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jakecockley · 16 days

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Heyy I've been struggling to find some good enemies to lovers with Graves, can we get some good old sassy reader x agitated easily Graves?

ransom

COD - Phillip Graves x fem!reader

[18+] wc: ~2.5k summary: You take Phillip's target. masterlist | AO3

warnings: NSFW, no specific timeline, some proofreading, no use of Y/N nor too many details on reader’s appearance, enemies to lovers, inaccurate military references, some minor OC characters, pet names (sugar, doll, brat), unprotected sex, squirting, creampie

a/n: the car is fine. it is sturdy. lol

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Phillip roars into his microphone.

Private Anderson sighs before speaking, “Gonzalez saw him get into a car with a woman.”

“Well what are y’all waiting for? Get back in the fucking Jeep and follow them!”

It’s not common for Phillip to lose sight of targets. Fucking newbies. All of their extensive training and they let a target walk away? It only takes a few minutes for Graves’ men in the helo to catch sight of a few suspicious cars that are driving away from the location.

Before Graves can tell his men to scan the inhabitants of each car, his phone begins to ring. Phillip takes a look at the screen and raises his eyebrow at the “Unknown Caller” flashing across.

“Graves,” he answers.

“Hi, handsome.”

Phillip grunts your name into the receiver, the blood in his veins running hot at the sound of your voice. Infuriating.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Is that anyway to talk to a friend, Phillip?”

He grips the phone tighter in his hand, quickly giving orders to his men to scan the cars. Phillip walks to a more secluded corner of the helo, not wanting anyone else to hear his conversation.

“That’s Commander Graves to you, young lady. And friends? Did we become friends before or after you stole millions of dollars worth of my weapons?”

“Millions of dollars worth? Please, Phillip,” you scoff, “I barely got two million for them. And that’s only because General Adair thought the dress I was wearing was pretty.”

Phillip stifles the groan in his throat. He knows first hand what you look like in dresses. Silky, little things that do almost nothing to hide your soft skin and gorgeous thighs–the beep of the scanning software immediately snaps him out of his daze. He doesn’t have time for this.

“You just admitted to selling weapons to an enemy nation. Once I’m done with my work, I’ll make sure to hunt you down–”

“Your work, huh?” you interrupt him. “A little birdie told me you lost your target.”

“The fuck did you just say?”

“Such harsh language, Phillip. That’s no way to speak to a young lady.”

“Saw him get into a car with a woman,” Phillip repeats the words he heard earlier, “it was you, wasn’t it? You took my goddamn target,” he spits out, “I have my best men scanning every corner of this town. We’ll find you before you hit the highway.”

“Oh no, handsome. We’re gone. I clocked your helo the moment I left his house.”

Phillip’s body begins to vibrate with anger. He can’t let you take his target.

“How much do you want?”

You throw out your price, asking for half now and the rest later. “I’ll send you the coordinates for the pick-up and my bank account information. Come alone, and wear something cute for me.”

Before he can respond to your aggravating comment, he hears the click of the call ending. He runs a hand through his hair. Always bleeding me dry, sugar.

Phillip leans against his truck, keeping his eyes on a swivel. There’s really no reason to. The lot is abandoned and he’ll be able to spot a car before it comes close. There is only one dim light illuminating the entire lot. Other than that, the sky is slowly fading into dark blues and purples.

“Heads up, Commander. A car is pulling up. Two inhabitants inside. A woman at the wheel and a man in the passenger seat,” his sergeant's voice comes through the earpiece.

Phillip sees the headlights of your car before he hears it approaching. His pulse flutters a little faster as your red sports car pulls up close to his truck. He sees the man slumped over in the seat, a black bag covering his head and his hands bound with rope.

You park the car and make your way out, the evening wind ruffling the bottom of your dress and exposing more of your thighs. It takes everything in him to not glance down the deep V-neckline of your dress as you stand in front of him.

“I love it when you do as I say,” you whisper, gently tugging on the collar of his polo.

“So this is what you used from the sale of my weapons? A fancy sports car?” Phillips grunts.

You have the gall to wink at him. “No, actually. This was a gift. Oh,” you gasp, “I remember this!”

You expose his neck and thumb the thin pink scar that spans from his ear to his collarbone. It’s healed now since the incident in Monaco. The day when he first met you and fully understood just how dangerous you can be.

