm before looking away with a giggle at most.
Disgustingly whipped, as he used to describe it. Look who was talking now. It was something he didn’t think he’d have for himself. But now that it was in his grasp? He would do anything to keep it.
You stirred with a long inhale. He perked up, setting his laptop on the nightstand before caressing your cheek with his knuckle. You gave a sleepy smile, eyes still shut.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” he whispered, scooting next to you.
You buried your face in his chest with a hum. “You had your coffee yet?”
“No.” He stroked your hair. “Thought the doctor told me to not leave the bed.”
His shirt drowned your laughter. “So the laptop crawled its way up here, huh?”
“It did actually. It’s a new feature- Wait, it’s Saturday.” His hand froze. “Shit, I forgot to book our staycation.”
You squinted at him. “I’m perfectly good with this. I’ll give you a massage.” Your head dropped back to his chest, voice muffled, “When I’m awake enough.”
He laughed, and he held you for a few more moments.
You made sure Phillip very carefully made his way to the pool deck to enjoy the morning sun. In his ‘little shorts’, as you affectionately called them. After finishing his coffee, he laid on his belly on the reclined lounger. You kneaded his back with oiled hands, massaging the knots away making him groan in satisfaction. You always knew how to delight him.
He sat back, the lounger now back upright. “Want to grab breakfast after this? We can go anywhere you want. Maybe that café at the park?”
You straddled him, rubbing his shoulders. “You shouldn’t do a lot of walking yet.”
“Are you suggesting a drive-through?” he asked, hands on your waist. “A burger sounds good.”
“Lunch?”
“Mhm. There’s nothing in the fridge. But you’re driving, right, baby?” he teased.
You chuckled, rubbing massaging his biceps and forearms. “Last time I gave you a massage here it ended very differently.”
“When my ankle’s fixed,” he said. “Unless you’re doing the riding, in which case-“ his gaze dropped down your body with a smirk- “ride away.”
You poked him, making him jerk sideways with a laugh.
“Just saying. I’m not decommissioned by any means.”
You kissed his forehead. “Copy, Commander.”
When you were done with the massage, you took his Rover to get breakfast from the nearby bakery, promising to continue working on the Ferrari Lego once you were back. With the click of the front door, his house was silent again.
He did not miss it one bit. In fact, you should be at his a lot more often, liven up his home a bit. It was always far too big for one. His guest rooms stood empty, safe for the one for his mother when she visited. If you were here, you could convert one into your study, maybe take another as your hobby room. And as for the rest of the house? You could do whatever you wanted with it, anything to make you feel at home.
He’d known you for less than a year, only kissing you for the past handful of months. It was a little fast, sure, but how would you feel about moving in? He certainly didn’t want to scare you, but why did he have to wait so long when he knew it was going to be you at the end? When he wanted it to be you, now and the next-
It dawned on him. If he was wary about it not working out, about his job getting in the way… Now it was another thing to lose. You were another thing to be taken away from him.
He had enemies - enemies who’d do anything to get to him. There was no line they wouldn’t cross. He knew it all too well. He’d been that man too.
Dread pooled in this stomach. Was it reasonable to be worried? You’d be fine, right? No one hated him that much. You’d been gone around 20. You should be back any minute, but before he knew it, he dialled your number.
You didn’t pick up. Probably because you were driving… his car. What if someone was after him and mistook you for him and- oh shit. Oh fuck.
The doorbell buzzed and his shoulders relaxed, before they tensed again. You knew the code and had the remote for the gate. A quick check of the camera revealed it was a Mikaela in her Volkswagen. He buzzed her in.
Phillip had given you his assistant’s number if you needed anything. Maybe you’d arranged something and he wasn’t notified. Odd. You always asked him first.
He’d left his shirt upstairs as he wasn’t expecting guests. He groaned, getting off the comfy lounger and shuffled to the door with his crutch, slick chest and all.
“Graves-“ The chef smiled before her gaze dropped down his body- “Oh.”
“Mikaela. I wasn’t expecting you.” He looked past her, in case you were driving in. “Are you baking today? She’s not here.”
“No, I thought I was scheduled to cook today?”
“I wasn’t aware.” He tilted his head in thought. “Wait- Are you sure? I wasn’t supposed to be back until Monday.”
