#philip x you
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Philip | You, Always You | Romantic
Requested: Yes
Whilst reminiscing on the past, you realise the love of your life has always been right in front of you.
Forcing the yawn that threatens to escape back into your system, you rub your eyes tiredly as the light of the flames hurts your eyes. Seated against a log that digs into your spine, you pull one leg a little closer to your chest, hoping to get more comfortable.
The day has been long and tiring, with crowds of people constantly gathering around Jesus and requiring His attention. Although there is no better place than at the Messiah’s side, you are aware that all of you need rest from time to time, including Jesus Himself. Constantly staying alert whilst ushering people into fair queues whilst Jesus did His work was worth it yet physically draining.
Ever since returning to camp, all you’ve been yearning for is to crawl into your bedroll, drape over an extra pelt to keep warm and close your burning eyes. With a rich stew warming your belly, you feel your exhaustion creeping up on you as all of camp slowly starts calling it a day, most Disciples already having withdrawn themselves to their tents, and you are about to do the same when a familiar voice says your name.
You blink in surprise at Philip’s sudden appearance behind you and you turn to face him, your heart fluttering pleasantly at the sight of his smile. “Are you headed somewhere?”
“Well, yes,” you breathe, “I was about to go to bed, actually. Is anything the matter?”
Something sad flashes behind Philip’s eyes, but it is soon replaced by something hopeful. “Well, I was supposed to keep the first watch with Nathanael, but he fell asleep and I can’t get him to wake up.”
You chuckle at the image you can vividly imagine. “That’s typically Nath.” you laugh lightly, “Nothing new with him, hm?”
Philip grins and shakes his head. “He never changes in that regard.”
You hum and are silent for a second, staring at the flames whilst your heart is torn between two things – to call it a day or suggest to stay with Philip for a little while to keep him company – but his request decides for you: “Say, (Y/n), would you like to stay with me for a while? Otherwise, I’ll be so lonely during the first watch. It will only be about two hours until Thomas and Zee will be taking over.”
“Sure,” you tell him, your heart pleasantly skipping a beat. Spending some extra time with Philip is always a dream, but it also makes you worry that you’ll slip up one day, or that you would say something embarrassing that causes him to not like you anymore. For as long as you can remember, you’ve had the biggest crush on him, and the last thing you want is to ruin your friendship by running your mouth. “Where shall we sit?”
“I was thinking, maybe on the other side than where you are sitting right now? That way, we’ll have a better view of the plains.”
You agree to that and shift your position to the other side of the fire, where he takes a seat next to you.
A brief silence befalls you two and Philip is the first to break it. “I can boil us some water.” he suggests, “If you can pick a few herbs, we can soak them into it.”
“Of course,” you tell him, rising to your feet to gather some fresh mint leaves that grow in the shade of a rock formation, whilst Philip rummages around for a bit. You quickly pop a mint leaf into your mouth in the hopes of making your breath a little fresher, for if you’re talking in a low volume, he’s bound to get closer to you. The idea makes your cheeks flame.
After collecting enough sprigs, you return to his side, for Philip has already put on the kettle and has found two clean cups that he brushes clean from dust with the end of his tunic. “Here you go,” you say, handing him the mint leaves, which he divides evenly. You watch him work whilst getting comfortable. “I remember that we used to make this on days that we didn’t feel like going into town to buy food. When we were still with John, I mean.”
“I miss these days sometimes.” Philip muses, “The wild honey we’d add was so sweet, too. I remember your small obsession with the stuff.”
Blushing, you swat his arm. “Hey, I was not addicted to honey. Okay, maybe a little, but it was over as soon as I got stung in my mouth that one day.”
Philip laughs at the memory, swirling the water around the kettle carefully to distribute the heat. “Oh, yes, I remember that. You couldn’t eat properly for two days. Your extraordinarily chubby cheeks looked very cute on you though.”
Your eyebrows shoot up at the way he had considered you then, but Philip avoids eye-contact by pouring scalding water into the two cups, handing one to you carefully. His hand brushes yours in the process and you have to prevent yourself from startling too much lest you spill anything, your heart skipping a beat regardless.
“Luckily, it was only temporary. After all, such an experience is not recommended.”
Philip hums and blows some air into his cup. “I can only imagine, and I did feel really bad for you then.”
“You were basically panicking when it happened and my face started to swell up.”
He smiles. “Well, I couldn’t exactly help you in the same way you had helped me when we were children. Remember the incident with the tree branch?”
It takes you a moment to realise what he means, but when a memory about Philip being stung in his thumb after poking a beehive he had expected to be empty, you cannot fight the laugh. “I’ve never heard you scream that hard ever in my life, nor have you screamed like that after.”
Philip smirks and takes a careful sip of his drink whilst the two of you look at the fire. His upper arm snugly pressed against yours makes you soar, his proximity welcome, familiar.
“I do remember that you gave me a kiss on my thumb after removing the sting, and it was as if the pain was gone instantly.”
Your cheeks turn red; You had totally forgotten about that detail, and the fact that Philip still remembered made your gut swarm with butterflies.
“Well, I am glad to have been of service.” you try to hide your sudden abashedness. Philip lets out a pleasant sound, his knee hitting yours playfully.
“You know,” he starts, “I’ve often thought back on that moment.”
Flustered, you blink in puzzlement. “Oh? Why?”
Philip finally dares to look at you, his gaze containing something that you cannot quite place.
“Because it was the first time I ever had such contact with a girl.” Your heart drops, then tightens at the implication that he has been kissed by another girl later on in life. “Of course there have been moments during our teens that girls showed their interest by kissing my cheek, but none of them had evoked such a reaction as to when you had healed my thumb that day.”
With reddened cheeks, you avert your gaze. “Oh, well, I’m glad to hear that I’ve had such an impact on you.”
He smiles wryly. “You must think I’m weird now.”
You frown. “How so?”
“Because that was… How long ago? Twenty… Twenty-five years? And I still think about it from time to time, truth be told.”
You nearly drop your drink and carefully put it down on the ground beside you.
“Thank you for reminding me of that,” you muse, “I had completely forgotten about it.”
The glimmer in his eyes dies down. “Do you mean to say that it meant not as much for you as it meant for me?”
Regret immediately shatters your heart, you firmly shake your head, and you lean towards him. “No– No, of course not! I-I mean… Of course it meant something to me, but… Perhaps I was afraid of how much it would mean to me, so I pushed away the memory.”
Philip lets out a sound of confusion. “Afraid? Of what?”
You fall silent, embarrassment clawing at your throat. For a second, you scold yourself mentally – you should have gone to bed, now you’ve said something dumb that will potentially ruin your friendship, just what you had warned yourself about – before you open your mouth to respond.
“I don’t know.” you shakily say, eyelids fluttering as you force back your blush. “Why did you… Why did you never mention it again?”
Philip lets out a sad scoff and lowers his gaze, shrugging. “Well, I always thought you were going to get married to Boaz.”
“Boaz?” you let out a laugh, “Really? Where did you get that idea from?”
With genuine surprise on his features, Philip meets your gaze. “What…? Do you mean that you weren’t going to marry him?”
“No!” you chuckle, “Never even thought about it. I thought he was way too childish for someone who was nineteen and… Well, I wanted to reserve myself for someone else.”
Philip’s eyes widen. “Oh… What happened?”
For a second, you hesitate. “He never asked.” you say at last, which is the truth. “And I fear that he never will.”
The flow of your blood is so loud in your ears that you hope you’ll be able to hear Philip speak as he visibly mulls over the words. “Well, I think that man would be very lucky to have you as his wife, and if I ever run into him I’ll tell him he’s pretty stupid for letting you wait for so long. If it had been me, I would have asked you ages ago.”
You nearly choke on your own saliva. Is this a confession?
Suddenly short of breath, you bring your fingers to your lips to touch them, completely in shock. With your free hand, you reach for your tea, that has cooled down enough to be consumed.
“Are you okay? You’re a bit pale.” Philip worriedly queries when you remain silent. For a moment, you’re worried you’ll spit the drink back into the cup. You take a moment to gather yourself and try to come up with an answer.
Yes, this is a confession, you decide then and there. And you’d be dumb to let it pass.
“Then why haven’t you?” you break your silence.
Now it is Philip’s turn to grow flustered, momentarily confused with your words until he thinks it over. When everything seems to fall into place, his eyes shimmer with hope.
“Are you… What are you implying, (Y/n)?” He tilts his head slightly in question, as if he is still unsure.
You take a deep breath. “What I am trying to say is… The man who I was waiting on to ask for my hand in marriage was… Well, you.”
The silence between you two is heavy with unspoken emotion as you stare at one another, neither of you looking away.
“Really?” Philip croaks, “Am I… Am I dreaming?”
Laughing in relief, you shake your head. “No, Philip, I’m very serious and this is very real.”
His gaze flickers back to the flames and he runs a hand down his brow, grunting in frustration. “Oh, I am such an idiot. Have I been that blind?!”
You giggle and put a hand on his arm. “To be fair, I haven’t been very assertive myself, either.”
Philip hides his face in his hands and lets out another sound, still processing what he has just heard.
“Forgive me, (Y/n), I am just… Oh, forgive me for making you think I wasn’t interested, because I am. I have always been.”
“As have I,” you admit, “Since we were teenagers.”
“I’ve loved you since long before that.” His words are so soft that you nearly melt and his gaze meets yours, gently, patiently. “Please, forgive me–”
You cut him off lest he feel bad for any longer: “I have already forgiven you,” you breathe, “There is nothing to forgive, anyways. It turns out that both of us were too afraid to come forward with our feelings and misunderstood the other.”
Philip smiles and takes your hand in his. “Then please don’t misunderstand this, (Y/n).” he mutters, and your breath hitches in your throat as he moves forward slightly.
“Misunderstand what?”
“Marry me.”
Blinking rapidly, you try to comprehend what he has just asked you. When it takes you a few seconds to reply, Philip’s face falls into embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry if I am going too fast, I didn’t mean to pressure you–”
“Yes.” you interrupt, “Yes, I will!”
He exhales in alleviation before grinning from ear to ear, putting a hand over his mouth in disbelief. “Oh!” he murmurs, “Oh, that is… Yes! You’re serious! This is the best day of my life!”
You can’t help but laugh and scoot a little closer to him. “The best is yet to come, Phil.” you muse, and he softens, looking you in the eye.
“Feel free to say no, because it’s not really part of our customs, but… I’ve been wanting to properly kiss you for so long, and at this moment…” He sighs and cups your jaw, thumbing gently at your cheekbone. “I would love to just…”
His voice trails off, and you don’t reply verbally. Instead, you lean upwards to connect your mouth to his, for he has not been the only one to have mustered that desire for the last fifteen years.
Softly pulling you closer, Philip returns the sentiment, wondering why he has ever waited this long, and imagining a beautiful future with you at his side, promising you silently in this moment to always be there for you, like he always had been.
#the chosen#reader insert#the chosen x reader#x reader#chosen x reader#angel studios#the chosen philip#philip x reader#philip x you
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Philip Pearson x fem!Reader
Travelers (2016)
Word count: 9.6K (I'm as shocked as you dw)
Summary: things come to a head between you and Philip after a close call.
Content: SMUT smutty smut smut. Gratuitous smut. Bit of angst, bit of blood (not too graphic dw), arguments and all that fun stuff. Swearing, cannon typical tomfoolery, making out, hickeys, making out on a table, and a bed, drug references (guys it's Philip), mentioned weird Traveler number names (I made one up just fyi don't bother googling it), blowjobs, bit of dirty talk, bit of hair pulling, vaginal sex, safe sex (yay! Trojan please sponsor me), a little fluff at the end. Philip could possibly be a little ooc I actually can't tell but I did try.
