Abducting Private Graves.
In which a nineteen year old Freya Maroni takes a twenty-four year old Phillip Graves hostage to stop his unit from fucking up her vigilante work. (MDNI - CW: violence, drug use, Graves being adorable bc he hasn't been corrupted yet)
It was a dry night in Las Almas. Good for spreading hell-fire, which was exactly what Private Graves’ unit had planned for the cartel bastards holed up in a scummy little back-alley storehouse. Unfortunately, he was being left out of the action. They needed a lookout, and he drew the short straw. Alone in a dark alley, rifle clutched in his arms, eyes trained on every shadow that dared to move. Even on high alert, he was bored as fuck.
That was until a young woman came stumbling into the alley, pink curls scattered around her shoulders, lips locked in an anxious pout and wide doe-eyes glancing about as if she feared the monsters in the shadows he was guarding. Black leather jacket, cropped tank top and black skinny jeans did little to hide the tattoos and scars scattered sparingly over olive-tanned skin. As she got closer, he could smell the liquor off her, could see the dilation in her pupils, ah… Poor lil thing got drunk ‘n ditched.
“Ma’am, you doin’ alright there?” Just because she looked scared and helpless didn’t mean she was, his hands stayed trained on his rifle, the safety stayed flicked off, and his eyes made a cautionary scan over her form. No obvious outlines of weapons in the tight fabric over her toned form. He tried not to let his gaze linger in the wrong spots. He failed.
“S-sí, señor, I’m fine, just…” The girl wobbled a little on her feet, her hand rushing out to clutch his bicep for stability, and the contact sent a warm shiver up Phil’s arm and down his spine, tingling all the way. That was… new. Either way, his rifle fell slack to his side, hanging loose from his shoulder as he steadied her with large hands on her hips, “J-just lost, I- do you know the way back to uh, the… fuck…” Her eyes closed as she seemed to search for the word. Jesus, she really was gone. What assholes left her alone this state? “High street! Do you… do you know the way back to the high street?”
All the stern coldness in Phil’s expression had melted away as he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, giving her knuckles a soft pat. After a cautionary glance around, seeing that there was still no action in the alley, he began walking her out towards the quiet street, “Lucky for you it ain’t far, ma’am, or I’d be needin’ you for directions.” His little joke earned him a slurred giggle that had the country boy in his bones brimming with pride, her other hand coming to rest on his forearm as they walked, her head resting against his shoulder. Maybe being on lookout wasn’t so bad.
Or so he thought - because the second they were out of sight of his post; his back was against the wall, his rifle unloaded on the tarmac, his pistol in her hand and serrated blade pressed to his throat as her forearm pinned his shoulders. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t drunk. And maybe she wasn’t weak and helpless. Phil found himself holding his breath as her nose nuzzled along his jaw, a hot flush creeping up his neck and into his ears. “Ma’am, I highly suggest you- not do that-”
The laugh that escaped her was a smug fucking purr, the pressure of the blade digging in just enough to make his throat bob nervously as he tried desperately to will his blood from running south. “You’d be an idiot if you didn’t suggest that, cariño… But hear me out, this might not be so bad for you if you’re a good listener.” She took his shaky nod as a ’go ahead’, and to his horror she leaned in to murmur her words right into his ear. He helplessly stared up at the slither of night sky between the rooftops as if they might hold the answer to how he was getting out of this.
“Your men, they’re here to take out that cartel stronghold, aren’t they?” She didn’t need confirmation, she already knew, “Okay so, here’s what you stupid little boys don’t seem to understand. You can’t just storm in, blow shit up, and call it a day. Do you know why you can’t do that?” Again, she didn’t wait for a response.
“Cartels… They’re like mushrooms. There’s always more than meets the eye - what looks like one little gang operating out of one warehouse, is actually a mass network of sub-groups covering multiple areas of influence. Does that make sense?” Suddenly, Phil was aware she’d gone on this rant before. How involved was this mental case with taking down cartels?! Whatever her reasons, he nodded along. She was making an unfortunate amount of sense. “So, you take out this stronghold, they just send in new people in the next week or so and production continues, barely interrupted. What I do, the right way to do this, is disrupt the flow of product to ween the populace off their stock, gradually reduce their numbers, and finally once I’ve weakened them enough I sweep through, take out the actual members and get the innocents the fuck out of there. And yes, there’s innocents in there.”
Shit. Okay, so, this woman with her knife to his throat and his heart in his fucking asshole knew exactly what she was doing. And his men were about to commit a whole lot of civilian casualties. “So- why am I bein’ threatened, darlin’? You, uh… Left that part out.”