Her brows rose. “Oh, did I mix up my schedule?”
“Think you did, yeah.”
“Well, I’m already here, might as well not waste the ingredients, right?” She gestured at the tote bag.
His gaze drifted to his cowboy hat on the foyer cabinet as he considered, before stepping aside to let her in. Probably could have stopped himself from blatantly sucking his teeth, but in his sour mood, he just wanted to have the house to himself and take his sweet time with you.
“Graves, you’re hurt. You shouldn’t be all alone.” She gave a coy smile. “Let me help, okay? I’ll take care of you.” She reached for his forearm which he yanked away.
He grimaced. “That’s not necessary. You should double check your schedule next time.”
Behind her, you pulled up to the gate and relief washed over him. He’d run up to you, but his dumb fuck ankle wouldn’t let him, so he made his way past Mikaela and waited on the porch with a silly grin.
You came up to him with a laugh, bag in hand. “You that hungry, huh?”
“You got no idea,” he answered, and with a hand on your waist, gave you a big ol’ smooch. “Mikaela’s here, said she mixed up her schedule.”
“I saw her earlier, but didn’t think she was stopping by. Would have got her something as well. She said she liked one of those matcha pound cakes.”
You gave her one of your pastries, which she thanked you for with tinged cheeks, before you made it out to the garden table for your breakfast. Phillip sat next to you, and you eyed him (his chest) with an amused smile.
“Like what you see, sweetheart?”
“Heard being shirtless helps sprained ankles heal faster.”
He smirked. “There’s evidence that not showering alone helps.”
You nodded sagely. “That does make a lot of sense.”
“We should test the hypothesis again after this.”
The laughter died down and you continued with your breakfast.
“Maybe we don’t need the burger after all. Will have food for lunch.”
“Yeah, sounds fine.”
His gaze lingered on you. Sweet and carefree, as you should be. This was his burden to carry, but how could he explain the situation without sounding like he was losing his mind? It wasn’t often he was at a loss for words.
He thought he’d moved on from Las Almas. The people who wanted him dead thought they’d killed him. What if next time it included you?
Yes, Farah kept her cards close to her chest, but there would be no reason for her to risk losing her most useful ally. Price might have been a long-time friend, but his aid along with Kate had nothing on the size of Shadow Company.
The ghost loomed once more. For the mistakes he’d made, he wasn’t the man you deserved. But he wanted to be, and he’d die trying. You’d let him, right?
“Baby, I’m assigning you a driver, okay?”
Your brow rose. “I thought we’ve talked about this.”
He couldn’t scare you with the truth. “Look, it’s not- I just want to take care of you. Would you let me? Please?”
Your eyes searched his. Probably surprised by the plea. A little apprehensive too, maybe. But you didn’t ask. You knew not to, knowing how he could be a little sensitive after coming home.
“At least when you come and go from here. Deal?”
You gave him a smile and a pat on his head. He hid his smile in the crook of your neck. With your cooperation, he was a little lighter.
You got huge burgers for dinner, and spent the rest of the weekend working on the Ferrari at his. Late Sunday night, when you eventually completed it, he grinned, with the utter joy of a young boy holding his prized possession. His chest was full and warm, and God, how did you make him this happy? Was he allowed to be this happy? He could only give you a big kiss.
With a laugh, you took a photo of him for his mum. He kept the Lego in his office, under the misty mountains painting, when it all started.
The week carried on as usual. You’d reply to Phillip’s good morning text when he was driving to base. You’d send a selfie or two though out the day, and he’d give you a little call before you went to sleep.
Things were fine. Of course they were. He was just overthinking the shit out of your safety.
So Thursday night when you suggested meeting him at a restaurant, he didn’t think much of it. He offered to pick you up, but you reasoned it was in the middle of the base and your workplace.
He gave you a quick kiss when you made your way to the table.
“Where’s your crutch?”
“Waited for you too long, got mad so I threw it out.”
You laughed, hands on his biceps as you gave him a once over. “Can you walk already?”
“Short distances, yeah. What took you so long, sweetheart?”
“Sorry, I had to get another ride.” You took your seat and he followed suit.
“Why?”
“The driver didn’t match the app profile, said he was using his girlfriend’s account. I know these things happen sometimes, but he didn’t give me a heads up.” You frowned, shifting in your seat. “It’s just he was huge, and pushy about me getting in too.”