Notes: ok so I've done it again, disappeared for weeks and then popped back up with a new obsession for a stupid little dude in a stupid little show and I've gone and written some stupid smut about it. Philip makes me insane. I cannot tell you how insane he makes me. Like... he is objectively mid. I know this. But he's also so hot??? Like do you get what I mean??? Also WHERE is all the other content for this dude like come on guys I cannot be on my own here. I need some support. Anyways, niche market n all, so I hope you enjoy.
This takes place at the end of episode 3 after Philip got shot, so I've taken some liberties with the timeline (ironic, innit). There's a few extra hours in there, and I know he was awake when everyone was talking after they got back but this is fanfiction and I am God here so you just have to trust me. I wanna blow him so bad it hurts.
Philip was stable. Stable and asleep and breathing evenly on the table, thanks to Marcy. You could see his chest rising and falling out of the corner of your eye from where you were leaning against another table beside the medic, eyes fixed on the floor just in front of MacLaren’s pacing feet, idly picking at your bloodied hands. It was uncomfortably sticky as it dried, and beginning to crack and flake around the creases of your skin. It was going to be a pain to get off.
No one was looking at MacLaren, you realised as you raised your head. Your team leader’s face was serious, dead serious, and you really couldn’t blame them for not wanting to meet that look. You kind of wished you hadn’t, and, as Marcy nudged your arm with her own, you realised that you had not heard a word of what he’d been saying with such gravity.
“Sorry,” you muttered. “Come again?”
He blew a breath out hard between his teeth, taking a step back and raising his eyes to the ceiling. “I was just asking,” he said slowly (oh, ok. So he was pissed pissed), “whether there was anything else anyone wanted to tell me.”
“Oh, right. No.”
MacLaren nodded. “Are you sure, (Y/N)?”
“Yes.”
“Ok. Cause I don’t know and I do not want to know what the hell is going on between you two, but I want you to sort it out. Sooner rather than later.”
“Yep,” you nodded, looking back at your hands. You had no doubt that “you two” was you and Philip, and it made you want to sink into a hole. You knew you hadn’t exactly been calm and rational when he’d been shot, how could you be? But it hadn’t been that bad. You’d done what Marcy had told you to. You hadn’t broken down or frozen and maybe there’d been a fair bit of whispered pleading with him to just hold on and just keep breathing, that it was only going to be a few more minutes and he just had to listen to me, keep squeezing my hand. But that had nothing to do with what was “going on” and more to do with the fact that he’d been bleeding out in your lap in the back of a van. Anyway, if you’d freaked out a little, that wasn’t MacLaren’s business.
Marcy’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Hey, Earth to (Y/N).”
You sighed and offered her a small smile. “Yeah, sorry.”
“It’s fine. I was just saying that I need to get back to David. Are you–?”
“I’ll be fine,” you interrupted her, glancing at Philip. “I guess someone should stay with him anyway, huh?”
A tiny crease appeared between her brows as she studied you, then nodded after a moment. “Yeah, might be a good idea. It was pretty straight forward, didn’t hit anything major, but still.”
But still. It was still a bullet wound, and as mad at Philip as you were for dragging you all out there in the first place and getting himself shot, you didn’t want him to wake up alone and in pain and craving those goddamn drugs with no knowledge of whether he’d saved the boy, just that he’d killed the kidnappers.
“What about you?” Marcy was saying, and if she hadn’t been using that measured, even tone she took when she was treating or assessing someone, you’d have said it was gentle. “Are you gonna be ok?”
You shrugged. “I’m fine. I’m not the one that got shot.”
Another measured look, then she nodded and stepped back. “Alright. I didn’t want to put anything on the wound too fast, and it’s sealed for now, but it’ll need a dressing if he’s gonna be moving around or anything. Can you do that?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
She nodded again. “Don’t let him do anything stupid. And don’t do anything stupid yourself.”
Despite the anger and residual panic still heavy in your stomach and the blood crusting your hands, you shot her a smile and waved. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” You thought you saw her roll her eyes before the door clunked shut behind her, and you were alone.
You let out a slow breath, sagging further against the edge of the table. You had to wash your hands. You had to scrub Philip’s blood off your skin before it legitimately drove you insane. So, with a groan as your bruised knees protested the shift of weight into them (you probably didn’t have to drop and slide quite so hard to Philip’s side when he’d fallen. That, you could admit, had been excessive), you walked stiffly to the shitty sink and began scrubbing.
Your skin was raw by the time the water finally ran clean, or at least not bloody, and while there may have been flecks of blood still hiding under your nails, your hands were cleaner than they had been in days. Maybe weeks. You really didn’t know if your host had washed them before she was supposed to die.
You glanced over your shoulder as you dried your hands, wincing a little as the rough fabric of your jacket scraped against over-scrubbed knuckles. Philip hadn’t moved and was still breathing, which you were taking as a good sign. You crossed the room after a moment, gingerly lifting his shirt to peer at the spot on his stomach where the bullet had gone in. It was raw and red and far from pretty, but it wasn’t a gaping hole anymore. It wasn’t bleeding, even if it was still covered with blood. Sighing, you grabbed a pair of scissors from the kit Marcy had left lying open on the table, snipping neatly up the centre of the bloody shirt and pulling it (not uncaringly) from his shoulders. You didn’t let your eyes linger on the pale chest, the track marks in his arm, the faint chafing around his bicep. Instead, you turned away and walked quickly and quietly to the adjoining room where he slept, rifling through the pile of blankets and sheets and clothes and god knew what until you found a shirt that didn’t reek.
You ran a clean corner of the ruined one under the tap, spongeing and wiping at the mottled russet stains on Philip’s skin until it was passably clean, the streaks of it on his face from your hands in the back of the van, then wrestled him (again, not too roughly) into the garment and stepped back. He could have been sleeping, really sleeping, instead of passed out from the drugs and blood loss and pain. Maybe you should move him. But then again, he was probably too heavy for this body to lift. Maybe not.
He didn’t really look like himself when he was unconscious, you decided. Even in an unfamiliar body, there was something of the man you knew behind his eyes. You could recognise him past the strange face, make out your Philip in him when he was awake. Like this, with his eyes closed and his face slack, it wasn’t the same. It was like looking at a real, true, genuine stranger. A stranger who wasn't exactly bad to look at (in fact, you quite liked looking at him), but a stranger all the same.
Hesitantly, you raised a hand and brushed at a strand of hair hanging across his forehead. His skin wasn’t icily clammy as it had been in the van, but was still cool to the touch. Softer than you’d expected, though you didn’t really know what that was. You let your fingers trail across his forehead, smoothing a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows, down over his cheek to his shoulder. You felt the expansion and contraction of his lungs through his body’s movement, regular and deep and alive and you knew what MacLaren meant.
You and Philip were… complicated. That’s how anyone would describe you. He was too reckless, too hasty, felt too much too fast and didn’t think enough (and yes, you were aware of the irony there). And you understood, you really did. It was hard to look at it all objectively, and you couldn’t imagine how it must be to walk around with all that just floating around in your head. All those deaths, when they’d happen and where, and not be able to stop it. But you could also see the bigger picture. What you were doing was important. You had the protocols for a reason and the director for a reason and getting bogged down in the details and the individuals and the humanness of it only ever ended badly. Case in point.
You really should have seen it coming, and now, in the aftermath, you wondered how you’d missed it. His disillusionment. The discomfort when you’d reminded him of the protocols. The discontent and grumbling and (very understandable and reasonable) grievances he’d raised around the whole protocol 3 thing. And you really did get it. It sucked, and the whole reason you were in this was to save people so why couldn’t you do just that? But at the end of the day, you also understood that you didn’t have all the information. Good things could lead to bad things. It might be superstition, but the butterfly effect was all too present in the forefront of your mind.
And that was where you differed from Philip. He didn’t believe in “just letting someone die because someone else decided they’re not worth saving” (a recent and quite heated argument that still rang in your ears) and you… Well you wouldn’t say you did, but you didn’t not either. Maybe that determination and righteousness (“pig-headed”, you’d shouted at him not too long ago) was part of what drew you to Philip, too. It had never not been like that as far as you could remember, and so you butted heads. A lot. And as soon as you had one fight, one of you was rushing back to the other with an olive branch and you were both trying to not bash into each other so often and so hard, then before you knew it it was happening again.
But this hadn’t been a fight. It hadn’t even been an argument. It had been Philip rushing into something his conscience told him was a good idea, lying to everyone else and dragging them all along and then getting shot and almost bleeding to death in your arms in the back of a van. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what you were going to say to him when he woke up.
Pull your head in.
What the fuck was that.
I’m so angry I could punch you.
I wish you’d told me.
That was stupid.
Don’t ever do something like that again.
You almost died.
You fucking idiot.
You fucking idiot, you almost died.
Don’t go and almost die ever again.
I don’t want you to die.
I can’t take it if you die.
You blinked, hot tears prickling in your eyes. Before you could even really think too much about it, you bent and pressed your lips to Philip’s cool forehead, straightening almost immediately. You took a slow breath in, held it, released it with a hiss and set your shoulders. There was shit to be done besides hovering over him, and standing here waiting wasn’t going to make anything better. It was going to make you worse.
“Ok,” you whispered, and turned away.
It couldn’t have been more than an hour when Philip stirred. A soft groan had you turning your head from the disassembled gun you were cleaning, watching as he tried to sit up, winced and lay back down.
Maybe you should have started with a nice, simple, normal, “how are you feeling?” You supposed you could have at least smiled at him, even just nodded or raised your eyebrows. And you could admit that the snort had been a little out of line. Still. You’d been festering – that was the only way you could describe how the last vestiges of panic and adrenaline had cooled and settled low in your gut, right beside the simmering anger that just refused to go away. No matter how much you told yourself to cut him some slack and just wait until he was actually awake to hear his side of it. Don’t do anything stupid, Marcy had said, and you were determined to abide by that.
“What…?” he started, then groaned. “(Y/N)?”
“Yep.”
Another groan, and this time you raised your head. He’d swung his legs over the side and had managed to sit up, breathing heavily and gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were white. As you watched, he pulled up the bottom of his shirt and frowned at the spot where the bullet had gone in. It didn’t really look like a gunshot anymore, thanks to Marcy’s attention, but there was definitely some bruising around the edges.
“Marcy said to put something on it if you’re gonna be… doing stuff,” you said.
He looked up, dropping the shirt and eyeing you warily. “Ok.” He turned, reaching towards the open kit at the end of the bench, face tight with pain. It scraped along the rough surface as he dragged it closer, the scissors you’d left resting on top of everything sliding out and onto the floor with a clatter. Philip paused, glanced at you, then kept pulling.
“For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, slamming down the gun in your hand and crossing quickly to him. You slapped the scissors back on the bench, turning the kit to face yourself and rifling through the neatly compartmentalised packets of first aid supplies until you found a wound pad that looked big enough.
“Up,” you said, gesturing to his shirt as you withdrew a roll of tape. Then, with a ‘turn around’ motion, “down.”
He got the idea, swinging his legs back onto the table and lying flat, watching as you tore open the packet and laid the pad against his skin, placed his hand over it with a simple command to “hold it” and cut a piece of tape. He drew in a sharp breath as you smoothed the tape down the edge of the pad, perhaps a little harder than you’d meant, and you paused.
“It’s still…” He trailed off, looking away.
“Sorry.” You were gentler this time, glancing up at him as you stuck down the dressing. You may have been pissed, but actually hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do. It wasn’t as neat as you’d seen Marcy do it, but it was functional. That was what mattered. You lingered a moment, scissors and tape in one hand, the other resting gently by the slightly puffy white square. He’d warmed up, here at least, which you supposed was a good thing.
“(Y/N),” he started, and you quickly withdrew your hand. You were still angry at him, no matter what else was now causing that deep, tight feeling inside you. Like someone was pulling on a string attached to the very centre of your being, right behind your sternum.
“How’s that?” you asked as you stepped back, crossing your arms.
“It’s fine, but–”
“Good.” You turned away, stalking back to the guns on the table before he had a chance to finish. He groaned again as you sat down, not out of pain this time. And ok, you could definitely have been nicer about it all, but you were determined not to be the one to take the first step. He’d gotten himself and everyone else into this bullshit, he could at least be the one to bring it up.