That little bit of boyish pride struck back aflame at the twitch of her smirk, and slowly, she removed the blade from his neck and stepped back, giving him room to breathe. “I need your radio. And I need you to act scared. We’re getting your unit out of there before they fuck up my work. So you, my cute little actor,” She announced as she spun him to face away from her, his back pressed to her chest, and the muzzle of his own pistol digging into the soft underside of his jaw, “Are going to radio your CO, tell him a member of the cartel has managed to take you hostage, and that they need to get the fuck out or she’ll kill you. Understand, chico?” Judging from the way he instantly fell into character and radioed his unit, she guessed he understood.
Phil watched in awe as the mysterious woman verbally tore his Commanding Officer a new one, revealing her true motive for getting them the fuck out of there, and making her arrangements. She would keep Phil as collateral, they would take their exfil back to base, and once she had solid confirmation that they were nice and far away from her territory, she’d make sure Private Graves got home unharmed. Apart from the bruises she’d already given him with her manhandling.
The poor Marine was utterly clueless as to what was happening. In about ten minutes he’d been yanked onto the back of a run down motorbike, sped through the alleys to a beaten up apartment building, and dragged up into a surprisingly cosy apartment. A two-seater couch that looked to have been lugged in off the street, a queen-sized mattress tucked in the corner atop old wood pallets, a coffee table and the only new-looking thing in the tiny shoebox of a home - a cat tree, with two wide, yellow eyes peering out at him sceptically.
“Uh… this is… your place?” He tried to sound less shocked than he felt, slowly looking around the apartment until his gaze settled on her - immediately looking away again as he found she’d stripped down to the tank top and a lacy, burgundy thong. Didn’t appear to have a bra on either. Sweet Lord…
“Relax, perrito.” Freya snickered as she gave him a light shove onto her couch, sinking to her knees on the floor at his feet. The sight alone had the blood in Phil’s veins rushing north to paint his cheeks crimson and south to, well, you know. Mercifully, though, she just started… Untying his laces, and slipping the heavy combat boots off his feet. The wicked grin she shot him confirmed that she knew exactly what he thought she was about to do, and another of those cruel laughs fell from her lips. He liked that laugh. Sounded like when the pretty, older girls on his street would tease and make fun of him when he was a kid, and it had his heart hammering in his chest.
“You ever smoked?” Steely blue eyes tracked her movements as she settled on the couch beside him, curling up with her legs tucked beneath her, a small tray appearing from beneath the coffee table where she started grinding up some dried buds, “Uh, just my pa’s cigarillos.” He confessed, palm rubbing at the back of his neck to wipe away the sweat starting to bead there. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, the way she was so delicate even though he knew she could be far from. The way her tongue dabbed out to wet the glue-edge of the rolling paper, the way her lips closed around the end.
He was snapped back to reality when a lighter was thrust into his grip, her slender hands closing around his fist and guiding it towards the spliff. Wordlessly, he sparked it alight, watching enamoured as she took a long drag, only to blow it out in his face, snickering once again at the way his face scrunched up slightly at the unpleasant smell. It was his turn next apparently, and he tried to copy how she’d done it, but ended up choking and spluttering. He’d expected another laugh, or for her to poke fun at him, but instead he felt one of those hands press between his shoulder blades, rubbing slow, firm circles as he caught his breath. “You okay, sweetheart?” Sweetheart. Fuck.
“Uh- yeah, just, guess this is a lil harsher than what pa smokes, huh?” Phil chuckled nervously, trailing into silence when he locked onto her concerned gaze, soon met with a newly mischievous smirk.
“We could try it another way, if you like…?” He didn’t care what it was. With her looking at him like that, he’d let her do just about anything. Give him just about anything. Take just about anything.
He realised he was doing a lot of watching, because it was happening again. Gaze pinned to her movements as she took another long, slow drag, leaned up closer, and closer, and closer, until he realised she- she was about to kiss him-
And then she did. He didn’t even have to think about it, his hands fell to her hips like second nature as his lips moulded to hers, moving slowly, softly, and she tasted of smoke - obviously the smoke - but beneath that; cherries, brown sugar, bourbon… He was so distracted by the feeling of her tongue seeking entrance and parting his lips for him that he didn’t even notice the smoke entering his lungs from her mouth, but when she pulled away and he let out the sigh he’d been holding, he couldn’t help but laugh at the weak remnant of smoke that floated up in the space between them.
“God damn…” Was all the words he could muster as he just… Gazed at her.
Second part coming soon, I just realised this was suuuper long for a tumblr post lmao.
