hansensunshine

[hansensunshine]

ifhfhdgshshdf i cannot get dirty old man graves out of my head!!! graves who eyes you up and down the second he sees you, and when the shadows wondering "how did the 141 get that piece of ass?" not so quietly, he finds himself wondering the same thing. he knows they want you, the way soap's hand lingers a bit too long adjusting your stance with your rifle during training, how ghost always pins you in a compromising position every time you spar. he notices price and gaz too, their eyes silently following you constantly and voices dropped low and rumbling when they leaned over your frame to speak to you.

it appears he's in good company.

he always sneaks up behind you, startling you with a "hello, buttercup." every time he sees you with no shame. he leans over you every time you're doing something, almost blanketing your body as he not-so-innocently asks about mission details. he loves seeing you squirm and blush, especially when it's just for him.

he always finds a way to steal your panties every time he's on base. at first he convinces himself it's just to fuck with you until he finds himself particularly wound up after seeing the way ghost had you pinned face-down-ass-up on the mat. before he knows it he's stroking himself to the image of you spread out all pretty for him, his cum painting your now ruined garments.

he almost fucks you right then and there when you slide yourself into his lap in the helo after a hard mission and fall asleep. it's been 8 hours of non-stop fire in freezing buttfucknowehere russia but he doesn't think he could feel hotter. when he carries you into his room nobody questions it, only leering jealous eyes staring after him. when you wake up all sleepy and cute he almost pounces, and when you thank him and ask him to join you? oh he swears the angels are singing.

graves takes so many photos of you he could start a damn gallery. he loves you all spread out for him, whining and moaning as he can only make you think of him inside you. his voice is always mocking background noise "awww, too much for ya darlin'?" "yeah you can take it baby, just lay back, you were made for it" "so easy to get you to spread your legs, huh? miss me that much?" he makes sure you moan so loud the entire base can hear.

his favorite thing to do is pull you onto his lap in front of the entire room, pushing his hand down your pants to make you squirm while his shadows give him the latest report. one hand is typing on his computer as the other slowly pumps its fingers inside you, your whimpers muffled from where you have your head pressed into his neck. he laughs meanly when you squirm and clench down on his fingers, cumming in front of the hungry eyes of six shadows as they report. "you like making a mess like this, honey? creaming around my fingers lookin' all pretty?"

sometimes he makes you cockwarm him during briefings, slowly thrusting in and out of your warm mouth as you sit nicely under his desk. ghost and price are the first to notice when it happens, their own dicks straining in their pants as quiet sucks radiate from under the desk. when the others notice graves can't help the way his chest swells with pride, thriving off the jealous eyes of the sergeants. he fucks your face in earnest afterward, thriving on how pretty you look gagging around his cock. he cums all over your face, hot and heavy, making sure a few dribbles catch on your tongue. he presses a thumb on your tongue and forces you to swallow it down, taking a picture for memory.

inspired by @frogchiro 's pervert series bc i cannot get these dudes as absolute heathens out of my head and i enjoy their writing sooo much. also my fucking god the GRIP this man has on me.

[hansensunshine]

horny thoughts !

phillip graves who loves hatefucking you. you're just so mouthy; just because you're basically his "right hand", you think you can talk to him however you want. with every little comment, every snide remark and snark uttered under your breath, his self-control is chipped away at bit by bit until he's pushing you into his office and up against the locked door. it isn't long before he turns you to face the door and buries his cock into you, keeping you up with one hand on your waist and the other covering your mouth.

"don't wanna get caught, do ya sweetheart?" he whispers in your ear, but the force he uses to drive his hips into your ass makes the door rattle. he's trying to make you moan, loud and whiny so that any passersby will know exactly what's going on in their commander's office. he makes you call him that, "commander", when he finally takes his hand away from your mouth to start toying with your clit. phillip loves to make things difficult for the people he doesn't like, so when you try to bring your own hands up to cover your mouth, he'll catch your wrists and hold them against your stomach, but of course, every time you let out a whine that can be heard over his thick cock bullying into your dripping cunt, he'll slap your clit and tell you to shut up.

after you cum from that, eyes rolling back and nearly falling save for his tight grip on you, phillip takes you over to his desk to bend you over for the sole purpose of leaving your ass bruised. every so often he'll give you a break from his relentless strikes for every noise you let out, wrapping a hand around your throat to arch your back and lift you up just enough that it restricts your air flow a little. "how many times am i gonna have to fuck you dumb for you to stop being a little slut? always fuckin' mouthing off to me, knowin' damn well where you'll end up. y'love being used by your commander, don't ya doll? y'think they all know what a whore y'are for me? all of 'em are so scared of you, should i tell them what you let me do to you?"

neither of you make time to talk about how soft phillip is with you after you're both finally sated. he'll clean you off and lift you into his lap until you're fully conscious again, rubbing his hands over you languidly. when he thinks you're dozing off, he grazes a soft kiss on the top of your head and lets you rest for as long as he can. both of you try not to think too long about that, or about how he kisses you before you leave in a way that can only be seen as sweet.

[hansensunshine]

getaway for rainy days (phillip graves x reader) (3/?)

“‘nd I will,” He replies, gently sitting you on the edge of your bed as he gets on his knees in front of you. “But right now I want to show my girl just how much I missed her.” My girl. Your brain spins at the words. It felt permanent, like a mark to be worn with pride. There was something so tender about the way he said it, words echoing in the air like bell chimes as he peppered your neck with light kisses. My girl, my girl, my girl.

Parts: i. ii.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.2k

Tags: bodyguard au, smut, angst, mutual pining, arguing, slight miscommunication, oral sex (f receiving), piv sex, begging, make-up sex, sprinkle of daddy kink

Notes: heyy finally updating this with a bit of a twist. sorry this is such a monster i am totally normal abt him i swear.

You’re asleep in his arms, relaxed in his chest as even breaths fanned over his skin. Despite your relaxed position, his nerves are on fire with the urge to run from whatever this is. It terrifies him, how close you’ve gotten to his heart- his real heart- in such a short time. You’re everything he’s not: gentle, kind, optimistic, in love with the world. The feeling of your arm wrapped around his torso is addicting, your hands curled in the fabric of his shirt as your hair tickles his nose.

He tells himself it isn’t running when he slips out of your arms, that he’s just pulling a “momentary retreat” as he slips his vest back on and straightens his clothes. The feeling of sadness and guilt that seizes his heart sends another hot rush of uncertainty through him as he watches you roll into his warm spot in the bed, sleepily seeking him out makes his blood rush in his ears as he ducks out of your room back to his post.

Is it really running if he stays?

-

The distance between you and Graves is like a gaping chasm in the days following your nightmare. You’d woken up to a cold bed again, but an even colder Graves. The contrast between the man he was in your bedroom and the man who’s your bodyguard is dizzying. You can tell he’s avoiding you, maintaining a more than professional distance from you at all times. Now he melts into the darkness instead of practically being your shadow. There’s always a wall or door between you, curt one-word answers the only words you can get out of him.

You try your best to respect the boundary, vulnerability creeping over you like an oppressive fog. Only your parents had ever seen you after a nightmare. Fuzzy memories of your mother scooping you up into her arms and comforting you until you felt safe again flash past your mind. Your father wasn’t exactly nurturing, but he’d occasionally check in on you when you were younger when he was home from deployment. Now you couldn’t imagine him doing it with a gun to his head.

In college, you’d been lucky enough to have met Jenna, who slept like a rock through everything. It was a reprieve from the constant tension of nights with your father. You’d roomed together for all three years, your sudden goodbye tearful after she overheard your argument with your father.

But now Graves had seen you like that too. The way he’d held you had felt so real, like a sanctuary you’d been looking for your entire life. Your spine prickles at the memory, the ghosts of his fingers tracing down the planes of your back. It had felt like heaven to have someone just sit and accept you, comforting you through what you’d been alone in for so long.

It’s why it’s so fucking confusing that he’s avoiding you like the plague.

Cold shame seeps into your heart at the rejection, doubt gnawing at the edges of your mind as you try to focus on whatever your professor is droning on about in his lecture. Of course every military man wants to be able to brag about the dumb college girl he got to fuck and get attached. You felt so soul-crushingly naive for falling into such a cliche. It makes tears prick at your eyes, the recorded lecture now an afterthought as your situation set in. It makes you feel disgusted with yourself as you curl in on yourself in your chair. You silently thank your father for soundproofing the room he’d converted to a study for your time back home as you sniffle to yourself.

It hurts to have your own vulnerability thrown back at you like that. You weren’t fond of letting people close, and after your mother had died you’d needed to learn how to soothe yourself. You’d only begun to open up since moving in with Jenna. She normally slept right through them, but when she found out she’d been understanding. She’d helped you through them the best she could, always there with a joke or story to make you feel better. It had been new to you, having someone to lean on and soothe you afterward.