He blinked. “You’re getting a driver, whenever you leave. I don’t want these things happening to you.” It wasn’t something he could risk. What if it really was someone with ill intentions?
“That’s fine, P. I can always cancel rides.”
“He’ll be with you when you’re out too.”
“You mean like a bodyguard?” You let out a chuckle, shaking your head. “Hard pass.”
“I’m not negotiating.”
You frowned at his sombre expression. “Phil- Are you okay? Is something the matter?”
With a sigh, he looked away, arms over his chest. It was easy to assign someone to you. You’d be none the wiser. Wasn’t that the job anyway, tail you seamlessly? But won’t betray your trust like that.
You straightened up. “Phillip, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“Please, just for now, sweetheart. No arguments.”
You looked into his eyes. “This is for you, right?” you asked carefully.
“N-“ he almost denied. With a sigh, he corrected himself, “Yes. I want to know you’re safe.”
“If it makes you feel better, then yeah. Okay.”
He grabbed your hand across the table. “Thank you,” he muttered, caressing your knuckles with his thumb.
The small smile you gave didn’t reach your eyes.
The air was weird the rest of dinner, even on the way back to your place with his hand on your thigh. He could tell you were a little apprehensive, and it was understandable. He owed you an explanation, but what good would it do? What he could do was protect you as best he could until this was all over, whenever it was.
For all he knew, he was letting paranoia consume him, but Konni would be back, and he was going to cross paths with the 141 again one way or the other. Whatever might come from it, you were not paying for his sins.
Alright. Fine.
While a security driver might be over the top (but who was Phillip Graves if not a man who loved going above and beyond), you tried to not take it personally. He simply cared about your wellbeing, and you had nothing to hide. You hoped he knew this too - if assigning you a bodyguard implied anything.
That being said, you couldn’t lie not having to ride Uber or take public transport was a luxury. Yes, you could do without it, but having someone drive you on top of that? You might be modest, but you weren’t ungrateful.
Phillip assigned you Oscar Chamberlain, who texted you the following morning informing that your ride was waiting. What you didn’t expect though, was him standing guard in a sleek black suit outside your place. You jumped when you swung the door open.
He gave you an apologetic smile. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Oscar, but you can call me Ox.” He gestured at your bag. “May I?”
You recognised him from his dossier photo. He was in his late-30s, wide-shouldered with thick arms, a little over 6ft. His hair and stubble were sharply trimmed, just like every single Shadow you’d seen. Including their boss. Was it company policy to get your hair trimmed every week? The devil worked hard, but the barbers on base worked harder.
“That’s okay, and please, call me by my name.”
He led you to a tinted, black SUV and opened its door for you before confirming your destination. You’d expected a chauffeur to be discreet and efficient, and perhaps it was just you not being used to it yet, but you sat a little stiff in the back seat.
As if sensing your awkwardness, he started, “Ms. Graves told me about you. How you met Graves.”
You smiled. “She did? How come?”
“I’m her driver when she’s here. She has one in Dallas too, but he doesn’t usually come with when she travels.”
Madeline was Phillip’s only family. Of course he wanted to provide, like he was doing for you, you supposed. “How long have you been at Shadow?”
“Since 2018. I was an operator, but moved to protective services about four years ago.”
“Was that when they set up the division?”
“Yes. Never thought I’d do it, but I met my now-wife and wanted to settle down,” he said. “Wanted to raise my kids too.”
The fondness in his tone made you smile.
Turned out the suit and aviators were a lot less intimidating if Oscar volunteered more than the formal pleasantries, especially when he spoke about his toddler son. Before you knew it, he pulled up at your workplace.
“Ox?”
“Yes?” He took his aviators off and met your gaze in the rear-view mirror.
“What happens now?”
“I’m waiting here until you get off work.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll be here the whole day. How about I text you when I’m done?”
“Won’t you leave for lunch?”
You shook your head.
“I’ll double-check with Graves first.” He got out of the car to open your door. “Miss? Please don’t mess with me,” he said, and added in a lower tone, “If he finds out I’m not with you when you’re out, I might not have a job tomorrow.”
You laughed. “He said that?”
He nodded.