“How long was I out?”
“An hour. Give or take.”
“The others…?” A soft grunt, the rustle of fabric and the sound of feet hitting the floor.
“Gone.”
There was a pause, a few hesitant footsteps, and when he spoke again his voice was much closer. “Not you?”
You didn’t look up as you grabbed another gun and began the smooth, practised movements of dismantling it. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”
He gave a noncommittal little hum, and this time you did raise your eyes. He was leaning against the end of your table, watching you. It may have just been the dimness of the room, or the clouded haze of thoughts and feelings swirling in your own head, but there was something in his face that you couldn’t quite pin down. That wasn’t usually a problem with Philip, he was the kind of person who you could always tell where his mind was. And he always knew yours.
You sighed and leaned back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest once more as you swivelled to face him. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” he shrugged, his brows pinching together and his arm tensing as the movement tugged at his wound. He cursed softly and glanced down.
“Are you in pain?”
His eyebrows rose incredulously. Ok, yeah, dumb question. Of course he was in pain. You’d be more concerned if he wasn’t. Wordlessly, you rose and crossed to the first aid kit again, withdrawing an almost empty packet of painkillers. You handed them to him as you sat down, and didn’t watch him swallow two. You just heard it.
The silence stretched between you, the occasional clunk of the guns and the quiet ticking of the clock the only sounds in the building. Outside, someone was shouting and the traffic roared.
After what felt like ten minutes but was probably only two, Philip blew out a breath and shifted. “Ok, just… spit it out,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
Wow, ok. That was a loaded question if you’d ever heard one. You stopped what you were doing, cooley and slowly placing the gun you’d been about to slide apart onto the table almost soundlessly. “What’s wrong?” you echoed, turning to face him.
He either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the frost you couldn’t have kept out of your voice if you'd tried. “Yeah, cause something clearly is.”
God, where did you even start? He’d lied to you. He’d gone directly against protocol, protocol that could be stupid but was ultimately there to protect you and everyone else. He still hadn’t even actually addressed any of it. Hadn’t checked if you were alright, hadn’t checked if anyone else had been hurt (and ok, you couldn’t really blame him for that, but that was besides the point.) In the end, you decided on starting with the elephant in the room. “You almost died.”
He opened his mouth, closed it again. Looked away, back to you. “I didn’t.”
You shook your head. That wasn’t the point. “You could have.”
“And?”
Now it was your turn to open your mouth, only to find no words. You floundered for a second, then, “And? And? Philip what the fuck do you mean and?”
“It’s not like people aren’t dying every day, huh?” He pushed off the table, standing up straight and tapping the side of his head. “Huh, (Y/N)? You get this worked up about them too?”
You shook your head, rising from the chair so fast it skidded backwards. “That’s different. You know it is.”
“Oh, so now you’re–”
“This is not about that.” The words were tight, forced between your teeth as you stepped around the corner of the table to face him. “This is about the fact that what you did was reckless and stupid and you got shot.” You lifted a hand, poking him squarely in the chest hard enough that he swayed. “What part of that is not getting through your head?”
“He was a kid, (Y/N)! A little kid! You saw the place, they’d already killed one. How can you just sit and let that shit happen?”
“It’s not our place, Philip. Bad things happen every day. People die. We wouldn’t be here right now if people didn’t die! I know you're–”
He didn’t let you finish. “You don’t. You don’t get it. If you knew, you wouldn’t be standing there saying what you’re saying. You’d be on my side.”
“Your side?” You raised your eyebrows, incredulous. “There isn’t a your side and a my side. We’re trying to do the same thing! We’re a team, for fuck’s sake!”
“Well you sure as hell don’t act like it.”
“Oh my fucking God.” You could have screamed. You’d really wanted to avoid this. Hadn’t wanted to get into a shouting match when he probably wasn’t even supposed to be walking around, no matter how many dressings you taped onto his stomach or how many painkillers he downed. “You’re being insanely stupid. Insanely fucking stupid.”
“At least I stopped a kid from dying.”
You slammed your hand down on the table so hard it went numb, then burned all the way up your wrist. You ignored it. But still, even through the haze of anger and whatever else, you recognised the words for what they were. He was trying to confirm that he actually had managed to save Aleksander. As pissed as you were, you weren't cruel enough to leave that unanswered. “Ok, fine, you did. He's being reunited with his mother and they're riding off into the sunset and they're gonna live happily ever after. But you could have died, Philip! How many times do I have to say that?”
You didn't miss the tiny flash of relief — or something close to it — at your words. “This shit isn’t exactly risk free. Do you know how many others die on missions?”
“I don’t care.” There were tears in your eyes now, hot and prickling and you couldn’t even care enough to wipe them away. “You were bleeding out on top of me in the back of the van. And it could have been any one of us, too! What if it’d been Trevor? MacLaren? Carly? What if Marcy had taken that bullet and fucking kicked it, huh? Where would that leave us?”
He hadn’t stepped back as you’d pressed closer, and for a moment you wondered if this was it. If you should just walk away now before either one of you did some real damage. Then he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Guess it’s lucky it was me, then.”
You half stifled your sob (an actual sob, which you were not proud of), raising your hand again to slam into his chest, press to your face, run through your hair. “What can’t you understand? Why can’t you understand?”
His own hand moved, slowly and hesitantly towards your arm. He paused and thought better of it before it got past waist height, searching your face. “What’s this really about?”
“I…” You stopped, breathing hard. He was right. It wasn’t just that he’d lied about the messengers or dragged you all on an unsanctioned and ill-prepared mission. It was more than that. It was, when you got down to it, his head in your lap in the back of the van. His blood coating you. His hand in yours. His eyes unfocussed, his breathing too shallow and the possibility that that was the last time you’d ever get to see him. When you spoke, each word felt like you were vomiting up a bowling ball.
“I don’t want to do this without you.”
There was a pause, then, “Fuck. Fuck, (Y/N).” And his arm was moving again, his hand coming to rest behind your head, and before you even realised what was happening his lips were pressed against yours.
It only took you a moment to melt into him, to step that little bit closer and tilt your face towards his, your hands settling on his chest between the two of you, fingers twisting in the material of his shirt as his tangled in your hair. He kissed you like you belonged to him, like he wanted you to be his and his alone. A tiny, involuntary sound slipped from you as his tongue slid between your parted lips, searching and exploring your mouth like you’d been dreaming of doing to him for far too long now. You pushed back against him, sliding your hand up to caress his neck, brushing over the stubble littering his jaw and cheek. The hand that wasn’t in your hair had settled on your waist, pulling your body flush with his, fingers digging into your flesh enough to send heat coursing through your whole being.
You moaned softly, your hold on the back of his neck tightening ever so slightly as you pulled him down further towards you. He was growing hard against you, you could feel it, his own choked hum of pleasure reverberating against your mouth as you moved your hips. You did it again, and this time it was a sharp breath sucked through his nose.
And God, you wanted him. You wanted him so badly it almost hurt, but as soon as you had the thought another one rang through your mind like an alarm through a good dream. You relaxed your hold on him, drawing back even as he chased your lips.
“Protocol 4,” you murmured, the tears that had slipped from your eyes already crusting dry on your cheeks.
“We’re not reproducing.”
You raised an eyebrow, glancing down to where his hips pressed against your own. You watched his hand move from your waist, down over the front of your hip to where your leg joined it. Your stomach swooped, desire pooling low in you as his fingers traced over your inner thigh, soft and teasing.
“Fuck you,” you whispered, your hands already back in his shirt and pulling him to you, lips crashing against his once more.
He gave a little grunt of surprise, the hand that had stayed close to your hair sliding back into it. But you were moving now, turning and sweeping one hand across the table behind you before jumping up onto it, parting your legs for Philip. He fit perfectly between your thighs, his hardness now flush with your clothed core in a way that had you arching shamelessly into him. His hand trailed down your neck, over your shoulder and down over your ribs, your waist, fingers curving there once more and pulling you closer. You didn’t think you could get any closer, but you needed to feel his skin on yours, touch him and have him touch you. You could feel his heartbeat through his shirt where your chest pressed against his, but it wasn’t enough. You needed all of him.
You managed to wriggle your hand into the tiny space between your bodies, fingers searching for the hem of his shirt and pushing unceremoniously under it. You had your tongue in his mouth now too, stroking and tasting every inch of him just as he’d done to you, and this time you were sure your lips were going to be bruised. Somewhere between your hand on his skin and his shirt being bunched up to his chest, Philip got the hint and broke away just long enough to shrug it off, dropping the piece of fabric on the table beside you.
“Tell me you changed that,” he said, voice low.
You nodded. “I threw the other one out.”
“Mhm.”
“It was so bloody it was starting to go stiff.”
“God, just stop talking.”
You smiled at that, and this time when he kissed you it was less… urgent. Still thorough and firm, still fraught with want and need, but less like a man starved and more like a man who was determined to enjoy a good meal. And hey, you were more than happy to provide that. You were barely sitting on the table anymore, your own wriggling and Philip’s hold on your waist to blame for the edge of it digging into your ass.
Without his shirt, there wasn’t anything for you to tug Philip by as you shifted backwards. He hummed softly when your hands slid up his bare chest, over his shoulders, pulling at him to come closer, come here. He stumbled a little as he leaned against the table, his own hand moving smoothly from its place on your waist down over your hip, along your thigh to your knee and back up again. You lifted the leg slightly, hooking it behind him and squeezing. There wasn’t much muscle to work with, not what you were used to anyway, but his breath still hitched in his chest as you did it again.
His hands were firm on your legs as he broke from your lips, staring at you with that same look you couldn’t quite pin down. Gently, you moved your hand up over his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you cradled the base of his skull. It was so different to how you’d held him in the back of the van, your fingers leaving bloody stripes across his cheeks and neck and forehead, his gaze unfocussed and wandering until his eyes had just closed and you hadn’t been able to get him to look at anything, much less you. But somehow, it was the same. It was still Philip, warm and conscious and standing between your legs, face clean and eyes clear, lips kiss-swollen and just begging to be touched.
You swallowed, tearing your eyes away from his mouth and curling your fingers in his hair as you ground your hips into his. A muscle in his jaw twitched, his grip tightening on your thighs, his face still only inches from your own. His eyes, as they flicked down to your mouth, were dark with want.
“God, (Y/N),” he whispered as you did it again, your lips curling into a smile. He bent his head, breath warm against your neck as he kissed under your jaw, down the muscle at the side of your neck, sucking gently at the spot.
“Philip,” you sighed as he did it again, harder this time. Fuck, you hoped he left a mark. You cursed as the thought that that was probably a bad idea hit you, pulling gently at his hair to raise his head.
“Is that…?” he frowned, uncertain.
“No, no I like that. A lot. I just…” You stopped, reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, dropping it beside his. “I think here is better?” you offered, pointing to your chest.
“Oh, ok.” His smile was quick as he bent once more, overtaken by a wince as it pulled at his side.
“Are you alright?” you asked quickly, ducking your head to meet his eyes.
“Fine,” he said tightly, leaning forwards once more.
“No, wait a second. You got shot, Philip. You’re not… Jesus, I don’t know if we should even be doing this.”
A pause as he searched your face. “I want to. I want you, (Y/N), if you want me.”
“I do. I really, really do. But I don’t want to hurt you.”
The corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile. “You won’t.”
“You’ll tell me if I do?”
“You won’t.”
You huffed and crossed your arms, covering your chest. “Promise.”
“Ok, fine,” he sighed. “I promise I’ll tell you if you hurt me.”
“Ok.” You smiled again as you closed the little distance between you, unfolding your arms to run your hands over his chest. “Bed,” you murmured against his lips. Then, when you felt him hesitate, “it’s better than the table.”