It was even newer for you to have let someone you were interested in comfort you. You’d always been careful to keep your partners and friends from seeing or even knowing you had nightmares. You’d loved it, and you hate yourself for it. You ache as you remember the way the beating of his heart lulled you back to sleep curled in his arms. He’d ditched the kevlar vest for you, saying something about it being “too tough for you to sleep on, sweetheart.” before ditching it on your bedside table.

He’d been warm underneath you, slowly pulling the covers back over you as you began to doze off. There hadn’t been many words spoken between the two of you, an understanding silence falling as you tried to sort your thoughts out. The steady thrum of his heartbeat was constant against your ear from where your head was nestled into his chest. His gloved hands had been gentle was they traced patterns into your skin. He’d gently pressed kisses into the crown of your head as you drifted off, peaceful after such a violent awakening.

You’re torn out of your stupor as your phone pings from its place on your desk, lighting up with a text from Jenna.

J <3 [Photo attached]

It was a photo of her and her boyfriend, Mark, sitting in the school library. Jenna is sipping a far too big coffee while Mark is face-down in a textbook, his hands thrown up in defeat. You’re grateful for the distraction from your misery, a hollow chuckle escaping your lips.

Me going that well, huh?

J <3 He says he wants to drop out.

Me he says that every semester, jenna

J <3 He says he means it this time.

Me he says that every semester too

J <3 You better be back soon, I can’t handle him alone.

The thought makes your heart ache. You wish you could go back to your normal life and escape the mess you’d made for yourself here. You would give anything to be on your shared couch watching bad movies with your friends and eating shitty pizza from the cheap place down the street.

Me idk when i’m gonna be back, j

J <3 Really? Your Dad won’t tell you?

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth at the thought. You knew how cagey your father got about his work, especially when it came to anything this serious. ’It couldn’t hurt to just ask.’ You think to yourself, mulling it over in your mind.

Me i’ll ask, just give me a minute

You check your reflection in your phone camera, wiping away the evidence of your tears as best you could. Your puffy eyes were a lost cause, but you fixed yourself up as best you could before standing up, steeling yourself with a deep breath as you opened the door.

Summers is on the other side, acknowledging you with a smile that makes the shame spike in your chest again.

“Study session go well?” He asks as you start walking into the direction of your father’s work room, and all you can muster is a nod as you wish for a hole in the floor to swallow you up. Thankfully the walk is short, and you take another moment to collect yourself before knocking on the door to your father’s office, willing your voice not to shake as you ask “Dad? Can I come in?”

There’s a moment of silence before he opens the door, and the sight of his stern face makes the shame you’ve been trying so hard to suppress climb up your throat like bile. You thank him as you duck inside, immediately sitting in one of the chairs opposite his desk. It was always like this, some sort of physical barrier between the two of you as you nervously shuffle your feet on the floor.

“What is it, kid?” He asks, exasperation tinging his tone. You feel like strangers, not the perfect father and daughter you pretend to be from the outside. Even just over the time you’d been forced back home he’d become colder, more distant. He’d never exactly been emotionally present, but after the divorce he’d become a stranger who just paid your bills. As his career soared, so had his changes. Before, you could catch him in the living room watching a football game, maybe on the couch going over reports or tinkering on something in the garage. Now he lived in his office, a creature you shared a name with but almost no connections.

“When can I go back to school?”

He sighs at the question, the stress wrinkles on his forehead tensing as his eyebrows pinch together.

“You are in school.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“You can go back when I say you can go back.”

Your hackles raise slightly, your already shot nerves fraying at the seams.

“I have a life, you know.”

“Which I am trying to protect.” He hisses, hard eyes boring into yours as you stare at each other from across the desk.

“From what? Some invisible boogeyman you won’t even tell me the name of?” You reply, frustration winning as your tone rises.

“Don’t raise your fucking voice at me,” He shoots back, his stare only darkening. “You want to leave? You think I’m just paranoid? Then fine, leave, see if you can handle them better than an armed guard. I won’t stop you from signing your death warrant.”

You want to scream, cry, do anything other than the way your freeze at his words, the full truth of them sinking in. You used to view your status as a privilege, happily riding on the coattails of your father’s success into a new house and wardrobe. You never asked what he did at work and he never told, but you know he’s in deep. It scares you, how much the man in front of you has changed.

“Now if we have an understanding,” He says, his voice authoritarian as he looks at you, almost bored. Like you’re a petulant child he has to soothe when he’d rather be doing anything else. The endearment sounds cold and almost threatening on his tongue, it almost makes you flinch. “I have bigger things to get back to.”

You feel so small under his gaze. You know he’s right, and he knows it too. You get the feeling he’s just as upset about your current arrangement as you are from the way he regards you with annoyance, all of the love you remember from your childhood gone. It’s devastating and humiliating as you’re forced to accept his logic. It sits heavy like hot coals in your stomach as you avoid his gaze, your eyes fixed on the grain of the wood floor.

“Fine,” You spit, pushing yourself out of your chair as tears of frustration gather in your eyes. “But don’t expect me to thank you for it.”

-

Luckily for you, Jenna took a long weekend from school to visit you, which your father begrudgingly allowed. It had been a fresh of breath air to see her, and you hugged her with ferocity you didn’t know you had when she showed up.

“Jenna!”

Her blonde curls shone in the sun as you swept her up in a hug, her luggage forgotten as you both squealed and caught up in the driveway, excitedly chattering as you went up to your room.

“So?” She asks when you both finally settle in your room, her luggage half unpacked as you take a snack break. You’re both sitting on the floor at the edge of your bed and you look at her, confused. She has a teasing look on her face as she waits for you to respond, like she knows something you don’t.

“So, what?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“So, You have a bunch of live-in boyfriends. Spill.”

You laugh at her words, half amused and half horrified with how true her words ring.

“Oh, you have no idea,” You say tiredly, explaining your tryst with Graves as she listened with a dropped jaw. By the end she was fuming for you, calling him every name in the book as she shook her head.

“Unbelievable. Why don’t you get your dad to fire the dick?” She huffed, and you stiffened slightly. You didn’t want to tell your dad you’d fucked one of his men, but you knew you’d need a good excuse. The general is more loyal to the job than anything else, and you know you’d need a good reason to get him to fire what seemed like one of his top men.

“‘Cause that makes shit complicated,” You groan, face in your hands. “I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

“Then get out! Go and do shit around town, don’t be all depressed in your room.” She lectures, and you know she’s right, but you’re nothing if not stubborn.

“I’m not looking for a rebound.” You sigh, and she playfully smacks your arm.

“I’m not talking a rebound, I’m just talking for yourself. It’s depressing as shit in here, you’re in college, you should be having fun! We’re going out and getting you out of whatever this is. C’mon, let’s go.”

You know from her tone that it’s better to not argue with her.

You’re able to forget Graves for a while, enjoying your time with Jenna as you try and distract yourself from the hurt in your chest. It’s nice, but you still find yourself missing his touch even when you despise yourself for it. Unfortunately, it’s hard to avoid the man you happen to be sharing a house with. You make it a point even after Jenna leaves to live your life, letting Graves fall into the background as you try and build your life without him.

You pretend the longing in your heart is for what could have been, not for him.

-

Graves had thought the distance would do you both good. It hurt him to leave you alone again in that bed, more than he wanted to admit. It terrifies him, how you make him want to be a good man for once.

But he knows it’s the one thing he’s not.

So he resolves to put his own feelings behind him. You’re young, just entering your best years. You’ll find someone else, someone your age who doesn’t have more confirmed kills than successful friendships. It almost breaks him how crestfallen you look, shrinking back like you’ve done something wrong to deserve the sudden distance.

He tells himself it will only take you a few days to get over it, that it’s for the best. It doesn’t stop from concern flooding him as you withdraw more into yourself. You don’t talk with any of them anymore, barely leaving your room or your study. You’ve stopped all attempts at conversation with him, and he pretends it doesn’t kill him that you avoid him like he’s something to be afraid of.

It all comes to a head when one of your friends visits, a cheerful girl that carries herself with a sort of edge that Graves knows to be wary of. It’s the most animated he’s seen you in the past two weeks, your now scarce laugh filling the halls as the two of you return from a coffee run with Collins. He’s grateful for her.

Until she leaves, that is.

You pull away from him even more, but you go back to treating the Shadows like perfectly normal. Your smile slowly returns day by day as you take time out of your schedule to talk to every one of them.

Every one except him.

