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last-starry-sky · 2 months

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pt 2 of innocent!reader x graves because @shotmrmiller's prompt continues to rot my brain

also: pov change? pov change.

NSFW - MDNI - MIND THE WARNINGS: (graves pov, big ol’ legal age gap, MANIPULATIVE bad man graves, i gave him a made up middle initial lol, corruption kink, dubcon(kissing and touching while reader is drunk, no sex in this part))

pt 1

There’s a silver cross hanging temptingly above your breasts when he picks you up.

You look so cute standing there on your porch, fiddling with your hair and dress, dropping your keys into your little matching purse. A sweet little peach that his mouth waters to bite into. Not yet though, he thinks as he turns off his truck. He opens the door, slamming it shut behind him. He knows that’ll catch your attention. As he rounds the hood he sees you staring at him, still wide eyed (excited, not nervous anymore) after all this time.

Not yet, he thinks walking through the fresh-mowed grass of your front lawn. He’s patient. He can wait; wait for you to want him as much as he wants you. Hell, maybe you’ll even ask for it, beg for it. He bites his lip thinking about what a pretty sight that would be. He smothers the thought as he nears the front porch.

“Waitin’ outside for me all alone, darlin’?” he says, watching you mess with your hair again. He’s trying not to let the lewd thoughts creep in, but you aren’t making it easy.

“Um, yeah,” you say softly, “Didn’t want to forget to lock the door.”

He quirks an eyebrow and leans against one of the posts that flanks the porch steps. So cool. Such a good actor.

“Doesn’t your dad usually-”

“He’s gone,” you ramble out, “Both of them. My parents. They, ah, went up to the lake for the weekend.”

You toy with the hem of your skirt again, not making eye contact. The old wood under your heels creaks as you rock back and forth. He cocks his head to the side, giving a gentle hum of acknowledgement. Nothing too eager or expecting, but enough to let you know he’s heard you.

He already knew where your parents were, of course. It was nothing anyone couldn’t gather from a little social media stalking, and he has plenty of time. Didn’t help that your mother posted just about everything on there. With pictures too. That’s how he knew that they had left mid-day, got there two hours later, and that now your mother was three margaritas deep and your father was working his way through a thirty pack with his fishing buddies in the middle of the lake.

“Hope y’all weren’t waiting for long,” he said with a smile, finally holding out his arm in expectation of a hug.

You smiled as you bounced into his arms. You melted into him, all stiffness and anxiety leaving once you were safe in his arms. You liked it when he greeted you like this. The tiny bit of chaste intimacy of it. He loved feeling you wrap your arms around him, bury your face in his chest and not-so-discreetly smell his cologne. It wasn’t all one sided, of course. He loved sliding his hand across your back, pulling you close enough to let him press his face into your hair.

Usually the moment only lasts a second, with one of your parents stepping outside to break the spell, telling you (him) to not stay out too late (like it mattered, they would be dead asleep long before you returned anyway), before he was chastely taking your hand or, more recently, leading you away with a hand on the small of your back.

Tonight’s hug was different. You pressed your whole body into him. He could have groaned at it; the feel your breasts and stomach squishing against his chest, your hips slotting against his. Fuck, you could be such a tease sometimes and you didn’t even know it. It was enough to take down a lesser man, but Commander Phillip A. Graves wasn’t some horny teenager that’s going to pop a boner the second a pretty girl touches him. Not that you made it easy. Lord, the depraved things he thought of doing with you when he was alone.

You leaned back in his arms, looking up at him so open and sweet with that pleased smile on your face. He can’t help but return with one of his own. You’re just too much sometimes. It takes a lot to not stare down your dress at your tits. Instead, he looks at your necklace. The delicate, silver thing dances in the porch light. He ran his fingers along the chain, stroking at your neck as he did, the roughness making you blush.

“Haven’t seen this before,” he said slyly, tugging at the chain. “New?”

You shook your head, bottom lip caught in your teeth. “My mom’s. Family heirloom,” you said softly.

“Looks pretty on ya, sweets,” he said letting it fall back into the crease of your neck.

Your skin is dewy, glistening with sweat. You have to move the chain back into place from where it sticks. Funny that. It’s not even that hot today.

He pulls away, hand still on your lower back. “Should get on our way, then,” he says with a shake of his head back toward the truck. “Reservation’s in half n’ hour. Can’t be late for our anniversary dinner now.”

