thinking about domestic philip graves — the softest, he's a crude and cunny man, he was involved in too much to be considered as a good person, because philip is able to kill, to lie smoothly, to use anyone he wants to for his own good.
but it's the side that he buried himself, deep down, so you, his prettiest wifey, would live the domestic life from your best dreams, shared with your lovely husband that takes the best care of you.
phill almost doesn't let you lift a finger up, insisting to be on your beck and call, and who could thought that someone like graves would be so sickly sweet, but here it is, where he's standing on your spacious bright kitchen and cooks delicious breakfast.
that's your phillip, exactly one that others can't see at all, with his straight brown hair tousled in different directions, letting the pale morning sun play with the bright strands and light freckles on his nose, rectangular glasses sitting low on the bridge.
this life puts him at ease, tending to the needs of his beloved one, forgetting about who he is and which patch he choiced, moving with a light sway of his hips as he reaches for seasonings, grey sweatpants sitting low to expose his light happy trail.
your eyes race over his lean back with appreciation, tracing the subtle movements of his muscles and thin red marks of your nails, something to stay on phill's skin after how well he treated you in bed, staying late to hover on top of your body that was sprawled beneath him, arms clinging to his back with each delicious drag of his long cock inside of your tight heat.
that's what makes him move so easily from early morning, contented grin on his thin lips as he moves the frying pan, missing the soft sound of bare feet padding against the floor, before your arms curl against his middle, plush lips pressing kisses against his naked back.
— “ah, good morning to my sweet pea„ philip almost sings, head moving to the side, stealing a glance of your eyes as he smiles ever so brightly, lips stretching wide to expose his sharp little fangs, and you can't but melt again, pressing tighter against your beloved man, which rips a chuckle out of him, before he sneaks a hand around the curve of your body, pressing you against his side tenderly.
that's the life he adores the most, just a simple routine with his precious wife.
I love the idea of a perv ghost or graves. like stealing underwear and shit but the reader is into that 🤤
a/n: why not both ehe, grave's a little different i didn't want it to be so similar to ghosts'
not proofread!
↳ ⁀➷ ∵ ❝they like your drawers❞
∵ GHOST ∵
It wasn't uncommon for you to lose your drawers, you often did your laundry in big loads at the end of the week and sometimes they just go missing. But it was that last time, it irked you.
You walk into the laundry room after a long day of doing paperwork, the boring stuff to get your clothes from the dryer. on base the entire building would share the laundry room so it wasn't uncommon to run into different people, you didn't really expect to run into the LT though.
"Sir." You say, walking past him on his way out. He replies to you with a brisk nod. Then when you look at the machine you were using it was slightly open, what the hell?
You got your items, folding your uniform and pyjamas to find all your underwear missing. You groan, rolling your eyes. It couldn't have been him, right? Why the hell would he want—unless he fancied you but...it's Ghost, he wouldn't—well he might actually.
You're only annoyed because you're running out of panties.
The next time you run into him in the laundry room again but this time you're sat right in front of the laundry machine, waiting for the wash to finish to move your clothes to the dryer. You came later than usual, the time you tend to finish doing laundry to try to catch the culprit and well, Ghost stands there frozen as if he wasn't expecting you here.
"Evening, LT."
Ghost grumbles, but responds. "Sergeant."
"Doing laundry?" You ask, looking down at his empty hands with your brows raised. It was obvious now that it was him. Even with his mask and unreadable posture you can just tell.
You stand up leaning against the laundry machine as you unload your wet clothes into the dryer waiting for his response.
He only huffs, muttering to himself incoherently.
You finish your task and take leave your basket a top the dryer, it would take about an hour and half to finish the drying so you were going to leave, do something else while you wait.
You made sure to bump into Ghost on your way out, apologising insincerely, "Sorry, Sir. I should be more careful."
He doesn't say a thing, taking your impact like a tank. You don't see the way he lets out a massive sigh of relief not being caught, or so he thought. When you're gone he felt a bulge in his pants—not the usual bulge but something in the pocket of his cargos.
He reaches in with his bone painted gloves, ragging out a handful of unwashed underwear. He gulps, looking at them. He can't help the way his cock twitches at them, usually he gets them washed—dried but...these were fresh. He can't help but imagine how he was going to fuck his own fists with your panties buried in it. There is a handful of them, he was definitely going to pretend to eat you out with the fabric on his face later.
∵ GRAVES ∵
Your commander is annoying, he talks too much and can't keep his opinions to himself.
It was when you were leant over in the cockpit looking over at the pilot's dashboard. You look behind you, "We're approaching five klicks from target, Commander!"
It's the look on his face, the way he probably didn't even hear you. He's just looking at you with that shit-eating grin on his face. "You wear a thong to work, Lieutenant?" He smirks, looking back at his shadows shamelessly. "Boys, LT. wears the cutest little thong under her uniform."