It’s what he wanted, so why does it bother him so damn much? He tries not to seethe when you return from shopping hanging off of Summer’s arm, or stumbling back home from a night out with Khan half-heartedly lecturing you about alcohol consumption as you tried to quiet him. Your friends, the same ones from the club, he realizes to his chagrin, are a fixture in your life. He sees them dropping you off after days out, always dressed to the nines.

Whenever he’s assigned with you, you both pretend the other doesn’t exist, simply existing around each other as you go about whatever task you need while he waits outside. He hates the way it eats at his heart, your coldness painful.

-

It’s purely by accident when you finally break your silence. You’re out of food in the fridge and unfortunately for you, it happened when Graves was on your detail. You reluctantly tell him of your plans, tone-clipped and professional as he gets out the keys and you both walk to the car.

It’s the closest you’ve been in the two weeks following your encounter, and the awkwardness in the air is palpable as you both settle into your seats. It brings up ugly feelings you’ve been trying to suppress as you stare out the window, trying to ignore his reflection behind yours in the glass as you study the road going by. You’ve been shifting in your seat, nervous and agitated since you got into the vehicle.

“So… you treat all of your clients like this?” You ask, morbid curiosity ruling your thoughts more than anything. You wonder if you’re trying to get a rise out of him momentarily, but fuck it, you’re not going to just let this pass. He’s silent in response to your question, lips pressed into a thin line as he stares at the road. He’s already going 60 down the highway, cursing your timing and setting his face into his usual mask.

“If you just wanted to fuck me you could have said that from the start.” You venture, getting straight to the point as anger and humiliation simmer within you. The accusation is dripping with venom, and the mask slips momentarily as his heart shoots into his stomach. He tightens his hands on the wheel and clenches his jaw, avoiding you again.

“Nothing to say?” You let out an incredulous breath at his silence. “Real typical.” You snarl.

His hands tighten on the wheel at your words, willing himself to look at the road and not at your form in the passenger seat.

“Tryin’ to drive here.” He says plainly in a vain attempt to cut the conversation off.

“If I wanted to deal with this I would have just stayed at school and gone to a frat.” You reply, voice harsh as his grip on the wheel becomes white-knuckled as he almost slams his foot on the brakes in the middle of the highway. He throws caution to the wind, swerving through traffic to pull the car to the side of the road.

“Is that what you think this is?” He shoots back, his hands curling around the wheel in frustration as the car comes to a stop.

“It’s sure what it looks like.” You reply with a disgusted grimace on your face.

The accusation shouldn’t make his stomach drop into his feet, it shouldn’t make his blood burn with shame and guilt. It’s a new feeling that terrifies him.

“I’m doin’ what’s best for you.” He says, his voice even and stern in a way he hopes leaves no room for argument.

“Oh, by doing the old ‘love em and leave em’ routine? God, you’re so full of yourself.”

“I’m doing this because I shouldn’t be doing this!” He retorts, rubbing his eyes in frustration.

“Oh, don’t go getting noble on me now.” Your voice is less agitated than before, but it still stings as you settle into the seat like you want to disappear into it. You don’t want it to be true, it’s so much simpler if there are no feelings involved. You thought you’d get some kind of closure from this but instead your heart feels raw and painful in your chest at the possibility. Why can’t things just be simple?

“I’m fuckin’ serious,” He groans, hands splaying out against the wheel of the car. “You’re too young, your dad’s my boss, just-” He cuts himself off with a sigh, the confession hanging in the air. He knows his arguments are sound, you know it too, but the irony of the words coming out of his lips isn’t lost on either of you.

“You couldn’t have just said that?” You groan, something sounding almost like sadness tainting your voice. “Even if that’s true, you’re a jackass!”

“Yes! That’s the point!” He yells as his frustration boils over, causing you to bristle and sink further into the seat. It’s not frustration with you, but rather himself for even being in this situation, from letting someone close and then fucking it up again because he isn’t meant for normal things the way other people are.

The silence you respond with almost makes his chest cave in on itself, the hurt that clouds your eyes stabbing him like a knife to the chest.

“I trusted you.” You whisper. The shaky admission is like a gunshot in the space of the car and it hurts more than any wound he’s ever had sewn up. It seems he’s only built for shattering trust, not building it.

“I’m sorry, baby, fuck-” He tries to apologize.

“You don’t get to call me that.” You interrupt. You hate how your traitorous heart squeezes in your chest at the endearment, yearning in your whole being.

The statement shouldn’t make his stomach drop, you’re completely justified and he hates it.

“IListen, honey, you don’t want me.” He says, his eyes fixed on the wall of the garage as he speaks, distant even as he cracks your heart open. “You’ll find someone your age, okay? You can have a normal life and just-”

“But I did want you.”

He almost breaks at that, almost grovels at your feet for forgiveness. It shouldn’t make him want to pick up every single piece of the situation with his own hands.

“We can’t.” He says, and it almost sounds like a plea as you try to hold back tears.

“I want you more than anything but I can’t.” He replies, his voice low and strained with emotion. It’s honest in a way that terrifies him, that lays him bare for you to see in a way that he hasn’t felt in years. The car is silent again as you both process his statement, the honesty destabilizing as you both orient yourselves.

“You’re a bastard.”

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He says, ignoring the withering feeling in his chest as you turn away from him.

“I want to go home.” You choke out, and Graves only nods as he starts up the car again. The ride back is silent, and Graves swears he’s been to funerals with a lighter mood. A mix of relief and dread pools in him as he pulls into the garage of your home, cutting off the engine and plunging you both into total silence.

Neither of you move to open the doors of the car, seemingly ground in place by the gravity of the moment. Your lip begins to bleed from where you bite it to keep the tears in, your hands bunching in the fabric of your sweatpants as you try to keep your composure.

“I really wanted you.” You confess, chest heavy with grief as you stare at the fabric of your pants, trying to fight the way your eyes blur with unshed tears.

Graves feels the mask crack again, unable to ignore the way the statement makes shame flood through him.

“I know,” He whispers, unable to stop a hand from resting on top of yours, pure instinct fueling him as he tries to uncurl your fingers. His mind is spinning as you don’t pull away, the searing heat of a single tear burning into the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

It’s the first time he really thinks he’s ever apologized to anyone, and it feels so useless on his lips as your tearful eyes meet his for the first time.

“Just say you don’t want me.” You say shakily, your mind spinning. “Just say you don’t want me and this will be over.”

”I can’t.” He pleads, and it finally hits you that he wants this as bad as you do. You shake at the unfairness of it all, finding a perverse comfort in the way Graves’ hand splays larger on your own and over your thigh in a subconscious act to calm you down. It feels like some sort of sick joke, like a cosmic punishment for some unknown sin.

“I don’t know what to do,” You shakily admit, the sincerity in your voice terrifyingly raw.

“I don’t either,” Phillip breathes out, and he reckons it’s the most honest he’s been the entire time he’s been stateside.

His hand feels like a brand where it sits on your thigh, like some sort of silent unknown promise.

You hate how reassuring it is.

“I just want you- fuck- I want you so fucking bad and you don’t deserve that.”

“But I want it.”

“Shit- Baby you can’t say that.”

He knows he shouldn’t light up at your admission, hell, he shouldn’t even still be in this car, but he can’t help the way his hand tenses against your thigh, your own slipping out from under his to rest on his forearm, the heat addicting from where it eats through his sleeve.

“Please?”

-

How you end up in the bedroom is a whirlwind, your disheveled state enough to convince everyone you were feeling under the weather. You’re both standing in the doorway, the silence uncertain as it closes behind you.

You feel him before you see him, a reverent hand resting on your hip from behind as his lips press apologetic kisses against your shoulder. You’re still under his hands as he mutters apologies into your skin, his stubble sending shivers down your spine as it gently scrapes against your skin.

“’m sorry, princess,” He whispers, and you curse yourself for how you instinctually melt into his touch. “Gonna treat you like you deserve from now on, gonna show you just how much I want ya.”

“I’ll make sure you never want anything, huh? Make sure you’re spoiled rotten. I’ll do whatever you want, sugar.” His voice is gruff and rumbling from where he whispers lowly into your ear, almost like he’s scared if he speaks too loudly the moment will disappear. “I’ll be better for you, darlin’, I promise. Missed you so much, fuck.”

You allow yourself a moment to indulge in the sick satisfaction his begging brings an ugly part of you. A softer part of you wants desperately to believe him, and you try to ignore how you sink back into his body, his strong arms encircling your waist in the lazy twilight of your bedroom. You hate how much you missed him too, but that hatred gets further and further from your mind as he presses tiny kisses to the side of your face, little apologies in their own right.