You knew Graves joked with his Shadows, but the worry in Oscar’s eyes made you think maybe he meant it this time. You certainly weren’t trying to get him in trouble.
“I’ll let you know when I’m off. Thanks for the ride, Ox.”
Minutes after you walked in, your phone pinged.
How was your first ride?
Good. I thought when you agreed on lowkey, it included the outfit too
Oh, right. I’ll tell him
We still on for the movie tomorrow? I’ll buy the tickets
Sorry, baby. My meeting might run late
Saturday then?
Raincheck? How about we stay in? I’ll cook
Depends. What’s on the menu?
Me
You smiled. Damn commander, hard offer to refuse. Do I need to bring dessert?
You’re the dessert ;)
You could imagine him laughing in his office. I’ll get ingredients for tiramisu after work
Or not. Ox can run your errands
But I like running them with you!
Means I’ll have more time to kiss you, no? You supposed you couldn’t argue with logic.
The next part is linked above if already published
Masterlist
Well, there were a lot of things wrong with him, but this one was new. When the pain struck his hip as he rolled out of bed, he thought he’d slept wrong. Not uncommon after years of abuse his body went through. But that evening as he lifted his neighbour’s shopping, he should have known it was more than that.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Jefferies asked, eyeing him with concern as he froze mid-squat.
He exhaled through the pain and straightened up. He must have pulled something the day before while sparring with Soap. That slippery bastard.
“M’alright,” he mumbled, heading up the stairs.
Every step up was a stab to his hip - he even felt the click and shift. He hid his hiss to no avail.
“You’re walking funny. You sure you’re fine?” the elderly woman asked again.
“I’ll be fine tomorrow.” He bent down as carefully as he could to drop the bags at her door.
“Thanks for the help, Simon.” She smiled up at him before pulling her key out of her purse. “My regular massage place is still open. You’ve driven me there before, remember?”
He paid no mind to her comment until he attempted to shower after dinner, unfortunately unable to peel his jeans off his legs. The ache in his hip and lower back pulsed each time he bent down.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Giving up, he pulled his shirt and jeans back on before laughing at himself. He was old.
Maybe it was Simon’s fault he didn’t check the time before he left (and for being such a stubborn bastard, really), because when he arrived, the shop’s sign was off, like most of the interior lights. But he was at wit’s end, and if he was honest, he couldn’t imagine surviving the night.
He grunted his way out of his SUV and pushed the door open only for you to straightened up from behind the counter with a gasp. You pulled your jacket shut, informing him with a wary smile that the establishment was closed.
He told you how much he was suffering without telling you. Your gaze darted away from his sleeve tattoo as you offered to pen him in for the next day. He pressed, almost hissing, and after a little back and forth, you relented.
Maybe you’d taken pity on the large yet injured soldier. Or were intimidated. Probably the latter, really. Did it matter?
You flicked the fluorescent lights back on and he limped behind you to the nearest stall. The room smelt floral, illuminated by warm lights with a massage bed and a small table next to it. It would have been relaxing if each step he took wasn’t like stepping on a shard of glass.
“I’ll get the supplies. Meanwhile, please change into these.” You placed a pair of paper shorts on the bed before disappearing.
Simon tried, he really did, but he still couldn’t get his jeans off without feeling like he was breaking his sodding back. Why the hell were his trousers so tight around the thighs?
This was humiliating. Would he only make it worse if-
You knocked. “May I come in?”
He pulled his jeans back around his waist. “Yes.”
The door creaked open. “Oh, you’re not-“
“I’m sorry,” he said over his shoulder, unable to look at you with the flare in his cheeks. “I can’t bend down to get them off.” He hated to sound like a creep, and it didn’t help that you were pretty.
You’d taken your jacket off, revealing your polo uniform under it. He felt even worse for prolonging your night. You were seconds away from going out the door, yet there you were dealing with him instead.
You set the towels and bottles down. “That’s okay. I’ll help.” You squatted behind him, pulling his jeans off before laying them on the table.
He appreciated the kind tone you used, but it didn’t make it any less embarrassing. He didn’t even know your name and you were already undressing him. He wanted this to be over with already.
“Uh- would you-“
“You can start.” He dove face down onto the bed, still in his loose black shirt and underwear. Oil stains be damned.