The whole of your anniversary date plans were a closely held secret. He’d told you the date but hadn't let you pry a single detail out of him. He’d planned everything out the night he saw your mom RSVP to the weekend at the lake. Found a romantic little restaurant, scheduled a reservation to fit with a showtime to that movie you’ve been talking about, even bought that cute little dress for you.

It was all worth it to see you now, after enduring your sad, silent pouts. Your eyes were as big as saucers from the second you walked in. This was clearly the most expensive restaurant you’ve ever been in, if he could read how hard you clung to his arm, nails digging through his suit jacket, as the hostess seated you. You trembled as you waited for him to pull out your chair in the dark alcove he’d asked for. After the hostess had left you with the menus you looked at him nervously.

“Som’ wrong, sweets?”

“Just . . .” you whispered, looking around nervously. The candlelight illuminated the underside of your face, highlighting your concern. “I hope I’m dressed nice enough. Didn’t know this place would be so fancy.”

It actually hurts him how much you doubt yourself. As if anyone could (or even would with him by your side) take issue with you. No one can compare to you. Not in his eyes. Your fresh face and simple beauty blew everyone else in the room out of the water.

“Prettiest one here. Besides, only the best for my girl.”

The waitress returned shortly after, taking your drink order. He surprised you again by ordering a whole bottle of champagne. For the table, he explained; for the both of you, for your anniversary.

“But . . . I don’t drink, Phil,” you whispered across the table once the waitress had left, the cork popped and two glasses already poured.

Good lord, he thought, doesn’t even drink. What part of heaven did you fall from?

“Take a sip,” he urged, “If y’ don’t like it I’ll finish yer glass.”

You slid the flute slowly toward yourself, the pale yellow liquid fizzing streams of large bubbles up the sides. You were about to take a sip, when he interrupted you by reaching across the table with his own glass. You blushed again as you clinked your glass with his.

“To . . . our future,” he said after a moment's thought.

“To our future,” you repeated softly, that small smile returning to your face.

He kept his eyes on you as you delicately sipped the smallest bit of champagne. It took a lot to not drain his own flute. It was damn good, lightly sweet and pleasantly bubbly. Not his usual but worth it to get you to loosen up. For how expensive it was, it had better be amazing. Your eyes met his after you set your glass on the table, imprint of your lipstick marring the rim.

“What’d y’ think?”

“I like it. ‘s sweet,” you said sliding the glass back toward you, dabbing your spot of missing lipstick.

He couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. One sip and you were already hooked.

“Lemme know when an’ I’ll refill y’ glass,” he said scanning over the menu, trying to seem disinterested.

He watched you out of the corner of his eye take another small sip. Then another, and another and another until it was half gone. He had fun making small talk about your family and plans for college in the fall in between your sips. You had just started to broach into his plans: when he would be away for work and where he would be, when the waitress returned to take your dinner order. You sheepishly pushed your empty flute toward him.

He gave his order but once the waitress turned to you, you had to admit that you hadn’t even looked at the menu.

“Well . . .” the waitress said, pencil to her lip, thinking of something to suggest.

“What do you recommend with the champagne?” he interjected, handing over his menu. “She really likes it.”

“Do you like fish?” she said taking the menu out of his hand then turning back to you. You nodded. “We have a white wine and rosemary poached cod filet with a spring salad on the menu tonight.”

“Sounds delicious. I’ll do that. Thank you,” you said handing over your menu.

Three glasses later, your meals arrived. You were more open and flirty now, and hungry. You did well holding yourself back from plowing straight through your fish. He fed you bits of his steak in between your own food to take the edge off your drunken appetite. Not that it helped much. Once you’d cleared your own plate he started giving your every other piece off his plate. You held up well until he’d reached the middle of his steak. You grimaced with the next bite, washing the pink beef down with another long drink from your glass.

“W’as wrong? Don’t like it?” he questioned.

You shook your head. “It’s raw. Not used to how . . .” you stopped to swallow, “. . . spongy it is?”

He chuckled, cutting another slice of meat, enjoying watching the red juices spill out over the white plate. Old habits, he thought.

“Can’t waste a good piece’a beef now by cookin’ all the flavor out,” he said with a laugh as he bit the chunk of meat off of his fork, teeth bared in a true, wolfish grin. And oh, did he feel like a wolf tonight.

“Sorry,” you apologized, flustered, followed by another sip. As if you were in danger of wounding his pride. “I’m just used to how my parents cook. They like everything well-done.”