When you finally do catch his eye, your neck craned to see behind you, you aren’t prepared for just what greets you. His blue eyes sparkle in the soft light, something honest and raw shining in them as he looks at you like you’re all that’s ever mattered to him. Your hands absentmindedly find his where they’re splayed across your abdomen, silently placing your fingers on top of his as your head spins. You want to believe him so much it hurts, but anxiety nips at your mind as you think.

“You promise?” You croak out, voice heavy with emotion as he nods at your words, placing another kiss to your shoulder.

“I’m a man of my word, sugar.” He says, his eyes meeting yours again as you search his face for any signs of dishonesty. All you’re greeted with is Phillip Graves, just a man before you. Your eyes trace over the scar on his cheek, the way his jaw strains under the blond stubble on his face. He looks like him the man you remember from the tender moments shared in the blind spots of the cameras and away from the prying eyes of others.

“Can I kiss you, sweetheart?” He asks, a gloved hand tracing gently over your cheek as his other hand finds its place on your hip.

You’ve scarcely begun to nod before he seals your lips together, the kiss shockingly gentle as his arms circle your waist. He pours everything he can’t say into your lips as your bodies slot together, his every nerve on fire as one of your hands makes its way into his hair. He holds you like you’re going to break under his touch, his fingertips splaying across your waist as he gently pulls away. His eyes are hazy with something you can’t quite identify as his hand cups your face, his thumb stroking itself lovingly across your cheek.

Losing you is one of the first things he’s been genuinely afraid of in years. The thought makes his blood turn to ice, his heart thumping in a panic usually reserved for the battlefield. But you’re here and you’rereal, all warm soft skin under his calloused hands. It’s intoxicating to have you this close again, and he wastes no time showering your lips and face with soft and slow kisses as he mutters reassurances into your skin like prayers.

“Gonna take care of you so good, honey. Make sure you never raise a finger ever again.”

“I’ll treat you right, sweet thing. Get you all dressed up and take you on the town whenever you want. Make sure everyone knows you’re spoken for.”

“I’ll buy you whatever pretty little things you want, darling. Maybe even get you a cute little necklace with my name on it.”

You’re practically putty in his hands, basking in the sweet affection as his hands trace your spine and hips. The slow sweetness of the moment seeps into your skin under the warm twilight. The woody musk of his cologne fills your senses as you allow his hands to slowly roam your body, memorizing every curve and plane under his calloused fingers. Your anger is still there, simmering in your stomach like hot coals, but everything about being in his arms feels right, like you were designed to be there.

“‘m still mad at you,” You mutter, your words far less spiteful than your argument in the car. Graves tries to ignore the way it makes his heart sink to hear those words, and the way they sting is an unpleasant new experience. He’s used to people hating him. He’s used to letting people’s hatred, anger, and disdain roll off his back. Years of fighting his way to the top had rendered him immune.

At least that’s what he thought.

It scares him that the thought of losing you sends a jolt of uncomfortable terror through his body. Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to run, to get away from this feeling. But at the same time you feel so fucking right in his arms that he can’t let go. The way your perfume lingers in every room of the house haunts him when you aren’t there, reminding him of what he lost when he pushed you away.

It’s intoxicating, the way you fit seamlessly into his arms. Your scent is the only thing he can focus on, invading his senses as his hands roam over your body.

“You have every right to be mad, sugar,” He soothes, in unfamiliar territory as you stare at him with a guarded expression. “I’m sorry I did that to you. You didn’t deserve that.” The words feel foreign on his tongue, he thinks it’s one of the only times he’s been genuine with an apology in years. It claws his way out of his throat like something ugly, a memory of his own moral failings as the words hang heavy in the air.

Your silence kills him, every second ticking by like an hour as you mull over a response in your head. It would be so easy to forgive him, to lean into the floaty feeling that wraps you up like a blanket when you’re with him. There’s something about the way he’s always there, constantly watching even when he was pretending not to. While you’d hated the forced proximity, it had been reassuring to know he was still there, looking over you when he thought you couldn’t see.

“Just give me a chance to make it up to you, baby.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” You ask, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder as you look at him.

“I got a few ideas about that, darlin’,” He says assuredly, gently nudging you to the bed. “Why don’t I treat you, sweetheart?”

“I thought you wanted to prove this isn’t about sex,” You tease, allowing yourself to be corralled toward the bed, but you can’t deny the way desire races across you at his words.

“‘nd I will,” He replies, gently sitting you on the edge of your bed as he gets on his knees in front of you. “But right now I want to show my girl just how much I missed her.”

My girl. Your brain spins at the words. It felt permanent, like a mark to be worn with pride. There was something so tender about the way he said it, words echoing in the air like bell chimes as he peppered your neck with light kisses. My girl, my girl, my girl.

“And how are you going to do that, Commander?” You tease, and you take note of the way he groans at your use of his rank.

“Well first,” He drawls, the tips of his fingers teasing the bare skin of your waist under your shirt. “‘m gonna lay you down and eat that pretty little pussy until I’ve had my fill. And then I’m gonna show you just how much I’ve missed ya, sweetheart.”

The prospect has you squirming as his hands dip under the waistband of your pants, memories of the way he’d worked you open with his fingers flashing past your eyelids as he nips the skin of your neck and shoulders, careful to only leave marks where they would be easy to cover.

“Can I, baby?” He asks, and it dawns on you just how much power he’s giving you. It feels like an invisible leash in your hands, this hound of war at your beck and call however you choose. A man with rivers of blood on his hands, who could take you without straining, is kneeling between your legs and begging for you like you’re his key to salvation after a life of damnation.

“Yes,” You almost whisper, and your assent has him on you like a starved man, his hands making quick work of your pants as he seals your lips together again in multiple slow, heated kisses. Your shirt is next, his hand coming up to gently squeeze your tits as his mouth travels torturously lower until his breath is ghosting over your clothed cunt. His icy blue eyes never leave yours as he pulls your panties off your legs, only looking away to gaze at your bare folds in front of him.

He groans like a man starved before diving in like you’re his last meal. He licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit, tongue flattening out to taste as much of you as possible as he sinks further between your welcoming thighs. He gently nips your clit, making you jump and squeak at the pain-pleasure that only made you wetter as he soothes the bud with a few gentle sucks in apology.

His tongue feels divine as he begins working you in earnest, switching between flicking his tongue against your throbbing clit and lapping at your entrance as you moan an whine above him. Your hands make their way into his hair and he moans at the sting of your hands gripping his locks as he locks his arms around your thighs, pinning you against his face. The moan he lets out as you rock your hips into his mouth has you keening in return, the vibrations feeling like heaven.

It feels so good but you feel so empty, clenching around nothing as Graves sucks your clit again in a way that has you arching your back where you’ve fallen against the mattress. He seems to take the hint and removes one arm from around your thighs, pulling himself out from your pussy with glazed eyes as he looks back up at you.

“Can I touch you, princess?” He asks, voice sweet as honey as you nod down at him.

“Fuuuck, that’s a good girl. So pretty for me.” He coos as he eases a finger inside you, the long and calloused digit slipping easily into your gummy walls as you gasp at the intrusion. He wastes no time diving back between your thighs, gently adding another finger when you beg him oh-so-sweetly for another. His stubble is rubbing patches between your thighs raw but you can’t seem to care as you chase your high on his tongue, back arching and hips canting forward into his face as your climax approaches.

You’re so pent up after weeks with only your own hand, your fingers not able to reach the same spots as your lover when you’re alone in the quiet of your room. The feeling of his hot tongue on your wet pussy is addicting as he adds another finger into your heat, slipping in with ease as you fuck your hips back against his hands and face. Another suck to your clit has you whimpering in his hold, the tension between your legs taut, about to snap.

“Graves- Phillip- Daddy- Fuck ‘m gonna cum,” You whine, the endearment slipping past your lips in your aroused haze. The word seems to light something inside him as he redoubles his efforts on your soaked cunt, fingers crooking just right inside you as his tongue flicks against your clit and fuck you’re coming apart on his tongue, moaning his name as your walls spasm around his fingers, coating his face and hand in your juices as your chest heaves.

“So fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He whispers as he pulls away, the bottom half of his face soaked in a filthy mix of your own arousal and his spit as you try and catch your breath. “So good for me, ‘m gonna show you just how much this dick has missed you, sweetheart.” He coos as he stands up from his kneeling position beside the bed, shedding his now soaked shirt to reveal his toned chest and abdomen, like a statue of sin in front of you as he undoes his belt.

You feel yourself get wetter at the sight of his cock standing proud against his stomach as he frees it from the confines of his pants, the clothes discarded somewhere in your room as he climbs on top of you, capturing you in another kiss as he grinds himself against your slit, the head catching against your entrance with a filthy squelch that has you both moaning against each other’s lips.