“The right hip, was it?” You pushed his shirt up and laid a small towel over his butt, tucking the edge into his underwear. “Let me know where it hurts.”
You pressed your thumbs into his lower back, (respectfully) feeling up his muscles, getting little to no reaction. When you moved to his thigh, he jerked. You rubbed down his hamstring, pressing along it and up back towards his hip making him hiss.
You lathered your hands in oil, rubbing them to heat it up. “Looks like you pinched your sciatic nerve.”
He groaned in response. You started with his hip, pressing with your palm. He would hate to be dramatic, but it quite literally felt like getting stabbed. He cried out, making you jerk back.
“Sorry- Would you like some ice?“
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “No, just get on with it.”
You went back to it, sliding your forearm on his hip. Simon kept his tears at bay as he breathed in and out of his mouth, trying to ground himself.
The pressure waned. “Should I stop for a bit?” you asked, concern in your voice.
He shook his head. “Do what you need.”
While it hurt like fuck, it was… kind of nice too. You massaged his lower back, nice and firm, down to his thigh and all the way to his feet, before moving to his left side. By the time you went back to his hip, a confusing mix of relief and satisfying pain swirled through him.
He didn’t know what you were doing, but the way you elbow-dropped his spine in the gentlest way made his toes tingle. When you pressed your thumbs into hips with your body weight, he almost purred.
“We have 10 more minutes. Would you like me to massage your back?”
“Huh?” he groaned, eyes barely open. Was he drooling?
“Would you like a back massage?”
Still out of it, Simon yanked his shirt off. Only when the air stilled, he remembered the state of his back - littered with silvery, jagged burn scars.
People had seen it. He never cared, but touching it, and with the kind of tenderness you’d been showing, that was different. The room might be dim, but you’d have to be blind to not see them. He could only hope you weren’t looking in disgust.
Why was he concerned about your opinion anyway? You were just doing your job, massaging his fucking problem away. It was none of his business what you thought. You were allowed to think he was ugly.
He thought the same.
“Wait, let me get the unscented oil.”
His scars were many years old and fully healed. Did you have to be so attentive? When you came back a minute later and rubbed your thumbs along his spine, he shuddered.
Your nimble hands worked his traps and delts before moving down to his lats. It tickled a little, but your fingers were pure magic, weren’t they? He was pulsing everywhere as his body softened further.
“I’ll help you stretch now. Could you turn over?”
His eyes flew open. “Yeah, just-“ He cleared his throat- “Give me a minute.”
“Whenever you’re ready,” you reassured, wiping excess oil off his body.
When he decided he was presentable again, he rolled onto his back. You tucked one knee towards his chest, taking his ankle and wrist and- his eyes widened with a gasp as his back cracked in the most satisfying way. You guided him to lay on his other side to turn him into a pretzel again, and he was a puddle of jelly after the second pop. Did you just let out the tiniest laugh at his stunned state?
“All done now,” you announced, gathering the towels.
The operator laid there unmoving. Boneless. Incapacitated. He needed a stretcher to get back to his SUV.
“The pain should be gone in about three days, but if not, you can come back in a week.”
“Thanks-“ he managed, and his blood rushed again.
Simon jumped to his feet, pulled his clothes back on and slammed a wad of bills on the table before bolting out of the room. You must have been baffled, but he’d die before you were aware of what was happening to him.
Come Monday, Simon strutted into base with shiny new hips. Sciatica who?
The clueless Soap still got a smack upside his head though, and he avoided sparring for the week for good measure. But afterwards? The Scot was going to suffer an extraordinary, devastating defeat.
While Simon didn’t remember his hip ever being fucked, he hadn’t forgotten you. In fact, he was having trouble forgetting you.
Yes, you were just doing your job (you were mighty good at it too) and didn’t speak much at all, but the kindness you displayed made him feel some type of way. Yes, he tipped generously, but he still felt bad how he ran off (like some pathetic boy with a crush, mind you), especially after how accommodating you’d been.
Of course he could come back - you told him he could, but you’d fixed him. He didn’t want to feel slimy, making up reasons to see you again.
That was a bloody flimsy excuse, wasn’t it? Even he knew it. He’d never admit it, but he wasn’t ready to have you confirm that you thought he was repulsive with his size and scars and lack of words.