Phillip quickly grips your hand before you can touch him further, feeling himself harden. “I don’t have time for this, doll. Did you kill my target? If I lift up the bag will I find a bullet between his eyes?”

You roll your eyes. “It depends. Do you have the rest of my money?”

With your hand tightly gripped in his, he leads you a few steps to his back seat. Graves opens the door to show you a large briefcase. You slip your hand out of his to open it and check to make sure it's all there. Large stacks of green paper practically make your eyes sparkle.

“You know what I love the most in this world, Phillip?” you ask.

“Money?”

“Yeah,” you sigh dreamily, “I love money. And I love it even more when I take it from men like you.”

He has the sudden urge to bend you over and spank your ass for your insolence. Disrespectful brat.

“Alright, it’s all here. Call your men, Phillip. I know they’re around here somewhere.”

He can’t help but laugh. “Am I that predictable?”

You give him a pointed look as he speaks into his mic, calling his men down. A minute later, his helo approaches from the sky. They park far away enough that neither of you are too affected by the wind from the blades and two soldiers hop down to take the target. Phillip waves them off and the helo pushes up, leaving you two alone as it heads back to their base.

“I let the weapons slide and I paid you the money you asked for,” Phillip starts, “but this is the last time, doll. I won’t respond so nicely the next time.”

He told himself he would be firm when he saw you again. Phillip can’t have you fucking up his mission and making him look weak in front of his soldiers.

“It wouldn’t happen so often if your soldiers were better,” you bite back. “I mean, now you have an upgraded security system for your warehouse and I’m sure you pulled the other soldiers out of the field for more training, right? If anything you should thank me.”

Phillip stares back at you with suspicion coloring his face. “How do you know all those things?”

You ignore him and walk back to your car, dumping the briefcase full of cash in the now empty passenger seat. Before Phillip knows what he’s doing, he follows you, catching you by surprise as he wraps his hand around your arm. Your back is pushed onto the hood of the car and he situates himself right between your spread thighs.

“Answer my question, doll,” he whispers in anger. “How do you know these things?”

You let out a teasing laugh, “does the Commander fear there’s a mole in his company? One that’s giving intel to a thief like me?”

He never feels this agitated when he’s around other women. Something about you makes him so frustrated and–and intrigued. Phillip rips his earpiece out and throws it far. He grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head.

“How?” he spits out.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper, “it’s all me.” You take the opportunity to grind down, closing that space between your bodies and rubbing your warm cunt over the bulge in his jeans.

He moans before he can stop himself. A glance down to your joined bodies and he can see your dress ridden up on your hips, your panties fully exposed to his eyes.

“Every time you think you’ve improved your security or that you’ve chosen the best soldiers in the world, I’m there,” you moan, “Taking it apart. Piece. By. Piece.”

“Why?” he groans, angry at himself for not noticing earlier.

“Because it’s fun.”

He lets go of your hands, fully intending to walk away and leave you once and for all. But he’s not sure who attacks first. Your fingers sink into his hair and tug hard enough to sting at the same time his hand yanks down the top of your dress. His mouth fuses to yours in a kiss that’s mostly teeth and tongue.

He moves his head down, dragging his teeth over your collarbones and chest until they nip at the soft skin of your tits. A pained little moan escapes your mouth as he bites down on your swollen nipple.

“For fun, huh?” Phillip asks.

Phillip drags his teeth to the other, doing the same thing. You moan again, twisting your fingers in his hair and rubbing your cunt over the crotch of his jeans. He’ll finish before he even touches you if you keep doing that.

He stands up to his full height and pushes his hips away. With a hard tug your panties are ripped off your body, eliciting a yelp from you, and stuffed into his jeans pocket. There’s not much light now, the sun has fully set and the street lamp flickers in the distance.

But it’s enough light to see your swollen tits and the glisten of your pussy. His cock feels trapped in his jeans and his mouth waters at the sight of your cunt. Graves knows there isn’t time, there isn’t enough privacy even if this lot is abandoned. It doesn’t stop him from kneeling to swipe his tongue through your folds. Your back arches at the sudden contact.

“Phillip,” you whimper.

Even the taste of you is perfect. It’s sticky sweet in his mouth and he wishes he could spend his time on you, no matter how much you infuriate him.

“No, you didn’t do it for fun,” he mutters, “you did it to get my attention. Didn’t you, sugar?”