“Can I fuck you, honey?” He asks as he pulls away, his pupils blown wide as he grinds up into you again, the wet sound your bodies make addicting. “Let your daddy give it to you like you deserve, princess. Can I do that for ya?” His voice is tinged with desperation, with a desire to prove himself to you that’s addicting. You nod, grinding down against where his hot cock is settled between your folds as he lines himself, wasting no time pressing into you slowly in a way that has you both moaning. It feels good to be full again, his member stretching you out deliciously as you lose your mind.

Graves isn’t faring any better, counting his own breaths as he tries to keep himself from sinking fully into your addicting heat. The way your walls clench and spasm around him is heavenly, a forbidden paradise that he wants nothing more but to ravish. His dick throbs, hot and heavy as he pushes the last few inches in, groaning as he finally fully seats himself in your warm cunt.

He knows he won’t last, and thankfully neither will you as you squirm below him, still sensitive from your last orgasm. When he finally moves you swear you see sparks behind your eyelids, nails digging into his bare back as you try to ground yourself. He feels so fucking good inside you, like he was made to be there as he fucks you deep and hard, all your prior thoughts flying out the window as he carves out his own path to forgiveness inside you.

You can feel another orgasm approaching rapidly as he sneaks a hand down to rub your sensitive clit, making you gasp as he busies himself sucking more marks into your neck, muttering sweet nothings into your ear as you lose yourself on him. He’s everywhere, his spare hand tweaking your nipples as he pumps in and out of you. The sound of skin on skin is obscene echoing through your room as he approaches his high.

“C’mon, baby, give me one more, I know you can do it.” He reassures, fingers speeding up on your clit as you cry out, climaxing a second time as he fucks you through it, riding out the aftershocks on his cock.

“Squeezin’ me so good like that, sweetheart, fuuuck…” He groans above you, thrusts growing sloppy and desperate as he chases his own high. “Can I cum inside you, princess? Show you just how much I missed you properly.” He begs, hands caressing your hips as you nod. It’s all the permission he needs before he’s spilling inside you with a groan, slowly stilling as the final spurts of his hot cum settle inside you.

“Never gonna let you go again, sweetheart. Not now, not ever.”

And somehow, you believe him this time.

ko-fi ☆ gif cred is redfox9 on tenor ☆ tiktok

[hansensunshine]

getaway for rainy days (phillip graves x reader) (2/?)

pt: i.

He’s used to respect, hatred, and disdain, but not the hesitant adoring shine in your gaze that shakes him to his core. He knows you’re looking for something, something he doesn’t know even exists in him.

Rating: mature

Word Count: 4k

Tags: bodyguard au, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, mentions of sex, death, gore, military flashbacks

Note: Hey y'all, thanks for the amazing reception on part one! Here's the long-anticipated part two, I'm not responsible for any feelings that may arise from this chapter lol. Feel free to send reqs in the meantime!

Graves feels like his entire being is on fire when he walks out of your room. You’re passed out on the bed, freshly showered with the window open to air out the smell of sex from your bedroom. His plate carrier is strapped to his chest again, and he adjusts himself in his pants as he takes his place outside your room.

Like a good man.

A good man. Graves snorts at the phrase. For all his military bravado Graves knows your father is no better a man than he is, possibly even worse. There are no good men in this story, Graves realizes. Even the most junior of them had blood on their hands. It was a haunted look that never left a soldier. It sounded like the shriek of his eardrums after hitting an IED in Baghdad, felt like the crust of blood on his face not his- not HIS- and the taste of sand-laced booze over a shallow grave. He wonders what it tastes like for Shepherd if that bastard still has a heart. After seeing the depths of hell, Graves will count the sin of defiling his superior’s daughter among the lesser of his transgressions.

He tries not to think about the way your body moved against him like water in the shower. Tries to banish the thought of his name on your lips like a prayer as you’d left tiny, burning kisses on his shoulder. How your fingers had tangled with his as you’d fought sleep, a barely audible ‘Please, don’t go,’ falling from your lips against the sheets.

He wants to be able to tell himself that he didn’t linger at your bedside, didn’t memorize every single curve of your body against the sheets like poetry in motion. He wants to be able to tell himself that gently prying his fingers out of your hold didn’t absolutely kill him inside. Most of all, he wants to be able to say he didn’t bend down and place a kiss on your forehead before he left. That he didn’t memorize your scent from where his nose buried itself in your hair before finally parting.

He wants to be able to tell himself that, but he knows it would be a lie.

Graves practically sprints away from his post when Khan comes to relieve him. He tells the other man you’re sleeping- not technically a lie- and resists the urge to sag in relief as Khan takes his word for it and leaves your door shut. Before he knows it he’s in the bedroom that had been converted to a barrack to accommodate him and the rest of his detail. He breathes in lungs full of the familiar smell of standard-issue soap and starched uniforms to ground him instead of your suffocating sweetness.

On his cot, Graves stares up at the ceiling of the home. Your home. He hears Graham in the security room next door playing some sort of game, and for once he’s grateful for the noise. It keeps him present, keeps him from falling into the downward spiral of his own thoughts. He’s never been a good man before, but for the first time in a long time, he asks himself if he wants to be.

He finds the answer when his shift on the cameras comes. Somehow the footage outside your room manages to get corrupted, it’s almost like magic.

-

You’d been admittedly disappointed when you’d woken up to an empty bed. You aren’t naïve, you knew he’s an employee of your father. You two don’t exactly have the luxury of a public relationship.

It still stings, though.

He’d been so kind, helping you into the shower as you both basked in the afterglow. The feeling of his fingers massaging the soap into your skin still lingers on you, hot and heavy like a brand. It had all been a steamy haze, full of soft kisses and gentle words in the privacy of your bathroom.

You’re both wrapped in towels and leaning against the sink, Graves caging you against the granite as your hands lazily danced along his shoulders. It’s slow and beautiful, you wish you could bottle this moment and save it forever. You mapped the skin of his shoulders under your fingers, lazily tracing over each scar and mark as Graves’ hands run up and down your waist.

“Tell me your name?” You asked, and his expression turned unreadable for a moment. It’s the same face he makes when he talks with his men, and it sent a bolt of trepidation down your spine. But just as soon as it appears it’s gone, replaced by a lazy smile.

“I guess I owe you that much,” He said, and you huffed out a laugh as he pressed a kiss to your jaw.

“You mean after you fucked the life out of me, you mean?” You teased, and he chuffs out a laugh of his own against your skin.

“It’s Phillip, baby.”

“Phillip,” You say, trying the name on your tongue as your eyes meet. There’s an emotion you can’t quite name in his eyes as he looks at you, and it takes you off guard for a moment before you recover. “I like it.”

-

The days after your escapade have Graves constantly on edge. He expects Shepherd around every corner. Shame he hasn’t dealt with since his early youth wells up in his throat as he walks through the estate on his patrols, some days he’s certain it will drown him. He feels like a teenager again when he walks through your house, and he berates himself for what a cliché he’s become.

But the shame doesn’t stop him from admiring the shape of your lips or the way your face lights up when he brings you your morning coffee. He was just getting his own, he reasons to himself.

He tries to keep a professional distance between the two of you inside the house. He almost laughs at the word, professional, like there was anything professional about what had happened in the four walls of your bedroom. It’s only when you’re running errands that you dare to slip your fingers between his in the quiet moments you manage to escape. In the aisle of a grocery store, the quiet of a library, in the blind spot by the garden.

You’re still you, after that fateful night, and Graves is thankful for it. You still include him in your conversation, ask his opinions on assignments, and leave out a plate for him when he’s the one on shift. It helps that you’ve also become close to the other guys, to Graves’ relief and dismay. Rodriguez and Collins hang off of your every word like puppies and even Summers is coming around.

He pretends he doesn’t feel a surge of territorial emotion when you make cupcakes for all of them. Rodriguez and Collins are looking at you like you’re the Virgin Mary herself, their faces lit with happiness at the gesture. He knows it’s just you, it’s how you show you care, but it doesn’t stop the urge to pull you into his arms. It doesn’t stop the urge that simmers in his veins to pin you against the wall in front of all of them. He’d make you cum just to show them where you belong.

But he’s getting ahead of himself.

For now, he’s watching you from across the library table. You’re in a random library halfway across town hunched over your books, pens, and highlighters strewn about the table as one hour had stretched into two, three, and now four. The setting sun paints your skin with a golden hue that he swears belongs in history books as you absentmindedly toy with a pen in your grasp, brow furrowed in concentration.

It’s a stark reminder of his age, sitting in this library. It’s a reminder of just how different you are. You’re not even done with college- fuck- and here he is; A washed-up soldier following you like a siren into the sea.

