As Graves got closer to fifty, he began to prepare for retirement. As much as he loved his job, his Shadows, he wanted more time to himself and his spouse as well. Plus, he was gettin' a little old to be on the front lines anymore, and that was his favourite part of the job. Sure, he didn't have to retire completely. He could still run Shadow Company as its CEO, but he didn't like that idea. He enjoyed taking part in the fight, in taking men down by his hand more than he did the paperwork or meetings or any of that shit.

So, when he turned forty-eight, he officially retired. There was a big going away party done by his boys, which... well, not to sound like a sentimental old fool, but Graves was touched. After that, he went home with you, his darlin', and enjoyed his newfound freedom to... well, not do anything.

He could sleep in, go on date nights whenever, ravage ya at any time and not get interrupted... it was a good life.

Yet, for some reason, he felt restless, like he had one more thing he needed to do.

And then he turned on the TV, saw the presidential elections were going to start soon, and decided: Y'know what? Fuck it.

This was what he needed to do. He'd already fought for his country on more than one occasion, so now it was time to run it.

~🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸~

Looking around the white house, Graves couldn't stop grinning.

"Well, hun? How's it feel to be married to the president?" He asks, looking at you, drinking you in. You'd gotten all dolled up for this occasion, and fuck– he couldn't wait to break in the bed in the presidential suite or whatever it was called. He just needed a comfortable surface to give it to ya.

The secret service agents milled around, keeping their distance while also doing their job– Graves recognised most of them to be some of his old Shadows that had changed careers for less... chaotic environments. He certainly felt safe with his men around.

"Betcha proud," he drawled, running a hand through his neat blond hair, a hint of silver at his temples.