The waitress appeared again before he could respond.

“Have you two thought about any dessert for tonight?”

He watched you look excitedly back and forth from him to the waitress, almost vibrating in your chair. He took a wild guess that, yes, you did want dessert.

“Depends,” he said sitting back cooly, grin still not faded from his face, “What cha’ got?”

“We have cheesecake: either plain or strawberry, and a triple chocolate cake.”

You let a soft “oh” fall out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. You clasped your hands over your mouth when you realized. Both he and the waitress had a short laugh at your expense.

“Chocolate lover?” she questioned. You nodded eagerly, the bottom of your face still hidden in your hands. “Then you’ll love it.” she said to you before turning to him. “Let me guess: one piece two forks?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He promised to “help” you with the cake once all three towering layers of it arrived, but he mostly busied himself with slowly sorting out the bill. He was content to let you enjoy your treat on your own, but you insisted on repaying his earlier kindness by feeding him a forkful across the table. He gave you credit where it was due, you made it almost all the way on your own. He only had to grab your hand to correct your aim in the last couple inches. He didn’t let you break eye contact then, either. He let you pull away, back to your chair, to blush as he chewed the little bite, wiping a smear of chocolate sauce from the corner of his mouth.

He was clean when the waitress came back with the receipt.

Like a true gentleman, he pulled out your chair for you when it was time to leave. He watched you stand up slowly, swaying slightly on your heels as you adjusted your purse and smoothed the back of your dress. That might be a problem. He didn’t need you falling on your face because he got you too drunk on your first nice date. He smoothly threaded his arm around your waist after you’d ambled around your chair. You looked up at him with surprise as he gave your hip a squeeze.

“Doin’ okay, darlin’?” he asked as he slowly lead you toward the door.

You nodded up at him, eyes still wide and almost teary. “Yeah just a little . . . dizzy.”

“Lean on me if y’ need,” he told you softly as he pushed open the restaurant’s front door for you.

It had rained while you were inside. The storm had passed, thankfully, but it left the sidewalk wet and the night sky covered in dark clouds. Not a single star peaked through. He felt you wrap your arm around his waist, a shiver racking your frame as you huddled against him.

“Cold?”

You nodded pathetically into his side. He pulled out of your grasp for a moment to shrug off his jacket. It wasn’t much, but it would cover you better than your little dress. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you shivered harder, all alone and cold in the night air. A sick part of him almost liked how weak you looked now. Almost.

“Here,” he said throwing it over your shoulders. “Better?”

You didn’t answer, only nodded again. You reached out the front to hold his hands as he closed the lapels around you. You breathed out a cloud of warm air as you stepped up to him. He swore that moment spun by for an age, your every action taking longer than the next. Maybe he just wanted to sear your every move into his memory. The way you pressed your hands to his ribs, feeling the small stutter in his usually tempered breaths. How he loosely held your arms, strong fingers urging you to draw further and further forward. You reached up and grabbed his tie, tugging his face gently down.

He knew what you wanted, but he was going to play gentle until you either begged for it or he broke. Whichever came first. He stopped his face a teasing inch away from yours. You breathed another hot, champagne-sweet breath across his lips. He closed his arms around you, caging you in, running his hands down your spine to the small of your back. Your lips were so glossy in the streetlight, begging to be-

“Phil,” you whined, interrupting his thought, “kiss me, please.”

Well shit, he thought, if you were going to be so polite.

It wasn’t much of kiss, if he was being honest. He let you lead, only leaning down that last, lonely inch, so that you could press a peck to his lips. You pulled away right after, shy and surprised. You just stood there in his arms, waiting for him to do something, assuming the worst.

“Phil?” you asked nervously, trying to step away. “Did I do something wrong? . . . I’m sorry-”

Wrong? Oh honey. You’d done nothing wrong. Opened the gates and let the predator in, yes, but you know what you’ve done, right? You’ve been walking this path since that night at the bonfire. His sweet little thing, caught in his snare.

He smirked. All he had wanted was for you to kiss him first. To initiate. To remember everything this way, even in your hazy, drunk memories. It would be easier this way. You were always such a good girl, doing what he needed you to do with just a bit of a push.

He pulled you back into him and slotted his lips over yours before you could react. He squeezed your hip, earning him a gasp, as he worked a line of kisses over your bottom lip. The heavy, oily taste of your lipstick filled his mouth. You groaned into his lips when he caressed your cheek with his other hand.