He feels wrong, like he doesn’t belong in the little vignettes of domesticity you do. In them, he can see a glimpse of the life he could have had. In another life, he’d have gone to college, engineering or some shit. He’d have graduated and settled down with a woman and child as he should. But ambition is like a virus, slowly eating away until there’s nothing left.

It’s ambition that drove him to that recruiter's office over a decade ago. It was ambition that soared him through the ranks. Young ambition, fresh and hot under his skin that drove him to his first tour of duty.

Now, a decade later, the ambition feels hollow. It’s sizzling in his veins like fire. After so much bloodshed the medals on his uniform feel cheap, the victory empty. But they can’t be empty, not when he’s alive and so many others aren’t. He won’t let them be.

He carved his way through the desert with his finger on the trigger. A grotesque red trail followed him everywhere he went until he swore the whole continent leaked with it. There had been promotions, all the way up until commander.

He will survive.

He’s pinned in a half-standing house in the river valley. Mortars shake the ground like small earthquakes around him. One of his squad is with him, a new recruit. Miller, he thinks his name is. He won’t fucking shut up, screaming from panic next to Graves. He shakes the younger man, and slaps him across the face as he yells for him to Shut the fuck up and stop alerting the enemy to their location.

The gunfire draws closer and Graves knows they’re running out of time. Miller is still shouting various expletives, and Graves mentally takes a note to give the training officers a piece of his damn mind when he’s back at base. He finally sees an opening in the shelling to run, and he turns just in time to see a stray bullet pierce through Miller’s shoulder. The man slumps against the wall with the force of the shot, and fuck it.

Graves is running through the hail of bullet fire to the next house, the sound of Miller’s wailing following him until abruptly falling silent. Sand flies in every direction as the ground shakes with the impact of another mortar.

He will survive.

It doesn’t matter how.

-

Three days later he finds himself outside your bedroom door again, the slab of wood looming like the gates of judgment before him. It’s night shift, and Miller had let him know you were down for the night. Christ, it only reminds him how fucked up he is. He’s supposed to be protecting you, not fucking you silly after a night of clubbing.

He stiffens when he hears a noise from your room, muffled and indistinguishable behind the door. His ears immediately perk up, listening for any outward signs of distress. You’re silent just long enough for his hackles to lower before another sound echoes from your bedroom, a muffled cry tainted with fear. It sends a bolt of terror down his spine, buzzing and sparking like a fuse as he listens harder. He can hear shuffling from behind the door, but it only sounds like your sheets. He knows nobody is on the premises that shouldn’t be, Khan is on camera duty tonight and the fucker thankfully does his job instead of playing first-person shooters on his phone.

His brain is running a mile a minute at the possibilities: a horror movie, a scary podcast, maybe even a stray shadow that spooked you. But as another aborted wail exits your bedroom, he knows what it is.

Nightmares.

Graves isn’t a stranger to them, far from it. Nobody escapes a tour of duty without a government-assigned horror to keep them up at night. It’s why most bases run on coffee and energy drinks, too many men trying to run from the demons in their sleep. His fingers itch to pry open your door, to slide into bed beside you and tell you that it’s all right baby, I’m here.

But he knows better.

He knows he’d have to explain his absence to Khan, and god forbid that man access the audio feed. But the illogical part of him, the one that seems to rule him these days, screams to just open the door. Another cry sounds out, this one louder than the last, and Phillip feels his fingers twitch from where he’s firmly planted them in his tactical pants. The thick fabric of his gloves creaks as he balls his hands into fists, willing himself not to give in to this rotten thing that’s nestled into his chest since your first night together.

The urge to be close to you has been eating him alive. It claws up his throat at the most inopportune times. The urge to take, to roam his hands over your body until every inch is marked with his fingerprints, settled in his heart like a suffocating fire. He wants the moments of domesticity you have with everyone else, the jokes, the casual touches, daily interactions that make his heart both swell and wither.

But he can’t have that.

The way Graves sees it, this ends one of two ways. A: He indulges this urge, indulges you with everything you both want. The word slips out one way or another, and he’s either on the first plane back to the desert or in a concrete room with a Sheperd signature bullet in his head.

B: He stays away and lives.

He’s always chosen to live. It’s how he’s justified so much of his life, how he’s outclassed other soldiers and received promotion upon promotion until he swung a gig guarding an estate that was clearly better secured than Fort Knox.

It tips him off his axis, how you manage to worm your way into every part of his brain. How you nestled yourself into his psyche like you belong there. He isn’t a good man, he’s fucked over more women than he can count (both literally and figuratively) for his own gain. A high-ranking spy here, an oh so naive girl at the bar there, but nothing compares to you.

It terrifies him.

Another pitiful cry leaks from your bedroom, and before Graves knows it his hand is on the doorknob, twisting the cold metal in his palms before stepping through the threshold into your darkened room. The moonlight illuminates your figure on the bed, arms thrown out and a look of panic frozen on your sleeping face from where it lies on your pillow.

The sound of the door behind him feels final, like some sort of cosmic damnation for what he’s about to do. He creeps over to your bedside, turning on a lamp in the hopes it will wake you up. All it does is make your eyes screw more tightly shut, another unintelligible whimper leaving your lips.

An unfamiliar twinge of an unpleasant emotion surges through him, concern, he deduces as he watches you. The fear on your face looks wrong for someone so angelic, and Graves’ fingers twitch with the urge to do something, anything to help. He’s never been great at helping others, being a self-serving bastard all throughout his career didn’t leave him with much time for comforting comrades. Like everything about you, this feels foreign, uncomfortable. He’s used to just shoving a pillow over his head at the sleeping screams of his comrades, occasionally kicking the bunk to wake them up when they were too loud. But this? Whatever this is, it’s alien to him.

He looks again to you on the bed, soft features twisted in terror as your fingers clench and unclench in your sleep. Your shirt is damp with sweat, one leg exposed from where you’ve kicked the covers off in your thrashing. There are no standard-issue pants, no scratchy sheets and smell of gunpowder.

Just you.

Another whine escapes your lips and all caution gets thrown to the wind as his heart seizes in his chest. He drops to his knees at your bedside, slowly reaching out for your hand that immediately squeezes his with a death grip between your soft fingers. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do, but that choice is ripped from him as your eyes wrench open, a strangled scream leaving your mouth as you look around the bedroom wildly. It’s the look of a cornered animal, and his stomach twists at the sight.

“Baby, baby, it’s me, it’s Phillip,” He soothes as your eyes finally find him, your chest quickly rising and falling in frantic breaths. Your hand wrenches out of his, and he doesn’t even get time to process the twinge of disappointment that floods through him as you curl up into a ball, frantically scooting away from him until you’re on the other side of the bed. You’re shaking like a leaf, wild eyes still trying to process that you’re free of whatever prison your subconscious had trapped you in.

“Leave me alone,” You croak, and again he tries to ignore how his heart cracks in his chest at the words.

“You’re okay,” He continues, running damage control the best way he knows how. “I’m here, okay? It’s just me, honey,” He says, his voice even and placating as you slowly raise your eyes to look at him from behind your knees. They’re glistening with tears, and fuck, he hates how pretty you look when you cry.

“Why are you here,” You question, voice still shaky from your place on the bed. He wishes he had an answer that didn’t make him sound like a sleaze, like a creep stealing into his boss’s daughter’s room in the middle of the night.

“Heard you outside,” He settles on, deciding to go with what’s closest to the truth. “Had to check on you.”

Silence fills the room after that, and he’s hit with the paralyzing fear he’s said the wrong thing. He feels tension he didn’t even realize he was holding when you uncurl slightly, bringing the covers up to your chest like a shield.

“M’okay,” You mutter, but you both know it’s a lie.

“You don’t look okay to me,” He responds, eyebrows raising with concern as he seats himself on your bed. He tries not to think about what happened in this same bed weeks ago, slowly reaching out to pry the covers from your grasp. “Come here, yeah?”

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes flick hesitantly between him and the sheets, cogs in your mind slowly turning as you weigh your options. He almost sighs in relief as you slowly scoot over to him, your arm just brushing his from where you sit together at the headboard.

Silence rules the room again, only broken by the occasional sniffle as you sink more and more into Graves’ side. Eventually, your head thuds onto his shoulder, and he resists the urge to wrap his arm around you and pull you into his chest. This isn’t about him, it’s about you.

“M’ sorry,” You croak out, face obscured from where it’s buried in Phillip’s shoulder.

“What for?” He asks, shifting so he’s facing more toward you. Your face is red and swollen from your tears, eyes still glistening like tiny pools as you avoid his gaze.

“I dunno, everything I guess,” You say dryly with a humorless laugh.