Phillip unzips his jeans and takes out his thick cock, wrapping a hand around it to give it a few tugs and relieve the pressure. You haven’t responded to his question, too preoccupied with the sight of his cock. He slaps the inside of your thigh and brings your eyes back to him.

“And if I say yes?” you tease in a shaky voice, spreading your thighs wider and dragging a hand down to spread open your cunt.

He rubs the plush head over your folds and up to your clit, the both of you moaning at the contact.

“Expensive way of trying to get my attention, baby.”

Phillip moves your hand away and wraps your thigh around his waist, giving him the perfect angle to plunge into your cunt. You throw your head back onto the hood of the car, any words you were going to say now trapped in your throat.

Graves can feel every pulse of your hot cunt. You grip him in such a tight heat that he goes blind for a second. Monaco, the arguments, the times you’ve stolen from him or taken his money–all of it has boiled down to this moment.

“Fuck–,” he moans, “perfect little pussy.”

This is part punishment for all the times you’ve robbed him blind and part pleasure for all the times he’s wanted to sink into your pussy. The scent of your perfume and your warmth makes him dizzy.

You claw at his arms, dig your nails into his skin, mark him after every rough plunge of his hips. He’ll have scratches tomorrow, but none of it matters at this moment.

“So needy,” Phillip says, “aren’t you, doll?”

You barely manage to whimper out a yes, sir.

Graves hikes your knee up to your chest and pounds faster. His tip reaches the end of you with each thrust and he revels in the fucked-out look on your face. The car shakes slightly at the force of his hips but you don’t seem to mind, probably haven’t even noticed.

“Sir, huh? Only when I fuck you, do you show me respect?”

“More, sir–please, oh God,” you cry out, twisting your hips in small circles.

Sweat gathers on his hairline and underneath his polo. He can feel the familiar twinge in his lower stomach and the heaviness in his balls. He’s close and Phillip wants you there with him. He pushes his thumb into your mouth, shivering slightly as you begin to suck and lick with your wet tongue.

He takes it out of your mouth and shushes you once you try to grab onto his hand, immediately rubbing your clit in harsh circles that have you squeezing his thick length. It doesn’t take long for him to feel the sudden tightness and gush of your pussy. You flood your joined, lower bodies, making it easier for him to fuck you faster. What a sight the both of you are. A pretty girl like you being fucked silly on the hood of your car.

“Fucking brat,” Phillip groans.

His fingers sink into your thigh and he uses your body as leverage to fuck you. You’ve gone soft and moldable in his arms, letting him fuck you at the rough pace he chooses. There’s only the wet squelch of your cunt and the whimpers of pleasure that are heard throughout the abandoned lot.

His body goes numb and he’s finishing inside of you, holding onto your hips and forcing you down on his cock. Graves fills you up, letting his cum paint your insides. You moan and twitch underneath him as you feel him cum.

“Take it, doll. Ta–take it, f’me,” he stutters.

It takes all his strength not to collapse on top of you. Phillip staggers slightly from the force of his orgasm but he rights himself. He runs his hands over your thighs as to slow his heart rate, moving a hand to wipe the drool from the corner of your lips.

“Okay, doll?” he asks after a few moments.

“Mhmm,” you answer in a tired voice.

“Can you stand f’me?”

You laugh and slowly sit up. Phillip fixes your dress and helps you stand, holding onto your arms as you teeter on your high heels.

“You okay to drive, sugar?”

“Look at you,” you slur your words slightly, “who knew the Commander was so sweet after sex.”

Phillip rolls his eyes and helps you into the driver’s seat, slapping your ass hard before you can enter the car.

“Quit stealing from me. I hope you learned your lesson, doll.”

“You just gave me a shitload of money and fucked me hard enough that my legs are still shaking,” you say, “I think I like this, actually.”

You drive off and leave Phillip standing by his truck, his heart still beating fast and a stupid smile on his face.

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jakecockley · 20 days

Text

exception

prompt: you don’t need anything, you want it.

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x f!pilot!reader (sweets)

contents: dirty talk, banter, big dick seresin, f receiving oral, jake being pussy drunk, enemies with benefits, p in v, over stimulation a little | wc: 1.9k

note: every time the weather starts to get nice i slip back into my top gun era like a bear waking up from its winter slumber, forever obsessed, forever insane over this man.

this is part of this series but you don’t need to read it to enjoy this.