He barely pulled away, even as you slipped from your perch and followed him to the door in the corner, through the mess you’d rifled through earlier and towards the bed. You turned, pushing him gently onto the edge of it, your hand resuming its place in his hair as you bent to kiss him again. His own hand had settled once more on your waist, and as you licked lightly at his bottom lip it slid up your side, hovering over your ribs. His thumb skimmed the skin just shy of your breast, where your bra sat, and you smiled even as you mapped the inside of his mouth with your tongue.
“Off,” you muttered, still kissing him as he undid the clasp behind your back (albeit with a little difficulty) and slid the piece of fabric from your shoulders. You raised your free hand, placing it over his and moving it those last few inches to your breast, squeezing your fingers over his. He drew a sharp breath and you squeezed your own breast for him again before dropping your hand to cup his jaw. You tilted his head gently further upwards, stepping between his legs as his thumb swiped an arc over your skin. Then he squeezed – just as gently as ever – and you let a moan slip from you. He took that as encouragement, pulling you even closer with his free hand as he moved, kneading the soft flesh, moving his hand until his finger brushed over your nipple and you half moaned, half gasped against his mouth.
He paused, then when you pushed harder against him did it again. You whispered a breathy “yes,” hardly drawing back at all before you were sinking to your knees between his, Philip following until he couldn’t, simply staring at you.
“What are you doing?”
Oh, you liked the view from here. You smiled as his fingers spread over your jaw, turning your face to place a kiss on the palm of his hand as you slid your own up his thighs. You paused when you reached his hips, nodding to the now very noticeable bulge in his pants. “Can I?”
You thought there might have been a faint flush dusting his face, but it was really too dim to tell. Either way, he nodded and watched as you undid his pants, lifting his hips as you pulled them down to pool around his ankles. His cock strained against his underwear, and your mouth watered as you looked up at him. His cheeks were definitely pinker than usual, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, not looking away even as you removed the last piece of clothing between you.
“Fuck, Philip,” you breathed, glancing from his face to his dick and back again.
He frowned, unsure. “What?”
You grinned. “I can’t wait to put that in my mouth.”
His thigh tensed under your hand, breath hitching in his chest. “Jesus, (Y/N), you can’t just say shit like that.”
“What?” you asked, bending forwards to place a kiss on his stomach, your thumb moving in slow circles on his skin. “That I’m gonna take you until I choke? That I’m gonna ride you so hard you’ll see stars, let you fill me up and fuck me six ways into next week?”
Before you could look up again, his hand was under your chin and he was raising your face for you, fingers careful where they gripped your jaw. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he said softly.
You raised an eyebrow, finally reaching out and gently taking hold of his cock. “Don’t I?” you asked as you moved your hand, want surging hot through your whole body as he moaned low and deep. You shifted closer still, settling yourself between his legs before you bent your head and kissed the tip of his dick, licked it, relishing in Philip’s quick hiss of breath.
“Oh fuck,” he gasped as you sank your mouth over him, heavy and hot and already salty with precum. “Oh, fuck, (Y/N).”
You drew back, glancing up at him. Holy shit you never wanted to forget the look on his face – pure want, and directed entirely at you. “Ok?” you asked.
He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Shit, ‘s more than ok.”
“Good,” you smiled, licking a long stripe up his shaft and sliding your lips over the head once more, tongue soft and pliant against him. Your hand worked what wouldn’t fit in your mouth, slow strokes to match the slow bobbing of your head.
His stomach twitched as you hollowed your cheeks, another groan reverberating through his chest. You’d wanted to be gentle with him despite what you’d said, and were all too aware that he was still injured and maybe this had been what Marcy had meant when she’d told you not to do anything stupid. Not to let him do anything stupid. Well, it was too late now. What the medic didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, or anyone else.
You snuck another glance at Philip, the sight that met you sending a fresh bolt of heat shooting down your spine to pool between your legs. His head was tipped back, neck and jaw barred to you, his nose ring glinting in the dim light, chest heaving and hands tight where they gripped the sheets. You wanted to memorise him, here in this moment, and never let it go. You clenched your thighs, shifting in your search for a little friction, any relief at all.
Philip cursed softly, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he lowered his head to look down at you. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathed, one hand trailing over your upper arm, your shoulder, weaving through your hair. He didn’t pull it, as such, but the pressure and the praise together was enough to make you moan around his cock. His hips jerked with the sound, fingers tightening and a muttered “fuck,” slipping from his lips.
“Hm?” You didn’t stop, eyes watering as you sped up your movements, his dick slick with your spit and only getting messier. Maybe with anyone else it would have been gross, but not with him. Never with him. His hips bucked up again, followed by a quickly gasped apology and a loosening of the grip on your hair. You rubbed your free hand over his thigh, squeezing gently. It’s ok, it said. I’m fine. Then, as you squeezed his cock and relaxed your throat even further, please.
“Yes,” he gasped. “Please, (Y/N), that’s—”
You hummed again, pulling your head back and sucking at just the tip, tongue flicking over the sensitive slit across it. He cursed again, loudly, your name falling from his lips once more. He thrust up into your mouth, hard enough that your eyes watered and you wondered if you were going to gag. You hoped not.
“Don’t stop,” he practically pleaded. “Shit, don’t stop.”
You wouldn’t dream of it. You sped up again, sucking hard and sagging over him, mapping every inch of his cock, every ridge and vein and sensitive spot. God, you could stay here forever, the warm weight of him in your mouth and his hand in your hair, listening to his moans and grunts and uneven breaths.
“I’m— shit, fuck, fuck, (Y/N) I’m so fucking close.”
That sent a thrill through you, the wet heat between your legs almost unbearable now. You took him deep, a gentle squeeze to his thigh the only reassurance and confirmation you could offer as you looked up, your vision slightly blurry, blinking rapidly to clear it. There was no way you were going to miss this.
Then he was groaning deeply, hand tightening in your hair and head thrown back, dick twitching in your mouth as he spilled hot and thick down your throat. His chest heaved as he said your name like a prayer, repeating it over and over again until it blurred into one sound. How many times had you wondered what he’d sound like? What he’d taste like? What he’d look like here, like this? It was better than anything your mind could ever conjure.
You swallowed, slowing your movements as he rode out the high, only drawing back when his breathing had slowed and he’d ceased trembling. You licked over him gently, cleaning up the worst of the mess of spit and cum, wiping the corners of your mouth delicately. You sat between his legs, tracing little arcs over his skin with your thumb.
“Alright?” you asked softly.
He took a long, shuddering breath and looked down at you, nodding. “Are you?”
“Yeah,” you smiled. You pressed your cheek into his palm as he slid the hand that had been gripping your hair down over your face, turning quickly to kiss it.
His brows creased, and he paused. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
You shook your head, rising on stiff legs and taking his face between your hands. “You could never,” you said softly. Then a thought occurred to you. “It wasn’t… too much?”
He huffed a laugh at that, shaking his head. “No. You were great. Better than great.”
“Mm, good.” You smiled as he raised his hand to cup the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and into a gentle kiss.
“Off,” he murmured against your lips, free hand running along the waistband of your pants.
“Magic word?”
He just rolled his eyes. “Please.”
“Say it again,” you grinned.
This time he paused, drawing back ever so slightly, searching your face.
You just shrugged. “They’re not coming off if you don’t ask me nicely.”
His hand dropped from your neck, skimming over your chest and stomach to rest on your hip. He held your gaze as he leaned closer, large hands firm and warm against you, then dropped his eyes to your skin as his lips met your stomach. You felt your insides turn over as he kissed you there, your teeth digging into your bottom lip hard enough that it almost hurt.
“Philip,” you started, then hissed as he did again, his tongue soft and hot where it touched you – so quickly you wondered if he’d even meant to do it. But no, there it was again, the sensation sending more electric heat shooting through you. You moaned outright when he sucked at the spot, hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in it. God, you’d never get tired of that, and from the way he hummed against your stomach neither would he.
“Philip,” you breathed again. “Philip, that’s not asking nicely.”
He glanced up at you, and you could have come undone from that alone. His tongue darted out over his lips. “Then can I please take off your pants?”
Oh you really didn’t want to give in that easily. A few kisses and half a hickey on your stomach and you were caving? Really? But then he was whispering “please” and his breath was raising gooseflesh all over you and you were tingling all over and his voice was so soft and husky like this and–
“Yes.”
“Yes?” he echoed, frozen as he waited.
“Yes, Philip. Sí, ja, oui, just—” Your breath caught as he pulled you close before releasing your hips, making quick work of your fly and easing your pants down over your hips. Your underwear followed suit, pooling around your ankles before you kicked both pieces of clothing off to the side and stood, completely bare, between Philip’s legs.
“God, (Y/N),” he murmured almost reverently, stroking down over your hips and thighs, around behind your knees and up to your ass. And wow that did something to you.
“Can I?” You motioned to his lap, already bending your knee at the edge of the mattress.
Philip nodded quickly, already inching backwards to make room for you on the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.”
You smiled, bringing your lips to his for what had to be the millionth time as you straddled his thighs and draped your arms around his shoulders, his lips parting easily under yours, his tongue dancing alongside your own as if he’d been born to kiss you.
“I wanna touch you,” he said softly into the space between your mouths. He was all over you, kissing along your jaw and neck and under your ear, touching your back and sides and legs and hips and ass, pressing flush against you. The only part of you that hadn’t touched him yet was, ironically, where you wanted him most.
“Please,” you replied almost immediately. “I want you to.”
A breath of laughter hushed over your chest as he ran his hand up over the top of your thigh, along the spot where it joined your hip, tantalisingly close to the throbbing heat between your legs. You bit your lip, watching his face as his fingers crept ever closer.
“Philip,” you warned.
“Hm?”
“Stop teasing.”
“I’m not, I’m just… taking my time.”
“Well— fuck.” The word was torn from you as his hand moved that last tiny distance, fingers sliding easily through your wetness.
“Jesus, (Y/N),” be breathed. “You’re…”
“Really fucking wet?” you suggested, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. I didn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Didn’t think I did anything that special.”
You snorted, shifting closer still. “It’s you, Philip. I just really, really, really, want you.”
He stilled for a moment, studying you like he was trying to memorise every cell making up your face. Then he stretched up and kissed you, stifling your moan with his lips as his finger slid over your clit. He did it again, a small, precise movement that had you grinding against his fingers as your own tightening on his shoulders.
“There?” he asked, barely breaking away from you.
“Oh God, yes. Yes, right there.”
His eyes didn’t leave your face as he circled your clit, your breathing ragged and your body arching into his of its own accord. You bit your lip hard enough that it hurt, trying desperately to stifle another embarrassingly desperate moan. God, how was he so good at this?
“Don’t do that,” he muttered, leaning forward to kiss along your collarbone.
“What?”
“Try to be quiet. I wanna hear you, wanna hear everything.”
“Shit, Philip,” you panted.
“Ok?”
“Ok. Ok, I— fuck.” He’d sucked hard at a spot on your chest, the faint pain cutting through the sharp pleasure spiralling from his hand. “Fuck,” you whispered again, your own hand flying to his hair as you scrambled for purchase.
“Mhm, that’s it.”
You felt the praise, something about the quiet huskiness of his voice and the way he gripped your hip making you squirm. “Philip please,” you gasped. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“I want you inside me. I need you inside me, now.”
He cursed, fingers leaving your clit to circle your entrance, almost tentative. Double checking.
You shook your head. “No, that’s not what I mean.”
He frowned, raising his head.
You let go of his hair, brushing a stray piece from his forehead as you slid your other hand down his front. You glanced at the tiny remaining space where his cock sat, hard again between you. You spat into your palm before wrapping your hand gently around it, moving your fist slowly. “I mean here, Philip.”
“Oh.” He swallowed hard, searching your face. “Are you sure?”
“Mhm. I’m sure. Are you?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “Fuck yes, I’m sure. Just—” He pulled away, reaching for the overcrowded nightstand (which, now you were looking at it, you were pretty sure was just a small filing cabinet) and rifling through the first one. When that didn’t turn up anything, he reached for the second.