“Hey, you’ve done nothing to be sorry for,” He chides, inwardly cringing at the firmness in his voice that makes it somehow sound like a reprimand instead of reassurance. He tries again, his voice softer this time as his gloved hand brushes your cheek. “I’m here to protect you, that means even if the threat isn’t real.”

You slowly nod, your face nuzzling into the warmth of his glove as silence falls again. This is dangerous, more dangerous than any battlefield Graves’ has been or will be in. Every breath sounds like a gunshot in the quiet room. The unfamiliar warmth of care and concern feels wrong in his chest as he shifts closer to you, his nose burying itself in the crown of your head as he presses a ghost of a kiss into your hair. It’s terrifyingly natural how your body melts against his. The warmth of your hands burns through the fabric of his shirt from where they gently rest on his chest, tattooing their gentle shape against his nervous heart. He gently slings an arm around your back, feeling your shaking subside as his fingers rub gentle circles along your shoulder.

He isn’t sure how long the two of you sit there, time seems to not exist within the four walls of your room. He itches to get back to his post, knowing every minute he spends in your room looks worse and worse by the second. But again, the selfish, illogical part of him keeps him planted firmly in your bed, counting your breaths from the tiny puffs of air you sigh into his neck.

He knows this, whatever this is dangerous. It puts him on edge, caring about someone that isn’t him. He feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff, dark waves of the unknown beckoning him from where they roar at the base. When you raise your head from where it’s settled against his chin, it shakes him to his core how you look at him. He’s used to respect, hatred, and disdain, but not the hesitant adoring shine in your gazethat shakes him to his core. He knows you’re looking for something, something he doesn’t know even exists in him.

“Kiss me?”

It shouldn’t destabilize him the way it does. It’s such a simple request, one he’s used to denying one-night stands and flings alike. For the first time, Graves is at war with himself. There is no trigger to pull, no mission to complete. Just you staring at him with a tenderness and vulnerability he’s used to crushing without a second thought.

He doesn’t entirely understand why he does it, just that it feels right. It feels like the most natural thing in the world as he gently slots his lips against your plush, tear-stained mouth. It’s innocent, absent of the heat and want from your first encounter. It feels like a promise, of what he isn’t sure.

He tries to ignore how your fingers curl against his chest, how you cling onto his uniform like it’s a lifeline.

Like he’s some sort of hero.

When he manages to pull away, both his hands resting on your waist like gentle anchors, he looks anywhere but your eyes. He’s worried he’ll drown in your gaze, instead softly pressing kisses to the edge of your lips like makeshift apologies.

Every bone in his body is screaming at him to run from this. To run from you. But an accidental glance at your calm and pleading eyes is enough for him to pull you into his lap, your plush thighs draped over his as he traces your features with his hand. It reminds him of just how different your worlds are, him in his tactical gear with you perched in his lap like some sort of trophy. He’s grateful when you wrap your arms around him, your head settling in the crook of his neck as his hands trace patterns over your spine. Searching eyes now hidden where your bodies meet.

For the second time this week, Graves stares at the ceiling and wonders where he went wrong.

[hansensunshine]

getaway for rainy days (phillip graves x reader) (1/?)

pt. ii.

It’s a moment so innocent, so untouched by the blood and gore that stains his skin that he memorizes your footfalls like tiny prayers against his chest.

His heart seizes again in his chest when you look at him, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and lips parted as you giggle at the older man.

“Graves,” You sing-song, a teasing lilt to your voice. “Dance with me?”

Rating: explicit

Word Count: 4.9k

Tags: bodyguard au, smut, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, praise kink, light degradation, light dumbification, age gap (6-7 years), daddy kink, breeding, graves is nice and mean, light fluff, soft dom graves, kinda slow burn at first

Keep reading

[hansensunshine]

˓𓄹 ࣪˖ KEEP IT QUIET, DOLL • philip graves

★ pairing: philip graves x fem!reader

☆ word count: 0.6k

“christ, darling, keep moaning like that and the boys next door will hear ya.” graves smirks, his hand making their way up to your throat as he deliciously pounds his cock into your pussy.

see, this is what you get when you purposely try to make him jealous. the fact that you boldly made the decision to tease graves and openly flirt with simon did not sit right with him.

graves had your legs up, folding them all the way back to where your knees where on each side of your head. he was so deep and so close to you that you swore you could feel his breath and the dog tags that were swinging in your face.

how can you stay quiet when he’s fucking the living daylights out of you?

looking up at him giving him desperate whimpers and moans, it’s just when the tip of his cock hits that spot that almost makes you pass out. your cunt sporadically clenching around him, making him let out a deep groan.

“babydoll, fuck,” he leans down to your neck as he nips and suck at the already dark spot. graves comes back up to your ear and whispers, “now will you finally stop flirting with that masked idiot, or do I have to stop fucking you and take away your precious orgasm? huh, do you like the sound of that?”

you whimpered, head shaking side to side and your hands gripping his thick biceps. you could feel every ridge of his veins arms and how much they were flexing as he continue to pound you into the mattress.

“y-yes sir, I’ll stop. please please, don’t stop. i-it feels so fucking good.”

graves groans, smirking from seeing you so desperate and horny for him. drives him fucking insane. he gives you one hard thrust that has your eyes roll to the back of your head, you swore you saw stars. “fuck philip! holy sh-!”

graves cuts you off by taking the hand that was wrapped around your throat and placing it over your mouth. he devilishly smirks, watching the way your eyes widened and got more and more glossier.

“since you wanna act like a whore around other men that aren’t me, you make a single noise and I’m gonna stop. and I don’t think you want that now, do you princess?”

you could only give him a nod as he kept fucking you like there was no tomorrow. “I didn’t think so, now, be a good girl and take all of my cock.” he says as his hips clash against yours, the sounds of your juices squelching ringing in his ears. his balls slapping against your ass as he watches you in your fucked out state.

“look at you, being so obedient fo’ me. baby so fucked out she can’t even pay attention.” he mocks, talking as if he was talking to a child.

you moaned, your eyes closing and your hands gripping onto him as you take in the overwhelming pleasure you’re feeling. graves hisses as your nails dig into his skin, knowing that it’s gonna leave dark crescent shaped marks.

he watches as you shake under him, and he knows you love what he’s doing to you. he knows it turns you on just as much as it turns him on.

he uncovers his hand from your mouth. you wanted to scream so badly but you remember his words from a few minutes ago. ‘you make a single noise and he stops.’ your entire body trembles as he reaches his hand down to rub on your swollen, engorged clit and that’s when that feeling in your stomach snapped.

you couldn’t help it, the feeling of his rough fingers on your clit made you scream out, your juices flying all over his hands, his stomach, and maybe even on his desk.

graves stopped his trusts, “tsk, now baby. didn’t I say that if you make a single sound, I’ll stop?” too fucked out to even come up with a proper sentence, you mewled when he slid out of you.

“guess I’m gonna have to teach you how to follow directions, now am I angel? all fours, now.”

© 𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗥𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗬, 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟮 | do not steal or copy ANY of my works.

[hansensunshine]

i can take them (not in a fight)

art credit: @ave661

[hansensunshine]

‘her dream ride is probably a jeep or something…’

my dream ride :

[hansensunshine]

When Simon’s on leave, he spends it with you; never more than days at a time, but it’s the only place he prefers to go.

Before he heads back off on deployment, he always leaves behind something of his with you – his watch, his ID tags, his lighter – important keepsakes that he really shouldn’t part from, considering the value or usefulness they prove to him while out on the field. He’ll place the object, whatever it may be, in the center of your palm, guiding you to wrap your fingers around it.

(Keep it enclosed. Keep it safe here, with you.)

And Simon explains why: “I’m coming back for that.” This is the closest thing to a promise he’ll make. There are never guarantees about when he’ll return; after all, missions can go south – can run longer than intended if things don’t go according to plan. He won’t ever tell you a specific date, but you have his word that he’ll see you again.

So it becomes an expectation, then. Something to anticipate, to look forward to – you wonder what he’ll leave with you this time. He’ll swap each item for a new one; they seem to grow in significance with every visit.

Until one day, he doesn’t.

Simon’s taken his stuff back – per usual, except now he’s left you with nothing. It hurts, makes your chest ache. Maybe he won’t give you anything this time, but he always takes your heart with him. The exchange is unfair: he’s about to walk out of your door and your hand’s empty.

“Being posted in Al Mazrah,” he says, sliding the chain of tags into his pocket. “Can’t tell you much besides that.”

“You’re not coming back then?”

“What makes you say that?”

It feels almost embarrassing to speak up about. He doesn’t owe you any piece of himself. And so, the words stick to the back of your throat – not easy to come forward with, but you force yourself anyway. “You didn’t… um, give me anything—”

He pauses, studying your face. Simon doesn’t smile very often, but he does today – a little quirk of his mouth. “Thought it was obvious. I’m coming back for you.”