But maybe he could apologise in a few weeks, when it was acceptable to come in for a regular massage. Mrs. Jefferies did that every month. Maybe he could even drive her again next time, as a thanks.
She’d invited him to her grandson Jay’s 7th birthday at the local laser tag centre. ‘You know how to shoot, you can help the kids,’ she’d reasoned. ‘No gifts, the boy’s spoilt enough’, she added. He knew she just wanted him to come out, because he’d be home all weekend otherwise. Sweet woman, Rachel was.
A kid’s party didn’t sound like the most exciting place to be, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Plus he wasn’t an ungrateful man who’d pass up on free food.
That Saturday afternoon, Simon pushed the door to the venue wearing a dark sweater, jeans and boots. The top had shrunk since he last saw it, now stretching a little tight across his shoulders and chest, but he didn’t have much a choice. His baggy t-shirts and hoodies were too casual and he didn’t need to look even more out of place.
The Jefferies were busy setting and moving things around, but when he offered to help, Rachel sent him away with a drink, saying he was guest and shouldn’t lift a finger. In groups, parents mingled while kids ran around, giggling, playing amongst themselves. He took to a quiet corner, and as he waited, a tiny figure approached.
He looked up from his can of fizzy to the boy standing in front of him. He was gaping, wide-eyed, neck craned up. The Mancunian stared back with a raised brow.
“Why are you so big?”
“I eat all my veggies,” he said without missing a beat.
“Eww!” His face scrunched before he giggled. “I’m Nick. What’s your name?” The boy extended his hand.
He bent down with a chuckle. “’m Simon. Nice t’meet ya, mate.”
“Nick,” a gentle female voice said. “The party’s st- Oh-“
He blinked as you looked up at him. “It’s you.”
The memories rushed.
After his hot shower following the massage, he rag-dolled onto his bed - his whole body was putty. Except for one thing… But he knew just how to take care of that. Thankfully, he didn’t have time to be ashamed of what he imagined because he passed out almost immediately afterwards.
“I want to be like him when I grow up!” the boy exclaimed as he pointed at the soldier. “I’m going to start eating my veggies.”
“Hi, didn’t expect to see you.” You chuckled, patting the boy’s head. “Which one’s yours?”
Were you always this pretty? You were (obviously) out of your uniform, donning a shirt and a cardigan with jeans instead. You were far more relaxed that day, with an easy smile and loose shoulders.
Unlike that night, alone with some strange guy. Perhaps it helped that he’d shaved that morning.
“Me? No. Mrs. Jefferies, Rachel. She invited me.”
You tilted your head. “Did she send you to the salon?”
“She did, yeah.”
You smiled. “How’s the hip?”
“Good. Perfectly fine now.”
Something in the far room caught the boy’s attention, sending him running.
“Is he yours?”
You shook your head. “My nephew. Goes to school with Jay.”
He nodded and offered his hand. “I’m Simon.”
You took it with a smile and told him your name. His brown eyes drifted down to your hand in his, so soft and much smaller than his.
“Love!” Rachel exclaimed, making you retract your hand and turn to the voice. She sauntered over and linked arms with you. “Glad you could make it. I see you’ve met Simon. You know, he was walking funny the other day-“
“She was my therapist. I’m alright now.”
“Told you, you needed it.” She laughed, patting his arm. “Come, everyone’s here now.”
In front of the arena, Nick joined you as Jay’s mother announced the participants of the first game where each team consisted of five kids and an adult.
The boy looked over with a gasp. “Simon, we’re on the same team?”
“Looks like it.”
He grabbed his hand and tugged him along towards the group of kids. “This is my friend Simon! He’s on my team,” he said, all smug like he had a guard dog with him.
Somewhere behind him, you let out a small laugh.
After a brief from the staff, the game began. Simon knew how to take it easy, playing against babies and all, but Rachel was clear. His mission was to help Jay’s team win, and he always took his assignments seriously.
Across the room, he took out the other adult first – the biggest threat, and let the little hostiles get closer before he took his shots. After the ten seconds of respawn delay, he did it again. And again.
However, the game that was supposed to last fifteen minutes lasted far less. A boy in the far corner wailed behind one of the crates, breaking into tears about not getting to shoot. Another kid followed, shoulders shaking as he whined about the game being unfair.