“What’re you looking for?” you asked as he moved on to the third.
“Condom,” he grunted, then withdrew his hand triumphantly to show you a square of faded red foil.
“Jesus, how’d you know that was gonna be there?”
He shrugged. “Seemed like the kind of place to put one.”
“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”
“Ok?”
“Mhm.” You surveyed the package as he opened it, placing the foil pieces on the filing cabinet. “They don’t just… stop working, do they? If they’re a bit old?”
He frowned. “Don’t think so. It’s only a month out of date, anyway. Less, actually. And it wasn’t open.” He looked up, meeting your eyes. “We could get more?”
“No, no it’s ok. I trust you.”
“Trust Trojan.”
“Fine, I trust Trojan.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he rolled the piece of latex over himself. The dressing on his side gleamed eerily in the dimness, and you silently cursed yourself. How had you not thought of that?
“Is that gonna be alright?” you asked, gesturing to it.
Gingerly, he ran a finger of it. “I think so.” Then, as if it explained everything, “Painkillers.”
“Ok, just—”
“Let you know if it hurts,” he interrupted. “I will.”
You rolled your eyes as you lifted your hips, bracing yourself on his shoulders. “Alright. Ready?” At his nod, you sank down slowly onto him, pausing as you adjusted to the stretch.
“You ok?” he asked, breath unsteady, grip firm around your waist.
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Gimme a second.” A soft moan slipped from you as you lowered yourself the rest of the way down, glancing at Philip. “This ok?”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes dark, lips parted. “Uh-huh. You?”
“Yeah. Can I move?”
“Yes. Please, (Y/N), you can—” He broke off with a groan as you rocked your hips over his, slowly at first, finding your rhythm. It may have been a little tight initially, but now as you moved atop him you slid easily, Philip’s uneven breath and your own soft moans mingling in the space between your faces.
“Fuck,” you panted. “Fuck, Philip you feel fucking amazing.”
“(Y/N), oh, you— you feel amazing.”
You brought your lips to his, messy and uncoordinated and hardly a kiss by any stringent definition. You moaned into his mouth as you took him deep inside you, the delicious friction of his cock lighting every inch of your insides on fire. You needed him, needed to go harder and faster and—
“Harder?” he half asked, half offered. It was like he’d read your mind.
“Yes,” you whispered, lifting and lowering your hips with a little more of the desperation filtering through every fibre of your being.
“Oh, yes, fuck yes—” His hips jerked up into yours, hands almost rough on your hips as he guided your movements. “Used to dream about this,” he confessed to your neck. “Having you like this.”
Oh shit. You hadn’t been expecting that. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. What you’d look like. Sound like. What you’d— ah— feel like.”
“What do I feel like?” you breathed, then cursed loudly as he reached down between your bodies and rubbed at your clit.
“Like Heaven. You feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I—”
You cut him off, tilting his face to yours and kissing him so hard you thought he was about to overbalance. But he held you tight, lips and teeth and tongue clashing against yours, swallowing your increasingly desperate moans and whines — because yes, you’d gotten to the point where you were almost whimpering.
“Philip,” you practically sobbed, pleasure coiling tight and hot and hard with every push of his cock inside you, every movement of his finger on your clit. “Philip fuck don’t stop—”
“Yeah, no, shit (Y/N), keep doing that.”
“I’m gonna cum,” you managed. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum—”
“Me too, you’re gonna— again—”
“Yeah, Jesus Christ 33— Philip—” And then you were crying his name over and over, white hot bliss flooding out through your body, back arching and legs spasming as Philip continued to move you. You were vaguely aware of his arms tightening around your waist and his face pressing into your neck, his chest heaving against your own, your name and what you thought might have been your number — both familiar and strange and so deeply tied to home it almost shocked you — mixed with his deep groans as he too climaxed. You hovered, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, breathing heavily as the aftershocks faded from trembling limbs and your heartbeats slowed to normal.
After what felt like an age, you turned your head and kissed Philip’s temple, combing your fingers gently through his hair. He hummed appreciatively, raising his head from where his spit and your own sweat mingled at the joining of your neck and shoulder. He rubbed the spot softly, placed a featherlight kiss there and drew back to look at you.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured.
You smiled. “Mm, I think I have some.”
His laugh was little more than a huff of air. He shook his head and he lifted you carefully off his lap, turning on the tiny mattress and pulling you close. You frowned at the sudden empty feeling inside you, but then he was tying shut the condom and dropping it on the nightstand, wrapping his arm around you and wriggling impossibly closer. You slid your hand up over his side, pausing when your fingers brushed the tape you’d used on the dressing. You were tempted to check it, make sure you hadn’t disturbed the wound at all — you’d never hear the end of that from Marcy.
You drew back just enough that Philip’s face came into focus, cheeks still faintly flushed, nose ring gleaming dully. He was already looking at you, his thumb moving in tiny half circles on your back, something close to awe shining in his eyes.
“What?” you asked, smiling.
“Nothing.”
“Come on. What’s going on in that super brain of yours?”
“Super brain?”
“Yeah. Your big historian super brain.”
His lips twitched up into a smile, soft and a little confused and all for you. “Not much,” he replied. “You, mainly.”
“Wow, ok.” You snorted, relaxing your neck and letting your face fall against his chest. He didn’t exactly smell nice, but something about it was incredibly comforting. There was that little breath of laughter again, his body moving with it and jiggling you.
“At least now I know you think I’m smart,” he said.
“Of course I think you’re smart. I think you’re a goddamn genius. The things you think of…” You trailed off, shaking your head. When you continued, it was in a whisper. “I think you’re amazing.”
He stilled, and for a moment you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. Then, “I think you’re amazing, too.”
You lifted your head again, stretching up to brush his lips with yours. You shifted, but groaned as your thighs rubbed together. Your wetness was cooling between them, uncomfortable and slimy now that you weren’t moving with Philip anymore.
“I’m gonna clean us up,” you said softly, already drawing away.
“(Y/N), wait a second—”
You turned as he caught your wrist, watched him sit up with a faint wince. “What?”
“Nothing just…” He shrugged, still watching you.
You smiled, reaching up under his chin with your free hand as you stepped closer. You leaned down, and this time when you kissed him it was soft and tender and slow and careful. His lips parted, his hand still gently holding your wrist as he kissed you back with just as much care and deliberation. You could have stayed there forever, tongues and lips locked in a slow sort of dance. But the air was cooler when you stood, and the mess between your thighs really was uncomfortable.
“I’ll be back,” you whispered as you drew away.
He just nodded, eyes following your every movement as you swiped the used condom and wrapper, wrapped yourself in a blanket and stepped out into the main area. You were quick to find a towel, wet it, wipe yourself down, dispose of your rubbish inside an empty chip packet and pad back into the bedroom.
You slid onto the edge of the bed, glancing to Philip for permission before gently cleaning around his crotch. You wished there was a shower. You just wanted to stand under a flow of hot water (one of the things you’d been looking forward to most about the 21st century), maybe with the man currently watching you like you’d personally hung the stars, and not think about anything.
“Still just thinking about me?” you asked, half joking, as you dropped the towel over the edge of the bed and draped yourself along Philip’s side. You could hear his heart directly under your cheek, feel the expansion and contraction of his ribs on your front. You shifted closer and hooked your leg over his.
“Mm, pretty much.”
“What else?”
He paused, then, “Did you almost call me 3326?”
It was your turn to hesitate. “Maybe. Almost.”
“Thought so. Wasn’t sure if I was just hearing things.”
You looked up, frowning. “You hear things a lot?”
He just shrugged, then muttered an apology as you moved with his shoulder. “A bit, yeah.”
“Ok.” You weren’t sure what to do with that information, so you just turned your face and kissed his chest. “I could have sworn I heard you call me 3430.”
“Maybe.” You could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe you’re hearing things too.”
“Maybe, Philip, but I don’t think so. Leave the future in the past.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.”
You squeezed him gently, and his arm tightened around you momentarily in response. You could get used to this, you thought as you closed your eyes. Your body was so heavy, and Philip was actually warm now. Warm and firm and real and very very comforting. “Can I stay?” you whispered. “Here? With you?”
When he answered, his voice was just as soft as your own. “Yes. I don’t want you to go.”
“Mm, I’m not going.”
He stroked your shoulder, the movement almost hypnotic. “Good.” You were vaguely aware of his arm moving, then something thick and a little itchy was being dragged over your bare body and his other arm was coming to rest over your waist, hand heavy and so warm on your back. The last thing you were aware of was the faint brush of stubble and a kiss on your forehead.
Note: obviously don’t use expired condoms that’s stupid. Anyways I binge read acotar like a few weeks ago and I genuinely think my writing skills have gone downhill because this is NOWHERE NEAR some of my other stuff. Not to toot my own horn and like I know I'm not the most amazing writer in the world but I am usually decent as far as smut goes. This is not on the same level. Also I had no idea how to address the host thing or the names thing or the numbers thing so I chose to simply mention it and hope for the best. I apologise (there really isn't much about this show floating around, huh). Also I'm only just realising this is weirdly similar in a lot of ways to my Ethan Hunt x reader one, but I really like this specific trope so yeah... deal with it lol
#travelers netflix#philip pearson#philip pearson x reader#philip x reader#fanfiction#fanfic#reader insert#fem!reader#philip x you#philip travelers
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"Not all men..."
Yeah your right José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal would never treat me like this
#din djarin x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x female reader#din djarin x mandalorian!reader#joel miller fanfiction#tlou x reader#tlou fanfiction#javier peña x you#javier peña x reader#max philips x reader#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller#tlou
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Christmas gift
a/n: more delicious graves for y’all because I personally believe he’s a 5’9 brat who should be my husband instead
minors DNI
"Fuck! Darling that's too damn big, you’re splitting me open every damn chance you get" graves whined as he felt you pull down his boxers for what must been the fifteenth time today. But he was on holiday break, and you had missed him while was gone on missions.
"You’re only half way on, graves" you hum as you thrust into him with ease, your previous rounds making the slide in very easy. His aching member laying against the kitchen table where he was making cookies till you interrupted.
"Please, please darlin" the words fell out of his pretty lips like a praise more then a title, his eyes shut tight and his hips desperately trying to match your fast thrusts as you bucked into him
"Oh god! Love, slow down!" he cried as he felt the burning sensation of cumming dry from the hours you two had spent, bending him over every surface in the house until his gummy walls were carved in the shape of your length. His vision cloudy and his breath uneven as his grip slipped from the table an onto your shoulders as you bullied his prostate and over-sensitive nerves.
graves had teased you about his Christmas gift last night being himself, and god did you take it seriously. He could feel the lingering burns of your hickeys and kisses along every inch of his skin and his hole fluttering around you oh so prettily. You were addicted to even the sight of his pretty hips flush against yours.
His jaw went slack and fell open, pretty moans and whimpers and broken begs falling out loud enough the neighbors could probably hear. Not that he minded, of course. The frosting he had made for the cookies now stained on his shirt which used to be yours. Maybe he wouldn’t come home next Christmas just to be a brat. And just to know you’d do even worse then. You’d probably pull you by the scruff of his neck from his base in front of his men and drag him home like the good husband you are
#coyotes_horde#call of duty x reader#cod x you#bottom character#cod x male reader#sub character#top reader#dom reader#bottom charecter#mlm smut#Bottom Phillip graves#phillip graves cod#phillip graves x male reader#phillip graves smut#phillip graves x reader#phillip graves#philip graves x reader#graves x male reader#graves smut#graves x reader#graves x you#graves cod#graves mw2#graves mwii#gay smut#tw: smut#tw smut#cod smut#cod x reader#bottom graves
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Hey, have I told you lately that you're brave?