[hansensunshine]

simon is careful of where he touches, he doesn't like to make you feel uncomfortable, especially in a moment of softness.

he likes when you lay your head on his chest and bear hug each other. he thinks you smell so sweet it make him sleepy, he will try so hard not to drift off just to savour the moment.

simon likes to pepper kisses on every inch of skin he can reach when you cuddle, he loves the soft feel of his lips on your skin, it's a cute and comforting gesture.

simon pulls you into his lap, resting his hand on your waist.

"hm?" you look at him with your doe eyes, making simon melt with your stare. you sit yourself in a more comfortable position, resting your head on his shoulder.

simon's hands slither their way up the inside of your shirt, and back down. you sigh at the combination of his clammy hands on your soft back.

"I love you darlin'" simon whispers so close to your ear you feel his breath collide with your skin. your hands reach up to his hair, your fingers running through it softly. "I love you too si."

little blurb of babeey

reblogs appreciated

req: open

[hansensunshine]

— watching the dubbed actually killed me! but i had to because i was busy with other things & the movie was playing in the background. but the spanish version is sooo much better, highly recommend to those who haven’t yet watched it <3

Culpa Mía (My fault)

I know there are so many wrong things in this story, but I needed it at the right time at the right moment. 

It’s a feel good movie. A guilty pleasure

The two protagonist are damn hot and they are a pleasure for the eyes. 

And yes, Nick is damn handsome. 

Are they not supposed to be at school, because there isn’t once image of them there. 

Go watch it (oh and Spanish please, because it was terrible in English).

[hansensunshine]

— ugh it’s actually such a good movie!! fingers crossed for a sequel <33

Have u watched Culpa Mia ?? And if not WHY NOT

[hansensunshine]

[hansensunshine]

watched culpa mia (my fault) on amazon with nicole wallace, gabriel guevara, and lucas nabor — for being “trashy,” it was actually watchable trash, as it seemed to be more self-aware of the realm it was playing in. it was also more watchable, because unlike so many other movies like this, nicole & gabi actually have chemistry… like INSANE chemistry. i would love to see them in an actual rom-com, because I would. EAT. THAT. UP.

(ps: lucas also kissed nicole in a scene, & it took me out ☠️☠️☠️)

⭐️⭐️⭐️.5/5 — i assume a sequel is coming

[hansensunshine]

— inbox is back open angels!! <33

(p.s. i’ve missed you all smm!)

#my inbox <3

[hansensunshine]

— 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 & 𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓.

pairings; step brother! lloyd hansen x reader.

fic summary; you were always lloyd’s baby step sister, even though you’ve grown up and matured in many ways more than one. although he often found you quite adorable considering you’re now in your early twenties but still act like a baby. a desperate whiny baby who just needs her daddy’s older step brother’s attention.

synopsis; you make lloyd feel something more than what a step brother should feel towards his own step sister.

warnings; stepcest.

notes; i’m officially back angels! i hope you haven’t missed me too much, i have just finished culpa mia (my fault) earlier & rewatched the gray man for the 100th time. so i had the urge to merge them in some sort of way. i hope you enjoy this!

┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ౨ৎ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈

you awoke from your bed after having one of the best nights sleep of your life. everytime you made yourself comfortable over your step brothers house (it’s literally a palace fit for a princess, so lloyd told you) you haven’t slept better. lloyd always liked to keep an eye on you and you never minded although you tried so hard to make yourself appear as independent, he could read right through you like an open fairytale book. you softly yawned before stumbling out of bed with messy hair. you don’t exactly remember falling asleep last night already in your nightgown but you never thought to question it.

as making your way downstairs to the kitchen, you smell something all so familiar to you. “PANCAKES!!” you squealed from the top of your lungs and ran into the kitchen to find lloyd already making you a plate of pancakes, with strawberries of course. lloyd chuckled softly noticing your appearance. “did my baby sister sleep well?” you giggled lightly before going up to hug him tightly. “mhm! you know i did silly!”

lloyd smiled at you before handing you over a plate with pancakes with strawberries and cream ontop. you smiled so brightly and began to eat them.

lloyd couldn’t help but stare at you eat, you noticed this but just gave him a smile everytime you saw his face. sometimes you think if lloyd loves you more than he should for legal purposes, but he told you it’s just because he cares for you so much and a little baby like you needs to be protected and cared for. you used to try to put on an act where you would prance around acting so carelessly and more like a mature woman for your age. but lloyd being lloyd, managed to find a way to crack you, break you even. but in the best way possible. being babied is the best feeling, you think, as does lloyd. he knows you so well you can’t even lie your way past him, but you never attempted to do that because of how much he intimidated you sometimes.

after breakfast you ran into the lounge area and you find your stuffie just sitting there waiting for you. you had lost mr. cuddles for weeks so you’re initial thought is to wonder how he came back so suddenly out of the blue, but you’re too excited to get him back. “ahh, mr. cuddles! i’ve missed you!” you picked him up and gave him a tight squeeze before you notice your older brother walking through the door. he sits down on the couch and grabs your waist to make you sit on his lap. all you could do was smile. you had mr. cuddles in your arms and lloyd having you on his lap, it’s all you could ask for, even though you didn’t really think you should be like this with your step brother, he always managed to reassure manipulate you.

“i found mr. cuddles earlier, babydoll. you left him in the maze after i went chasing after you.” lloyd placed a soft peck onto your cheek before moving you closer to him, you could definitely feel his body heat by now. you smiled brightly up at lloyd and scrunched your nose like a cute little bunny would. “thank you step brother! i really appreciate it.” lloyd didn’t like you calling him by his name, he either wanted you to call him step brother or daddy. but ‘daddy’ only seemed to slip out at more ominous times.

lloyd could clearly see how happy you were, just being on his lap. as you nuzzled your head into his neck you whined quietly wanting to be clingy with him. he softly played with your hair and slowly started to move his lower half of his body back and forth. you never knew why he would do this, or why you’d suddenly feel something pressing against your sensitive princess parts, but you never wanted to question lloyd, ever. even though he’s your step brother that doesn’t make him any less intimidating.

you’ve seen what he does, accidentally. he wanted to keep you away from it all, everything he does for work, but he knew that it would’ve happened sooner or later. ever since then you’ve been more collective to yourself although it’s getting better. he made sure to promise you all the scary stuff he does is to protect you.

you happily jump up and down on his lap giggling softly with mr. cuddles in your arm. you notice lloyd moved his thumb up to your mouth so you started sucking it. “god, if only you knew what you are doing to me right now, little one.” as oblivious and naive as you are, it goes in the one ear and out the other. you’re just happy lloyd is there for you, he always will be. he’d let nothing and nobody get inbetween the both of you. he loves you too much, more than a step brother should.

you hear lloyd mumble something under his breath although you can’t make it out what it was, so you look up at lloyd with your soft puppy eyes looking curiously at him. “baby. you’ve done something to me and i need you to help me fix it. can you do that for me, little sister?” you nod frantically, always wanting to make him happy. “i’d do anything you want daddy!” “atta girl.” he chuckled softly as he stood up with you still sucking on his thumb, and mr, cuddles in your arm still whilst slightly feeling something which makes you whine softly. “i’m sorry baby, ignore that. i know how much of a sensitive baby you are, isn’t that right?” you nod softly and buried your head into his neck again. not realising what you’re doing you’ve started grinding yourself against lloyd, which only makes him grunt slightly in pleasure. “daddy’s going to make your princess parts happy, you got that?” you smile and stop sucking his thumb for a moment and you kiss him on the lips so sweetly. you tasted like vanilla to him, you always made sure to wear your favourite lip gloss to please him. “you’re such a good girl, hm?”

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #step brother! lloyd hansen #step brother! lloyd hansen x reader #daddy! lloyd hansen #daddy! lloyd hansen x reader

[hansensunshine]

thank you sm for the tag @screamslvt !! <3

no pressure tags here — @hoosurdaddy , @aerysa-targaryen , @mykinkyyandere , @that60smod , @heelmaryse , @theediary444 , @cha0ticatfy , @rcseycheeks , @enhachrist , @dedicatednotobsessed 🎀

Rules: shuffle your ‘on repeat’ playlist and post the first 10 tracks, then tag 10 people.

thanks for the tag @velv3tdream ❤️

tagging: @hippieasshole, @sweetestt-dispositionn, @iamx-love, @stillgotsomehope, @softestrosey, @liseelin, @tamzinsjourney, @that-delusional-kid, @starlightorchestra, @juniperspolyphony

#Spotify