The first time was an accident. A moment of weakness on your part. Something that was not and should not be repeated.

You didn’t label things as mistakes; the word too harsh and unforgiving. Accidents left room for improvement…and if you ever repeated the same accident twice or three times, it made you feel less shitty about it.

You can thank your mother for such a term of phrase. An outlook that enabled you throughout your entire teen-hood and had you ending up in continuous situations that were unsavory and ended with you grounded—that haunting, disappointed look your dad gave you making your heart sink—in the long run.

The only difference now was that the only one here to scold you was yourself.

The only one to hold yourself back and talk yourself out of it, to lay down the law so hard that you’d never want to let the accident happen again.

And you’d done that.

Had scolded yourself the minute after it happened, and the sex haze had faded from your body, the smirk to your left enough to make your blood boil and not want to commit the same accident again. Enough to bring down the hammer on yourself.

It was an accident you were not going to repeat.

A lapse of judgment and tremendous amounts of shots, that wouldn’t happen again.

Wouldn’t cloud your mind and let you be sweet talked and seduced by a country drawl attached to a pair of irritating lips that teased the column of your neck with love bites and kisses that made you fall to your knees in front of a man you wanted to punch.

And in your defense, right now, you were sober as the day you were born. There was no liquid dopamine warping your mind or driving your actions. No easy excuse for letting what is currently happening happen.

It would be easier to blame it on that. Alcohol. Shots.

Just as easy as it is to put the blame on the cocky asshole who’s pressed to your side, words coming out liquid smooth, and coating the arousal that’s throbbing between your thighs.

You should slap him. Deal out one of your many quips and dis him like you usually do. Your favorite thing about Jake Seresin is that pretty throat you’re constantly at.

You hate him.

Some would even say despise.

But you are a creature of consistency and you’ve never been someone to learn from one accident.

And the more he talks, the more you smell him—a smell you can’t pinpoint but has always just been what your body has labeled him. A smell you could sniff out in a crowded room.

A smell you’ve avoided during drills and trainings by refusing to work around him.

A smell that's hard to ignore how it makes your insides feel when he’s so fucking close.

When his mouth is forming words so irritatingly tantalizing.

God, you hate him.

”And what makes you think I need you to help me with anything?” You bite back at his teasing words and give him your own cocky smirk. “I have plenty of toys that do the job.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up even more, eyes flashing to your lips. His tongue coming out to coat his own, your body flinching from the heat of his palm as it’s placed on your thigh—you knew you should have stayed in your room, gone to bed at a decent hour, not ventured to the rec room in your sleep shorts expecting no one to be awake.

But, of course, Hangman was. Sitting on the couch, shit eating grin spread across his lips when you walked in and immediately scowled.

Your body already feels hot but his hand just makes you feel warmer. Like you’re engulfed. A trail of fire follows up the length of your thigh as his hand moves up your leg, fingers pulling on the bottom of your shorts. Not enough to have them move to really do anything. Just enough to have you swallowing hard, breath held as Jake looks over at you, seeing no resistance. Nothing stopping him from pushing his hand under the fabric until his fingers are brushing your underwear.

A hitch in your lungs as his index finger runs along the wet fabric. His nose brushes against the side of your cheek as his lips ghost against your ear, “We both know you don’t need anything. Anyone. You want it. Should I slip my fingers inside and show us both the proof?” The tip of his nose moves along your jawline until his lips are inches from yours, his eyes moving from your parted mouth to your eyes. “Or are you going to let me make you come again because you sounded so pretty the last time, Sweets.”

And you can’t remember the internal fight and reasoning you’re sure you had with yourself or the convincing your sound mind might have tried to push through the desire and want, moving your body in action as mouths are pressed in hard kisses. Hands clinging and ripping fabric off of your body, nails dug into skin, before Jake’s lips latch onto your clit.

Your back arching off the leather cushions, your hands messing up his perfect hair. Knees pushed up, caging his head between your thighs. A pressure that makes deep noises vibrate against your throbbing clit when you do it. A hand at the back of your thigh grips them, keeping them there.

“Oh my—fuck,” your chest shudders. Your breath puffy and held in your lungs until you have no choice but to let it out in a moan louder than you should. A weak moan thick with that need you don’t need. You don’t need anyone. Don’t need anything. But fuck do you need Jake’s mouth, the way his tongue moves along your clit, the way his lips wrap around and it and suck making your eyes roll back.