‘Who’s dad is that?’ the incompetent adult questioned (Nolan, he was called apparently) before his wife and other concerned mothers suggested someone else take Simon’s place.
He narrowed his eyes. He was paying forward Rachel’s generosity of inviting him, and look how wide the birthday boy and his buddies were grinning. Like it was his fault Nolan had skill issues and couldn’t carry the team.
His team moaned when Rachel escorted him of the arena and onto the seat next to you. She shot him a satisfied smile, muttering about how the mum of one of the crying kids was a stuck-up little twat.
“You annihilated those poor kids,” you said with a teasing smile.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Just can’t help being too good, huh?”
“I’m around weapons quite a bit.”
You glanced down his body before nodding. Having seen his scars and the fact that there was a military base in the area, it wasn’t hard to deduce, was it?
He followed you to the table of refreshments, chatting with you while the kids played their second round. You asked about the side of town as you weren’t familiar. He wasn’t either, but mentioned the chippy nearby which was so overwhelmingly terrible it became a fond memory. Even after years, the 141 always took him there for his birthday to mess with him. It made you laugh.
He liked its sound. Crisp, sweet, genuine. He didn’t let himself look too long though, but he couldn’t help gazing at your hands - so dainty yet strong. He didn’t mean to be weird, but he knew they’d be wonderful intertwined with his.
“Doesn’t look nearly as fun without you.” You nodded at the arena. “I mean, it’s good no one’s crying, but no one’s laughing either. That, and Jay’s team is losing.”
He smiled. He was benched. That was not on him anymore.
After the third game, the kids gathered for lunch. Nick wedged himself between you and him, asking about his favourite food and which veggies helped him grow the most. He didn’t have the heart to say that it was mainly genetics.
He didn’t spend a lot of time with kids, and while Nick bounced with energy, he wasn’t overwhelming. In fact, he was polite and attentive, maybe even cute if Simon was generous. His enthusiasm reminded him of a certain someone, minus the mohawk and the accent.
The crowd sang for Jay and he blew out his candles, grinning ear to ear, before cutting the cake for dessert. When the party wrapped up and Jay distributed the gift bags, he asked if you needed a ride.
“My place is a little far, near the salon.”
“Not far from me. I live in Rachel’s building.”
Guests started to leave, yet Simon’s eyes lingered on the buffet table. He didn’t like food going to waste, and he wasn’t going to pretend he had a small appetite either. At least he was polite enough to ask Rachel if he could finish the mini pizzas, right? He popped the last one into his mouth before a kid shrieked behind him.
“The pizza’s gone!” the boy wailed, breaking down into sobs.
You snorted and bit down on your smile, a hand on his forearm to lead him away.
He swallowed, removing the evidence. “I think I’ve made enough kids cry today.”
While waiting for Nick’s ride, he sat on your lap, rambling about how fun it was when Simon was on his team. “We should play again next time!” he said to the blond. “I’m sure we’ll win!”
“Why not,” you answered.
Were you implying he’d see Nick again, and by extension you? He glanced at you, lips pulled. He’d like that very much.
When his mum pulled up, Nick gave you a hug and a kiss on the cheek before fist-bumping the soldier with a grin. “Bye, big guy!”
Simon waved as his mum took the boy’s hand to the car.
As you walked to his SUV, you shot him an amused smile. “Don’t think he’s going to stop with the big guy thing.”
“You think?”
“I mean, you are big,” you said. “I saw.”
He blinked, the heat creeping up his neck. Did you mean-
“Oh! Oh God.” Your eyes widened, stopping in your tracks. “No- I meant. I- I gave you a massage and-“
“About that. I’m sorry for walking out. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“That’s okay.” With a shy smile, your eyes dropped to your feet. “I’m just glad you could run afterwards.”
He barked out a laugh. Something told him you knew why he did. Did it make it better or worse? “You did a brilliant job.”
Your gaze lingered on his bicep before moving to his eyes. “Can’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”
Oh. “How soon can I come back?”
“If you want to come up to mine, I can do your arms.” You averted your eyes, failing to hide that pretty little smile. “Didn’t get to work them last time.”
Simon might be a little insane, but he wasn’t insane enough to say no.
His lips tugged. “Would love to return the favour if you let me.”
If Simon still had his family
You called Ghost weak
Underground fighter Ghost
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