#rwrb#rwrbedit#red white and royal blue#alex x henry#firstprince#userninz#userveronika#usersteen#usernuria#chrissiewatts#userclara#usermegbs#userkhael#mine*#trying to get rid of some of my drafts bc godd knows they are stacking up aLdlkjfgf#anyway i was thinking about this again and got emo#also henry's monologue in the book where he ripped philip a new one will always be famous#let henry swear in the sequel pls#anyway henry fox you Are Loved :(#the only time he really pulled rank was when he wanted to speak to alex#all in that moment was checking he was okay and to reach him :(
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Orange Peel Theory With Cod Characters
Would they peel an orange for you? (Scenario based on the test from TikTok)
Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves, Vladimir Makarov.
This is probably one of the only times I'll be using the color orange, AHAHAHAHA. As you can tell I wouldn't be okay with the camp half-blood uniform as an Aphrodite kid. Writing this as I'm sick with a cold, my nanny since childhood peeled my oranges for me while telling me to finish all of it because it's vitamin C.
Mansplaining this but the Orange Peel/Peeling Theory surrounding TikTok started with one girl talking about her experience with her ex peeling her oranges for her. It soon turned into a theory/test where people ask their partner to peel an orange for them, something as small and effortless as peeling an orange as that act of service represents their willingness to do things for their partner and if they refuse then that's seen as a red flag because it means that if they're unwilling to do that small thing for them then same case scenario for something big that requires a sacrifice.
They peel it for you almost immediately, no words needed, just you staring at the orange. Grabbing it from the bowl of fruits and meticulously tearing the skin with their thumbs, being careful not to make much of a mess and to not bruise the orange.
It's not a secret that they like to do this, offering other little things like opening doors for you, peeling the skin of apples if you don't feel like eating it and slicing it up for you with a multipurpose camping knife, putting their hand on the edge of a nearby cornered things so it wouldn't be as painful if you hit your head picking something up.
Characters: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, König.
Would tease you once you ask them to peel it for you but will peel it. Would even hand feed it to you, you have to give them a kiss for every orange they separate. If you tell them you don't like the pith (the white stringy part) then they'd take it off for you.
They probably would ask you to peel some for them too some time around soon but you're more than happy to do it for them.
Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Alejandro Vargas, Valeria Garza, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Nikolai Belinski.
You probably should've worded it better, you told them you felt like an orange.. "I feel like a tomato" is what you hear back. You laughed and clarified that you felt like eating the fruit.
"Oh.." they stopped to think if you had any oranges at home at the moment and they got up and peeled it for you, bringing a plate back of two peeled and pulled apart oranges with a glass of water for you.
Characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Alex Keller, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.
He'd throw the orange at your head, telling you to peel it yourself.
Characters: Philip Graves, Vladimir Makarov.
Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thelightdjinnofpalestine @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee
#cod x reader#aethelwyne lia writes#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#cod headcanons#cod scenarios#john price x reader#soap x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#alejandro vargas x reader#rodolfo rudy parra x reader#valeria garza x reader#farah karim x reader#kate laswell x reader#alex keller x reader#konig x you#konig x reader#horangi x reader#keegan russ x reader#roach x reader#nikolai belinski x reader#philip graves x reader#vladimir makarov x reader#soap x you#gaz x reader#kyle gaz x reader#john price x you#cod mwiii#cod mwf2
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I feel like Graves would end up with a really soft and innocent s/o just because he loves being the 'strong man' lol and even though they're maybe even smaller than him all sweet and shy- he is absolutely whipped for them! Especially if they can cook and be a lil housemaker for him??
♡♡♡ warning(s): nsfw + sfw, fem!reader
─── graves and his homemaker s/o ❤︎₊ ⊹
there's no one on earth more loved and adored by him, despite the stigma surrounding the dynamic you two have. he doesn't pay any mind to their judgements. in his heart, he knows how tender he is with you behind closed doors. and in yours, he hopes.
you never pictured it to end up this way. before, you were like any adult. busting your ass at work, ending each week exhausted and struggling to buy yourself groceries.
and then you met him. chivalrous and borderline self-obsessed. but you weren't being patronized when he acted with traditional courtesy. you weren't a body to be claimed or a trophy to hang on his arm.
you were merely his. all his within months of meeting, and that meant you were to be taken care of. spoiled rotten, some would say. what better way to have it? compared to your old life of hardship, it was paradise.
everything paid for, without a second of hesitation. what little savings you had idle in your bank account, untouched when he's around.
he can and will take care of you — in every way. it's in graves' nature to provide.
no different than he does for his men, only you've been appointed the privilege of seeing the gentler side of him, when the uniform of a commander is rid of his scarred body.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈nsfw under the cut!
˖⁺｡˚⋆˙˖⁺₊˚⊹♡ it's only fair, to be taken care of in every way possible. you've been so good to him, so good for him, right? there's no quicker way to his heart, than someone who enjoys being smothered with his praise.
what better sight, than opening the door and seeing you concerning with such trivial things. he spent the day making life or death decisions, and you're there; concerned with which centerpiece looks best on the dining table. some men would see it as a means for competition, or a degrade — but graves finds it irresistible.
the house smells divine; your scented candles, the fragrance you spritz, and whatever you have baking in the oven. he can practically feel the tension leave his shoulders, how his senses come alive when greeted with the comfort of your shared home.
you've dressed nice for him again, though he always gave no pressure for you to do so. clothes to match the summer heat, hair styled and pinned back to stay out of the way.
you, in your domestic, relaxed state — the one thing better than all the trivial pleasures in life, better than the house you were both standing in.
though you usual greet him, you're immersed in the centerpiece debate. you hold the two pieces up to him, "do you think I should go with the silver candle candleholders? or how about the brass ones?" it's a genuine question, but it's only met with an amused scoff — a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
graves sets aside his luggage, stepping closer to you and your very concentrated gaze. "why do you ask me, sweetheart? it's up to you. and if you don't like 'em, we'll go buy more." he examines the decor in your hands briefly, but his eyes end up back on you permanently.
"just want it to look nice in here," you sigh at his dismissal, turning away to resume contemplation. "we have that supper planned in a few weeks, don't we?" you add, setting the options back on the oak table.
as if the place could be more meticulously decorated. there was barely a trace of him in this house, except for his nightstand and office. you had free reign to adjust the home to your taste, considering you were the one who spent most of your time there.
a gentle chuckle rang from him, followed by a click of his tongue, "don't think it can get much nicer in here, darlin'. i reckon you've left a touch on just about every inch of place, haven't you?" you shoot a flustered look, even though his words are truthful.
it was a silly dilemma, considering not a soul would be criticizing your centerpiece decision. "oh, c'mon, don't do that face... my guys will eat anything you slide in front of them, you know that? could host the damn supper in the closet and you'd charm the daylights out of 'em." he says, soothing every worry down to a simmer rather than a hard boil.
he's definitely good at shutting you up. only, in the most embellished of ways. without fail, a charmed smile spread on your face — as did a surge of warmth. graves cupped one of your cheeks, running his thumb along it, "see? much better than a scowl. now, tell me, what's cooking?"
"you know the rules. i can't tell you until the timer beeps. besides, it's supposed to be a surprise." you replied, making a meek escape from his gentle grasp. displayed on the small screen; eight minutes remained.
with a hasty yank and then a stumble on your end, your back was against his chest. "i don't like surprises, do i?" you felt the sensation of his teeth nibbling along the side of your neck, all in the midst of his patterned kisses. when he was this close, he got deep whiffs of your intoxicating perfume, the freshly shampooed hair on your head, the detergent you insisted he buy. heart-stopping — like it was every time he pulled you close.
it was true, he hated them. the tickle of his lips made you squirm — a futile attempt to slip away and leave him hanging. that never worked, and you knew it. "we're down to five, time's a-wastin'."
somehow, someway, neither of you made it up the stairs this time. all he did to prepare was send the stacks of mail flying from the island; the one you found yourself sitting on. graves stood between your legs, his caressing fingers your means of preparation. though, by the times your legs were exposed to the breeze — you and your body were eager enough for him.
the minutes decreased no matter how hurriedly he moved, and he always stuck to his rules. if there was a time limit, he'd get it done before zero.
"been thinking about you all day," he breathes. "by the looks of it, you have too, sweetheart." his tip prodded at your slick entrance, while the other hand hooked around your thigh to keep it hiked up with ease. wasn't the first time he ravished you on the kitchen counters, it certainly wouldn't be the last. slowly at first, then all at once — he thrusted inside of you.
once he got situated, there was no stopping him. every rock of his hips was purposeful and deep, yet his kisses remained delicate and tender. your moans muffled against his mouth, his lips pinkish and coated with saliva as it roamed your warmed face.
soon, your back was flat against the island with your legs still hanging off and in his grip. with every methodical movement, your walls tightened around his length and edged him closer to a finish. by now, you were certain your appearance was faulty; either ruined by sweat or the constant hands graves had on you.
despite being close within the first few minutes, he had gotten carried away ogling you. your gasps, your squinted eyes, the teeth indents on your bottom lip from how harshly you sunk into it. however, now there wasn't any restraint left in him. the tight coil in his abdomen begged for release, no matter how much stamina that remained in his body.
as the clock struck zero, he bottomed out with the force of his whole body — spilling every last drop inside of you. the oven beeped three times, as if on cue.
a string of curses against your lips as he leaned down to kiss you, sneaking in a few sloppy thrusts afterward. "i'll make it up to you later, make it worth your while." he pecked along your jaw, adjusting the strap of your top that had slid down your arm.
"it was worth my while." you replied between catching your breath, voice still quivering slightly.
he chuckled, fingers still playing with the fabric, "so, what's cooking? have i earned my right to know?" he was right; you always told him once the meal was ready, and that's what it was right now. the aroma hit your nostrils, as intoxicating as he found yours.
your eyes flicked over to the digital screen, still flashing and urging you to remove the pan, then it beeped for a second round as a reminder. "just a roast your mom taught me. thought you would've recognized the smell by now." you uttered, tracing your fingers along his blond stubble.
"hm, something must've distracted me, darlin'," he ran a tongue along his bottom lip, now gazing with admiration rather than hunger.
then, his brow raised with interest. both in humor and intense dread he added, "you've been calling my mother?"
#mw2#call of duty#task force 141#phillip graves#phillip graves x reader#phillip graves smut#phillip graves cod#graves x you#graves smut#graves x reader#graves headcanons#commander graves#shadow company#task force 141 x reader#141 headcanons#cod headcanons#philip graves
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Since I can't stop thinking about the Graves pic in this cunty suit...How about neighbour!Graves and his new, cute neighbour girl that just moved into the house next? :(
You, this pretty young thing, most probably collage aged with likely loaded parents since they funded you a literal house in a good neighbourhood in this quiant little town and Philip literally can't get over the fact that he got so lucky! Your house just so happens to share a fence with his so he can indulge and watch you carefully from time to time as you acclimate to living alone in a house, pretty small one but regardless a house. Probably the first time alone away from mommy and daddy, Philip thinks and continues watching you do a remarkably good job especially around the garden.