“Shit, yeah, baby. I’ll kiss ya,” he groaned, pulling apart just enough to speak before diving forward again.

You were melting against his hands, letting him kiss you as much as he wanted in the middle of downtown. It was a good thing that the rain had driven most of the usual crowd indoors. He thinks you would have rather died than face people on the street after they’d heard your audible whine as he tested your top lip with his teeth a bit too hard. He let you step out of his embrace after that, laughing it off. You were so cute when you were embarrassed; cheeks flushing pink and eyes glassy, lips kiss-bitten. He could just eat you up.

He pulled you close to him again by your shoulder as he urged you to continue your walk down the sidewalk. You acquiesced, leaning into the side of his chest with a sigh as you fell in stride with him.

“Only a little farther walk t’ the truck,” he said rubbing your shoulder to try and keep you warm. “Then we gotta hurry up to the movie.”

“Okay,” you said quietly, falling into your usual mode of silence and thought for the rest of the walk.

Your feet were sore by the time you got to the truck, so he lifted you up into your seat before climbing into his place on the drivers side. It had started raining again, too. He turned on the truck to get the heat rolling. He was buckled in and ready to pull out when he turned to you. He noticed you hadn’t buckled yourself in or turned the vents to face you like you usually did. You just sat, engulfed almost entirely in your seat, quietly twirling your necklace and watching rain hit the windshield.

“Darlin’?” he asked, flipping the middle console back so he could lean over to squeeze your knee.

That broke you out of your spell. You looked at him across the cab with those big eyes, tears about ready to spill over. The necklace sparkled in the overhead light once before you dropped it against your chest. With a wave and a soft “Come ‘ere,” you launch yourself against his side. Once you were back in his arms he petted down your back and held you as close as he could manage with your limbs awkwardly crumpled as they were.

“What’s wrong, sweetpea? Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it. I promise,” he whispered honey-sweet into your hair as you sighed and shook against him. He managed to pull your legs over his lap so that your knees weren’t digging into his kidney and your heels into his leather seats.

“Won’t be mad?” you piped, almost inaudible from how much you were pushed into his shirt.

“‘course I won’t.” What could he have to be mad about?

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You sighed a long sigh, pulling yourself out of his dress shirt enough to look up at his gentle, smirking face. He followed your eyes when you looked down. Oh. His hand has been stroking from your knee to thigh, stopping at the hem of your dress. He was just trying to calm you. Honestly. He assumed his handsy behavior was bothering you. He was about to pull his hand away when you placed your hand on his.

Oh.

You pulled his hand down your leg until it was at the edge of your dress. The farthest he had ever touched you.

“Don't wanna go to the movie, Phil,” you whined, running your thumb over his knuckles as his fingers broke under the hem.

He pinched at the new, sensitive skin you’d allowed him access to. It didn’t stop you. Hell, you continued to push his hand farther under your skirt until, fuck, his hand stroked at what could only be the edge of your panties. You leaned against him and moaned. You were so sensitive it was boiling his brain.

“Phil, take me home. Please.”

“Sure you don’t want to go?” he joked, having to cover his ragged breathing with a laugh. It didn’t help that he chose to interpret your twisting grip on his forearm as your desire for him to move his fingers that little bit more to the right, barely touching your pussy through your underwear. “Been talking about it all-”

“Yes!” you keened, spine arching and hands balling into his shirt. “Yes, please. Just take me . . .”

“Where?” he asked sternly sliding his hand up the front of your panties, earning a shuddering moan, as he pulled away. He didn’t need to look at his fingers as they took hold of the steering wheel to know you were wet. He kept his eyes on you as he threw the truck in reverse, already rolling back. “Can’t do this here. My house or yours?”

You looked at him silently until a horn honk made the both of you jump. He slammed on the brakes and grabbed the rear view mirror to get a clear look at what was behind them. The little white truck he had almost backed into screeched out of the parking lot. He chuckled as he tipped the mirror back into position. Too bad for them they had a very noticeable vanity license plate. He would have to make a call about that later.

“Asshole,” he said with a smirk, holding you close as he carefully backed out; pulling onto the dark, wet street.

#mw2 #graves/reader #graves x reader #cod fanfic #starry writes #I continue my sinning ways by denying the smut to yall 😔#It will be in the next chapter though! I promise!!#vote in the poll if you want to influence how the next chapter will shake out

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