Your cheeks burn hot, on fire, clammy from how good he is at this. How every time you rock your hips up against his mouth, he groans and mumbles something barely coherent as he gets lost in you. “God, Sweets,” "s'pretty," “just like that," licked, kissed, and sucked against your pussy.

Jake eats pussy like he’s worshiping it. Like he’s carving his devotion with the tip of his tongue on all the places that make your breath catch, body contort, and walls squeeze around his fingers. And with the sounds and shakes of his chest each time you pull his hair, each time you move against him, feel your arousal gush around his fingers: it’s evident that he’s enjoying it just as much as you, if not more.

That there’s not just pleasure coursing through your body, but the both of you are soaking up each others desire, lust and pleasure with each returned moaned, arch, heavy breath.

And when you come, your orgasm wracks through your body like a bullet that leaves you completely ruined and fucked in it’s wake. Both your hands in Jake’s hair, his eyes flashing to meet yours right as that dam breaks—the beauty of him squeezed between your thighs, mouth on your pussy too much for you to handle.

You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying his name.

Refusing to let yourself go that far.

But Jake apparently needs to hear it.

Needs you to dig your fingers into his shoulder as you try to push him away from your overstimulated and sensitive pussy, his mouth continuing to lap at you. Even as you groan and contort.

“Hangman,” you say it once, twice, three times before you’re saying “Jake!”

You could slap the smirk off his face when he lifts his head from your thighs, tongue cleaning up the remnants of you on his lips. You scowl, too sedated to give him your full wrath. Ready to go back to your room, curl under your blankets, and ignore that this ever happened tomorrow.

Go back to not being able to stand him.

But then he delivers a wet kiss to your skin, his teeth nipping at the meat of your inner thigh. Already reheating your body. Your eyes focusing on his swollen lips. The pink tint of his cheeks, his blown out eyes, and the way his hair looks so much better when it’s messed up like this. Messed up because of you.

And you’ve already forgotten about going back to your room when you put your hand on his neck and try to pull him to your mouth. His stone still body stopping you. The curve of his mouth gnaws at your lower belly in a dozen different ways.

Your fingers dig into his neck when you try to pull him to your mouth again, failing and giving him a disapproving scowl. A needy sound wants to burst through the back of your throat.

His thumb and forefinger pinch the bottom of your chin before his palm cups it, his thumb runs along your bottom lip. “Something you want, Sweets?”

“Fuck you,” you say, more breathless than you wish you sounded. Your teeth biting into his thumb, making a noise between a soft laugh and something animalistic shakes his throat.

“I will,” he says in that cocky drawl that drives you insane. “Just ask nicely.” He leans forward, pulls you to him with his hand at the back of your neck. The way he now smells like you and him mixed, makes your eyes droop a little. Makes your fight die a little. “Say, 'Jake, I need it’.”

“I don’t need anything.”

He hums, agreeing. His free hand slips between the two of you, and you can hear fabric moving. Can feel him moving your back against the couch cushion as he hovers and bends his lower half between your thighs just right. A whimper comes from your throat like a heavy stone coughed up when you feel the head of his cock grind against your sensitive clit.

“But you need this, don’t you?”

You want to argue, but it’s hard when the weight of his cock feels so good, spreading you apart. Against your clit. Pressing just enough at your entrance to stretch you around his achingly large girth. Enough to make you whine when it’s torn away.

“Tell me you need it and it’s yours, Sweets.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip; the hatred, the want, and desire make your mind go to war.

”Come on,” His cock stretches your entrance again, thumb at your clit. “It’s okay to admit I’m the only thing you need,” he lets a groan slip, hot and heady against your mouth. “I won’t tell anyone. I need you just as bad. Always have, Sweets. Fuck,” he breaths as he pushes further in, back out, in. Driving you both crazy with need.

A deep, frustrated, moan puffs from your lungs, your fingers digging into his lower back as you push your knees further up his sides to make him go deeper the next time he pushes in. The both of you letting out a breath at the same time when you say, “I need you, Jake," his arms coming up to cage your head between them as his mouth devours yours in a rough kiss. The noise you let out when he pushes himself to the hilt inside of you is disgustingly needy.

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