Neighbour!Graves who as the popular and well-known member of the community swings by to 'welcome you into the neighbourhood', introduces himself like the gentleman he is and assures you that as a soldier (because he obviously had to show off) he will make sure to keep you safe and the blonde definitely got the most shit-eating grin when he saw how flustered and shy you got, probably intimidated by his presence :(
#kin speaks#cod x reader#cod mw x reader#nasty pervy neighbour graves has been on my mind since lije#february#but i somehow never got around to actually put this out so now here it is#brought to you by graves in a suit 😭#philip graves x reader#graves x reader#philip graves#cod graves#neighbour!graves
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Stepdad Graves who just can’t help himself around his step daughter.
continuing from this part...
cw: stepcest, cheating, forced impregnation, tampering with contraceptives, afab!gn!reader, dub-con, lactation, pervy-graves, age gap/difference (reader's age is unspecified, but i'd say aged mid-20s + graves is aged 40-50s)
dead dove: do not eat. mdni 18+ 🔞
after your stepfather had forcefully impregnated you, your boyfriend had broken up with you. of course, you eventually had to drop out of college to take care of yourself during pregnancy, as well as take care of your future baby. your stomach grew everyday, and along with that, your nipples began to weep milk, white droplets of your sweet milk running down your breasts, or seeping through the material of your shirt.
graves couldn't help himself at the sight of you. he just wanted to take care of his pregnant stepdaughter, to rub at your swollen, puffy and wet nipples whilst you wriggled and complained, still annoyed at him for doing what he'd done, trying to free yourself from his tightening grip.
there had been countless times where you'd be awoken to the pleasing and arousing sensation of your stepfather's tongue against your little clit, rubbing it in soothing circles whilst you arched your back, so exhausted yet so desperate for that release that tightened at your core.
of course, at some point, you had to break the news to your mother once home from a long work trip. you told her that you'd gotten pregnant by someone you didn't know, at a college party, drunk and intoxicated. she was pissed at you for making such an irresponsible decision, that you had no support from the father, but when you broke down at her reaction, she knew she couldn't be too harsh on you.
she was blind to your stepfather's disgusting and perverted behaviour. she didn't notice how his gaze would linger on your growing stomach and breasts for a little too long, or how she'd wake up with graves not in bed. she paid no attention to it all, and didn't even notice how your baby had some of your stepfather's features. those familiar and recognisable blue eyes.
after your pregnancy, graves was desperate to get you pregnant again, and again. although, you made sure not to get too drunk around him, instead making sure you'd use contraceptives, usually condoms. you were fucking up his plans! he had no other decision, but to instead tamper with the condoms, poking them with a small pin, in the hopes of getting you pregnant.
you should've expected it, really... :(
#orla speaks#tw dubious consent#tw: dubcon#tw: forced breeding#tw: forced impregnation#tw: forced pregnancy#tw: pregnancy#tw: stepcest#dead dove do not eat#dead dove fic#dark cod#tw: dark content#cod graves#graves cod#graves mwii#graves mw2#graves x reader#graves x you#phillip graves#phillip graves x reader#phillip graves x you#philip graves x reader#philip graves x you#tw: cheating
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Just imagine how whiny Graves is when he's finally inside of you, all his cocky and smug behavior gone as he ruts into you whining about how perfect you were made for taking his cock. I feel like he likes prone bone position just so he can rest all of his weight on top of you with his arms wrapped around your waist. You might be a mess under him but God he worse just being on top of you. Always to impatient to wait until you're both naked and just shoving clothes out of the way.
cw. nsfw, gn!reader, implied semi clothed sex, creampie, breeding kink, vague dry humping *not proofread, just pure horny
[honestly, losing it just a lil bit 🤏]
MINORS DNI!!
thank you for bringing back the graves obsession Sammy <33
anyways-
just being so ecstatically horny, that you're just pushing clothes aside and not even bothering to fully take them off
it's just a flurry of hands trying to push things out of the way
graves literally can not remove his lips from yours
hence why all of your clothes are still on, just haphazardly pushed aside
feeling him whimper against your lips once he finally buries himself inside you
he doesn't stop after he comes, he keeps his pace although stuttering and slowing a bit
he doesn't want the moment to end
so he keeps pulling moans and orgasms from you
doesn't even care that it's making a mess soft your bodies and the bed
he'll worry about it later
loves having you ride him, so he can watch how well you take him
totally not because he imagines you wearing a cowboy hat while riding him or anything definitely not-
thrusts up into you from below to meet your bounces halfway
loves listening to you cry out each time he bucks his hips up into your sweet spot
#smmy-winchester#bubbly speaks <3#ash answers#cod mw22#cod graves#cod modern warfare#cod x reader#cod mw2#cod smut#phillip graves#philip graves#philip graves x reader smut#phillip graves x reader#philip graves x reader#graves x reader#graves x reader smut#graves x you
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I just read one of the best Graves smuts I've ever read, no fuck that, one of the best smuts I've ever read that hit every spot and idk what to do with myself. I'm gonna go replay mw2 so he can chase me with a tank.
#I'll put the smut link in the comments for all you thirsty hoes#god i want him so fucking bad#philip graves#philip graves smut#graves#philip graves x reader#philip graves x you#shadow company#call of duty#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#cod x y/n#warren kole#captain price#captain john price#ghost#simon ghost riley#könig#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick
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Philip | Perfectly Compatible | Romantic
Dialogue prompt: “Aren’t you afraid of what your father would think?”
Requested: Yes
On your wedding day, you think back on fragments of memories that have led up to this day – how you met Philip as well as how you fell in love, and the marriage your father arranged for you with Rabbi Yussif.
You can barely see where you place your feet as your mother guides you to your future husband who stands at the other side of the aisle, your face cloaked with a thick kallah that shields you from any curious pair of eyes. You don’t mind it, for it prevents anyone from seeing the tears that shiver on the brims of your eyes, threatening to spill.
Your mother squeezes your arm and places you next to your fiancé, whose arm you take tightly. Underneath your touch, you feel him flex, acknowledging your presence without saying anything. Soft music drifts around the room, the tension in the room tangible.
“You look beautiful.” he whispers with warmth in his voice, and you have to choke back a sob. Hearing your father exchange a few words with the Rabbi who is supposed to establish the marriage, you allow your thoughts to wander to fragments of the past, all which have led to this very moment.
_
The first memory your mind settles on is clear as day.
Lost, you stand in the bustling streets of Capernaum with something akin to hopelessness over your features, turning left and right in your search, appearing vulnerable more than anything. It is painfully apparent that you’re not from around here, but you are too preoccupied to be embarrassed about it.
“Excuse me– Shalom? Can I ask you—”
Your attempts to ask for guidance are in vain and you are left to wander for what feels like hours on end. So much for a warm welcome, you bitterly think to yourself, but you aren’t here at your own will anyways.
“Shalom, ma’am, you look like you can use some help.”
You turn to the sudden voice that sounds behind you with widened eyes and are met with the kind face of a man with dark wavy hair and a full beard. “You seem lost.” he says, and you flush.
“It’s that obvious, huh?” you huff, but the stranger simply chuckles.
“Not to worry, I’m not from here, either. I’m from Betsaïda. I’m here with… Friends, if you will. What are you looking for?” His expression is gentle.
You clear your throat and tuck a strand of (h/c) hair behind your ear. “Ah, I’m looking for the synagogue, actually. My father told me to meet him there, and… Well. I’m not sure where it is, I’ve only just arrived minutes ago, and now I don’t know where to go.”
The man hums and nods. “I see. Coincidentally, I was just on my way there as well. Let’s head there together.”
He smiles and the sight makes your heart flutter inside your chest for reasons unknown. With a word of gratitude on your lips, you walk next to him as you head for the synagogue.
“So, does your father live here, then? I might know him.” the stranger attempts to make small talk. You give a small shake of your head and let out a small noise.
“Ah, no. We’re staying with friends for the time being.”
The man whom you do not yet know the name of frowns. “Why would he send you to find the synagogue on your own? A nice lady like you should not be going out on her own, especially in a village like this.” The comment makes your cheeks red. “What are you planning on doing at synagogue?”
“Well,” you hum, “My father works there as a Rabbi.”
The kind stranger allows a sound of surprise to escape him. “You’re the daughter of a Rabbi? Now that is a very honourable position.”
“Do you think so?”
He nods firmly. “Of course.” the stranger states, “I reckon you must be familiar with a lot of Scripture.”
You give an affirmative answer and his brow raises, impressed. “That is very applaudable!”
Just when you think you can’t blush any harder, the man compliments you again. “Oh, only because I have been taught such things from a young age. I simply don’t know any better.”
The man shows his palms in defence and smirks. “Hey, all I’m saying is that it’s quite the achievement and that you shouldn’t just brush it off.”
In pleasant silence, you keep on walking through the village. You veer right and then left and right again, until the features of a synagogue appear. The pair of you head up the stairs and the man gestures inside, shrugging a bit. “Well, that’s the synagogue. I’ll be heading the other way to pray.”
With a small hum, you take a peek inside and see the door your father had told you to meet him at, the second one to the left, and then turn to the stranger again. “Thank you. Without you, I would still have been lost for who knows how long.”
He laughs – a sound that is like music to your ears – and puts a hand on his chest. “It was the least I could do. Have a good day now. Shalom shalom.”
“Shalom shalom,” you repeat as he brushes past you into the building, and you momentarily watch him as he stalks off in preparation of his prayer. He seems like he has a kind heart, you think to yourself.
Clearing your throat, you call after him.
“Uh– Sir, wait a second!” The stranger halts and pivots to look at you, raising an eyebrow in question. You swallow thickly. “I didn’t quite catch your name.”
He chuckles. “Ha, it’s been a while since anyone has called me ‘sir’. I’m Philip.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Philip.” you say with a small smile. “My name is (Y/n).”
Philip mouths your name without any sound, as if trying to figure out what it feels like on his lips, and he grins with a subtle bow of his head. “Pleasure is all mine, (Y/n). I’ll see you around, perhaps.”
You mirror his courtesy before turning to meet your father at last, a strange bubbly feeling setting your stomach aflutter.
–
Another fragment fronts.
You sit with your father and a Pharisee you do not know. Your mother stands behind you, nervously fiddling with her hands, her skittish behaviour making you uncomfortable. The solemn expression on your father’s features makes you think that something is wrong, or that you have said something out of turn, and that you must now atone–
“This is Rabbi Yussif.” your father speaks at last. For a moment, your eyes flit to the young man who seems gentle in his demeanour, and he gives you a small, respectful bow of his head. Something shy shimmers behind his gaze.
“Shalom…” you greet him, uncertain. “I’m… Not sure what I’m doing here.”
Your father looks at Yussif, then back at you. “He’s going to be your husband.” he promptly states.
All air is being knocked from your lungs as your jaw falls agape at the revelation. For a moment, you think that your ears are deceiving you, but when neither of your parents say a word, you realise that they are waiting for your response. “What?”
“Your abba and I had not yet discussed it with you, dear, but we think this is the best for you. You are nearing your late twenties and are not yet married, so we were worried.” your mother explains, putting a hand on your shoulder. You resist the urge to shrug it off.
“Worried?! What for? I’ve got plenty of time to find a spouse, what do you–”
Your father slams a fists on the table and successfully shuts you up in turn. “Don’t say a word, young lady. You’d better show some gratitude. We have found you a kind and Godly man, one that has devoted his life to the service of Adonai. He will provide for you and you will have a family with him. You might not understand me now but you will eventually.”
As you stand, the legs of the chair scrape against the tiles loudly, but you don’t flinch at the noise. “I-I refuse!” With tears in your eyes, you take a shivering breath as your father begins to protest your opposition, but you don’t hear him anymore. Rushing out of the room, you ignore your mother’s plea as she calls after you.
You miss the concerned eyes of Philip who witnesses you run out of the synagogue, grief visible on your face.
_
You think back on the moment you ran into Philip a few weeks after your betrothal.
"Shalom, (Y/n).”
You look up from your reading and find him a little away, holding a piece of papyrus. “Oh, shalom, Philip. How do you do?”
He smiles and shows you the scroll under his arm. “I’m looking for a partner to analyse this text of Isaiah with me. Prophecies about the Messiah, to be more exact. But no one seems to be very keen on doing so.”
Curiously, you smile. “That’s interesting. My father has taught me many things about it. I would like to study and discuss it with you.”
Surprise covers his features. “You would? I-I mean… Aren’t you afraid of what your father would think?”
Looking around to see if the coast is clear – after all, it was not necessarily conventional for a woman to chat with a man who wasn’t her family member or betrothed like this – and lean towards him. “He doesn’t need to know.” you whisper, which earns you a wide grin from Philip.
“Wonderful,” he says, “Let’s find a secluded area so that we will not be disturbed.”
You leave behind your own study materials to go with him, keen on learning more about Torah.
_
You should have seen it coming from far away, yet you didn’t heed your own internal warning.