Your eye practically twitch. Under your mask you sneer with annoyance as he laughs along with the team. You stand, walking back towards the cabin. "Anyone that laughs, I'll make sure doesn't come back alive." After all, you were above all their ranks but Graves.
They all shut up almost immediately, watching the way you glare daggers into Graves as you sat down. Graves lets you order the boys around, scare 'em. It's good practice.
He still smiles, that little shit. He takes his helmet off and sits down right next to you, purposely right up against the side of your body and hits your leg with his teasingly.
"Got anymore of 'em?" He whispers, his head bumping into yours.
You grunt, crossing your arms. "Shut up."
"You never wear 'em for me."
You scoff, looking him in those pretty eyes of his. "Cause, you don't deserve my nice underwear. I only wear 'em for special occasions."
"Who the fuck are ya wearin' em for then?" He's got a stitch in his brow. You like pissing him off, like pissing off a chihuahua but this dog bites pretty damn hard.
You lean towards him, bumping your forehead against the side of his head. "Who knows, maybe the captain of that team you hate so much."
"Don't you fuckin'—"
You stand to interrupt him, you can feel him seething next to you. "Let's go shadows! Let's take this fuckin' place."
During the mission you can hear how irritated Graves seemed and especially when he stands with you by his side giving Task Force 141 some respect after completing the mission with them. He keeps looking at you from the corner of his eyes as if daring to you fuckin' say something right now to the Captain.
You stand there popping your hip with your hand against the end of your rifle as it acts as a support, you turn your head pretending to make eyes at the Captain and overly nodding. "It was nice serving by your side, Captain."
You can hear Grave's kiss his tongue over his teeth. When you see him from the corner of your eyes his jaw was tight, clenching.
When the Captain gives you his regards, a flirty smile and a nod with his hat you beamed, more at the thought of how mad Graves probably was. It's when you stand and wave towards their squad that you feel Graves coming up to your side, his hand rolling up your hip before he grips it tightly.
You can feel his fingers looking for something, but he can't seem to find it. His brows furrow. Your hand comes up beside him, dropping his prize into his hand. "You wanted it right?"
You smile under the mask pushing off him. He holds it in his hand and you think you can see his cheeks redden. But then he notices you're walking away from him. "Where the fuck are you going?"
"To show that Captain how good my ass looks without 'em on." You point to the panties in Graves' hand and you swear you can see steam coming out of his ears.
He practically chases you down, grabbing you by your belt and holding you against him. You could feel it, pressing against your hip.
"You like making me jealous, don't you?"
"I like seeing you possessive, Sir, " You remark before nodding towards the panties still in his grip. "I'll need those back."
"Nah, they're mine now." He brings it up to his face, pressing his lips against them. "You can ride on the helo back without 'em. maybe instead my hands between your legs, hm?
Listen. I just need this man in many forms and I’m not sorry! (Please reblog to keep alive!)
*You receive a call from your partner at 2AM. Grabbing your phone, you press it to your ear, eyes still closed.*
You: (L/N) here.
Graves: I’ll be there in fifteen.
You: *Mutters* Fuck. Alright. *Hangs up.*
*You roll out of bed, pulling your pants suit back on from the floor.*
*Your leather shoulder rig is next, checking your Glock 48 before holstering it again in the dark.*
*Blazer, push your fingers through your wild hair and step into your slip-on Vans.*
*You grab your 2 phones, keys and jog downstairs to unlock the door and open it - just as Graves was going to knock.*
Fucker always looks impeccable. Except his hair. Tailored suit, Beretta hidden, badge clipped to his belt, fancy belt buckle and all. Bastard.
Graves drops his woulda-knocked hand and quirks an eyebrow at you, those perfect lips pursed.
You: Shut up and let’s go.
Graves: Darlin’ *he steps off the front porch to follow you to his unmarked cruiser.* Why you gotta ruin your professional look with them shoes?
You: I live just to piss you off.
Graves: True. I ain’t mad, tho. You just look perfect up until those goddamn clown shoes.
You: Rainbow race car, *you correct him, eyes glancing at the rainbow checkered print.*
Graves: The others don’t respect you because of shit like this. Always gotta toe the line.
He shakes his head and grabs a cigarette from his pocket and tucks it between his lips, cracking his window open.
The cold, overnight fall air whips in, loudly fluttering his seatbelt strap.
*You light his cigarette and then steal it to take a deep drag before giving it back to him.*
You: The others can fuck right off if their manners are dictated by shoes.
Graves: *Chuckles warmly, smirking as he pulls the cigarette away from his lips, the smoke slipping out his mouth in a messy cloud.* Mm, there’s that sass.
He leaves the rest of his sentiment unspoken, but you hear it, feel it anyway. Sentimental bastard…