Rabbi Yussif was not a bad man in the regard of being an optional husband. He was nice enough and treated you with respect and dignity, yet the abashed nature of his being remained no matter how much time you spent with him in the run-up to your wedding.
In secret, you meet with Philip behind the synagogue to discuss Torah passages you read and to analyse prophecies to tie to your current day over the span of months. It was only a matter of time before you truly fell in love with him.
You feel guilty. The man from Betsaida is not yet aware of your status and you aren’t keen on telling him either, fearing that he’d repel you out of respect for your future spouse, but it begins to nag at you.
The two of you grow closer as time passes, and once he starts showing genuine interest in you when it comes to romance, you simply break.
“I would like to ask your father for your hand.” Philip says to you one day.
It prompts you to fall apart right then and there, your heart racing inside your chest as you begin to sob.
For a few minutes, he holds you in silence as you cry against his shoulder, embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry, Philip.” you whimper, “I-I hope you can forgive me for not telling you. I adore spending time with you and I did not mean to lead you on. I adore you. It’s just… I-I’m already engaged.”
The hurt that flashes behind his eyes shatters your heart in a thousand pieces. Philip’s brow knits together into a frown and you cannot think of a moment you have felt more ashamed than the way you are feeling right now. “I see.”
“I-I don’t love him. My… My father wanted me to marry him. He is a good man, a Godly man, but I don’t love him the way I love…” Your sentence trails off and you gulp, rubbing away your tears with your sleeve. “I’m sorry, Philip, but we can’t be together.”
He says nothing, instead gives you a friendly hug before he steps away. “In that case, (Y/n), I want to apologise for making things so difficult for you. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
The words that you have feared so much knocks all hope from you. Shaking your head, you whisper softly: “No, please, no.”
“It would be wrong of me to pursue you, (Y/n). It would not be proper. I’m sorry.”
Whilst tears ran down your cheeks, he stood and bid you a final farewell. You had never been so heartbroken before and you witnessed him stalk off, defeat in his shoulders, your hope for true love fading.
_
You remember the moment Yussif noticed something was up.
“I know you don’t want to marry me.” he tells you with genuine apology in his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
Shrugging, you sigh. “Does it matter?”
“I think it does. If we are to be together for the rest of our lives, I want to know how I can help you feel better.”
A bitter comment poises itself onto your tongue but you swallow it, for Yussif does not deserve whatever negative thing you have to say about him. Even more so, it is not about the man himself per say, but rather that he is simply not Philip.
“There is someone else, isn’t there?”
Your eyes shoot up in shock and your jaw slacks. “How did you know?”
Yussif’s eyes are watery as he smiles wryly. “I didn’t, but I had my suspicions, and now I know for sure. I’m sorry that your father has not chosen him for you.”
Ashamed, you lower your gaze. “It is not because there is something wrong with you, Yussif, bygones. It’s just… What I have with him is just… My father would never approve, because he’s not a Rabbi. I wish things were different.”
“So do I. I think you are a beautiful woman, (Y/n), both inside and out. Any man should count themselves lucky to be at your side, and I really want to start a family. But what kind of monster would I be if I stole you away from the love of your life?”
Dumbfounded, you stare at the Rabbi. Had you not been in love with Philip, you are sure you would have been able to love him. Under any other circumstances, you would have been able to see your parents’ side of things, for Yussif deserves a wife who can give him all the love he is worthy of. Kind, gentle Yussif, who is entitled to someone way better than you, someone who loves him in the same way he’d love her.
“Then what should we do?” you whisper on the verge of crying.
With a wistful smile, Yussif sighs. “I think we both know what we must do to set this straight.”
_
You are snapped back to reality, out of the memories that have replayed themselves in your mind over and over again in the past months.
The hymns sung led by the cantor die down at last as the ceremony commences, and you can hear your heartbeat drumming inside your ears. The flowers adorning the chuppah the pair of you are standing under flood your senses with their beautiful scent.
“Are you ready to be married?” your groom whispers just for you to hear, as the Rabbi takes his stance.
You blink your tears away and smile at the sound of his voice.
“Yes, Philip.” you say underneath your opaque shroud, “More than ever.”
#philip x you#philip x reader#philip#the chosen philip#the chosen#the chosen x reader#x reader#reader insert#angel studios
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you know those tiktoks where you record your bf in secret in the middle of cuddling and they're just a complete soft mess until they figure out they're being recorded?
How about Graves being a whiny, affectionate guy when he's with you and letting himself not be the tough and in charge Commander? Just absolutely melting in his darlings arms and stuff in comparison to him everyday/around his Shadows
Late Night Talking ˋ♡ˊ
phillip graves x gn!reader
graves masterlist!!
₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗
Your fingers were tangled through Phillip’s hair while his head rested on your lower abdomen, situated perfectly in between your legs. Nights like this were cherished, the hardened Commander letting his walls down in the safety of your grasp. The tv was on in the bedroom, but neither of you were paying much attention to it. It had become background noise as your focus narrowed on Phillip and his plans for the weekend for the two of you.
“Honey,” Phillip angled his head back, practically looking at you upside down. His lips were puckered, begging for a kiss. “Please,” he whined, closing his eyes. It made you giggle seeing Commander Phillip Graves completely become a different person behind closed doors with you. It was cute, endearing, he felt safe with you and that was all you could ask for. Phil insisted on making up for lost time, and even though he had been home for well over 2 months, he would take any chance to steal (or beg) for a kiss.
Chuckling to yourself, you bent down slightly to meet his lips. Phillip shifted slightly, trying to sit up and get even closer. Close was not close enough for Commander Phillip Graves. The kiss was short and sweet, but clumsy. “Come back ‘er, I’m not done,” Phillip urged, his voice was low with his southern accent more noticeable than usual. Slipping out from between your legs and inching up the bed to lay next to you, the Commander wrapped his arm around your shoulder, holding you close to his chest.
“I hope you don’t treat your Shadows like this,” you said as you looked up to catch his eye, “I might get jealous,”
Phillip laughed, his brow furrowing slightly at the comment, “If my Shadows saw me like this, I’d never hear the end of it doll.” Before you could think of a comeback, Graves snuck his hand under your chin. His lips moved in tandem with yours, while his arm around your shoulder hugged you tight. You could feel yourself melting into the kiss, melting into him.
Phillip pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Commander,”
“Don’t you start now,” he laughed as he leaned in for another kiss.
₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗
i hope this is okay !!! ty for the request !!
#phillip graves#philip graves x reader#phillip graves x reader#phillip graves x you#graves x reader#graves mw2#cod mw2#philip graves#phillip graves imagine#phillip graves cod#cod x reader#call of duty mw2 x reader#call of duty x reader
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Y/N : Here, Phil. Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.
Sick!Phillip Graves : Oh, doll. Another hot toddy? I think I had enough.
Y/N : Shut up and drink.
Sick!Phillip Graves : This is the fourth one. Doll, that’s a lot of whiskey!
Y/N : I only put whiskey in the first one. Then we ran out.
Sick!Phillip Graves : Oh *proceeds to drink*
Y/N : The second and third were vodka.
Sick!Phillip Graves, chokes : No wonder my head is spinning.
Y/N : This one is part amaretto, part Sambuca. That should kill everything.
Y/N, shrugs : Killed my alcoholic dad.
#Original prompt : Golden Girls#Cod#Call of duty#Call of duty incorrect quotes#call of duty x reader#cod incorrect quotes#cod x reader#Cod Phillip Graves#Philip Graves#Cod Phillip Graves x reader#Cod Philip Graves x you#Phillip Graves x reader#Philip Graves x reader#Cod Graves x you#My 2023 works
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pretty ol’ thing
a/n: today one of my friends decided to judge what I was eating and now I feel bad 😀👍, anyhow enjoy some slutty graves
minors DNI
“fuck..” graves hummed to himself as he tugged on his lacy lingerie he was wearing, trying to get it to look just right in the mirror. You had been gone with work for the entire day and he was antsy- and horny. All his toys just didn’t fill him up as nicely as you did! He wanted you, and he wanted you home now.
so? He set up his phone, and put on your favorite lingerie- the outline of his weeping cock and his cockring showing through the thin fabric, the hickeys you placed on him last night peaking out, and his eyes staring right into the camera for the perfect photo to send to you
he knew you’d be angry when you came home- riled up and hard from just his photos. God he loved that idea even if it meant he might get a bit of a punishment, that’s what he wanted after all! Today he just simply didn’t want to think and getting used like a toy sounded like a perfect way to make his brain fuzzy.
he sat on his bed and waited for the sound of the key unlocking the front door; a pleasant hum rolling off his tongue when he heard you storm through the house. He knew how it would all happen. He must have done this a hundred times.
he gasped softly when you pinned him to the bed harshly, a bratty smile sliding across his lips until you had tugged aside the panty part of his perfect lingerie. He could feel your hot breath against his skin and the harsh burn of you sliding in with only the prep of him trying to tease himself earlier in the day
his hands ached at how you had pinned them behind his back, his lip almost bloody just from how hard he was biting down- your thrusts made him feel like he was choking on your length in his throat- his eyes hurt from rolling back and yet he just wanted more and more and more. He begged and begged for more until he couldn’t even think of a word, the start of his release creeping up on him and making him whine. He could feel you abusing his prostate, it made him gasp and groan.
a wet spot of pre had formed in his lingerie, and his blonde hair all messy by the time you pulled his cockring off, making him cum all over the sheets with a pitiful whine at the mere stimulation. His mind was starting to get foggy and dizzy, words tumbling out with spaces in between and his southern accent punctuated by moans, whimpers, and mewls. He could barely think straight until you painted his gummy walls white, his body shivering in bliss when you finally pulled out and let him catch his breath.
he was such a brat.
#call of duty x reader#cod x you#bottom character#cod x male reader#coyotes_horde#sub character#top reader#dom reader#bottom charecter#gay smut#bottom graves#top dom reader#sub bottom character#graves smut#graves x male reader#graves x reader#phillip graves#philip graves x reader#commander phillip graves x male reader#phillip graves x male reader#phillip graves smut#commander phillip graves#phillip graves x reader#phillip graves x y/n#graves x you#phillip graves x male y/n#philip graves x male reader#tw smut
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“General I’m not going to betray these men for no good reason” Graves growled at laptop as he spoke to Sheppard. “We have no reason to make a enemy out of the 141, this puts a target on my men’s back for no reason”
“I hired you, you’re going to as I say” Sheppard said plainly, his arrogance shining through.
Philip laughed and shook his head “Fuck you, my men ain’t doin’ shit” anger spewing from his voice “my men ain’t your military, I control what they do. Not you”
Sheppards eyes seemed to darken on the screen making graves question, what did he get his men into. “You see Commander… I’m not against playing dirty to win. It’s in your best interest to follow through with my demands and play dirty”
Graves sneers “My best interest? Fuck you”
“I don’t think you understand my words commander. Your men ain’t the only thing you got to lose, so you will do as I order” Sheppard lets out a low chuckle “you see, I’ve had eyes on that pretty little thing you try to keep hidden”
Graves freezes in place “What the fuck did you just say” his teeth grinding together and his fists clenching. If the General was in this room with him now he’d already be strangling him.
Sheppard scoffed “It would be a damn shame to put a few marks of that pretty face” Sheppard switched his camera off, the picture feed changing to a live video of graves sweetheart sitting on their front porch peacefully “you do what I say and you’ll still have your lover when you get home” Sheppard leans back in his chair satisfied with graves terrified expression “and if you don’t listen to my orders Commander, I’ll give them the courtesy of it being quick and painless”
#call of duty#cod#flowerwrites#phillip graves x female reader#phillip graves smut#phillip graves#phillip graves x reader#philip graves smut#philip graves#philip graves x reader#philip graves x you#Philip grave x gn#captain john price#john price#alejandro vargas#nikolai#cod x you#cod mw#cod x reader#cod x y/n#cod x male reader#cod x female reader
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