☆ marry the night ☆

[sicilina-silicone]

dilf!price 🤪🤪

[empresskylo]

medieval AU in which simon is nobility and you’re just a servant for his family. and of course, simon has to marry to make alliances. but it’s you he kisses in the dark of night. you he sneaks to his bedroom. you he has fallen for.

and his betrothed is pretty enough, which obviously has you seething, but he would never be satisfied with her.

you beg him not to marry her, but he really has no choice. he doesn’t have the freedom to decide.

and when he does marry her, you sulk in your tiny servants chambers on his wedding night. knowing exactly what it is simon is doing right now. and to who.

yes, simon fucks his new wife. but it’s almost clinical the way she bends over for him expectantly. they both know it’s their duty, and neither party is thrilled about it. it’s boring and quick as he pumps inside her, needing your face on his mind to have even gotten hard at all.

the entire time he’s picturing you. imagining it’s your heat he’s deep inside of. and he pretends to finish, letting his new wife roll over now that her duty is done. he never intended to come inside her.

simon tugs on pants, still hard, and makes his way down to your room. he knocks frantically, needing you. when you open the door, you’re hurt and upset. you tell him to go away as you sulk back on your bed.

but simon doesn’t care—he needs you too badly to care. “come’ere” he grunts as he drags your hips to the edge of the bed, shoving your nightgown up.

you’re too shocked to fight him, sure he’d be satisfied with his new pretty wife—at least for the first few weeks.

but of fucking course he’s not. you’re the only one he wants. with his cock still hard, still stained in his new wife’s juices, he slides into you with a groan.

your hands dig into the mattress, unwilling to tell him to stop now that he’s started.

“only been thinkin’ of you,” he mumbles as he begins a steady, but frantic, pace. “all fuckin’ day.”

you want to be mad. want to be upset. but you can’t. not when he clearly has been yearning for you, uncaring of his new wife.

“fuckin’ feel so good. needed you so bad.” he mumbles nonsense, already so close, just needing you for the end. “needed t’finish in you, darlin’.” thrust “Only cunt I wanna fill.”

and he does, filling you up after only a few more thrusts, rubbing you between your legs so he can feel you clench around him.

and when he’s done, his weight crushes you, pushing you into the mattress, your arms around each other. “only fuckin’ one I want,” he says almost in defeat, unaware he even said it out loud.

[cyberdrream]

18+ mdni simon riley is a horrible lay, everyone says.

that’s what you’ve heard around base, from men and women alike. he’s too fucking big, apparently, fucks like the mean bastard that he is. hurts. apparently, he’s so cold he doesn’t even care for his partner. and apparently, every time anyone’s tried to sleep with him, they’ve always stormed out of his room, pissed off at him because his room is a hellhole. 

apparently. it’s all word of mouth, but you believe it. 

but after the end of the month drinks at the local spoons, you can barely get simon off you, he’s pawing at you with his big hands. the two of you split a cider in two, and he looks at you with his big brown eyes, “y- you’re really fucking hot.” he blurts out, kissing your nose with chapped lips.

his face is red, blushing deeply as you try your best to not flush the same. “and johnny told me you can’t ever think about the pretty lass on floor 3 with the filing cabinet, but guess what, i can.” he kisses you on the side of your head this time, and you’re enjoying his affections.

it’s only back in his room on base that he fumbles with his belt, before he looks at you again, “s-sorry, it’s just, i don’t really get to spend the night with pretty women like you-“

you want to hide your face in his pillows, his room is really fucking nice. he has plants, actual plants growing from gaz, sketch drawings from johnny, photographs of him and the captain. 

his cock is huge, hard and leaking, slapping against his stomach, but he still looks at you with his sweet brown eyes, “love, it’s okay if it’s too big…” he sounds dejected already, but you just shake your head, it’s nowhere near as big what the word around base was. 

“it’s fine simon-“ you whisper, licking your lips and placing kitten licks on his length, feeling the taste of him coat your tongue. 

“no no no-“ he shakes his head, pulling away before his hands touch your wet panties, “fuck, you’re so wet love.” 

and then he dives in, tugging them off, before licking at your cunt with a sloppy tongue, he doesn’t have a technique down but whatever the fuck he’s doing it’s good, your legs are shaking as his tongue dips inside you.

“gotta make sure it’s good for you-“ okay, what the fuck was anyone talking about?

he slides into you with ease, and thrusts into you? his hands above your head, his eyes still looking at you. “you’re very fuckin’… mmmph… hot.” he says, with a grin on his scarred face that would look terrifying if it wasn’t for the way his brown eyes shone with sweetness.  

it wasn’t long before his cock twitches inside of you, and his eyes roll back, “oh fuck love, right there— fuck!” he was filling you deep, his cum thick in your stomach. 

“love?” he asks, whimpering, his head on your chest, “love, did you find it good?” he’s desperate for your fucking approval. 

you kiss his head, his soft curls growing out of army regs.

“yes darling.” fuck the word of mouth, did anyone even try this with him?

“th-thank you dove-“ he pants, his cock deep inside you as you keep stroking his hair, feeling his breath even out. 

[allybuggg]

mdni coworker!simon riley, fwb!simon riley

the conference room feels stifling even with the ac humming overhead. price’s voice drones on about insertion points and contingency plans, laser pointer sweeping across the projected map. soap cracks a quiet joke to your left. gaz nods along seriously. and across the wide table sits simon — skull mask firmly in place, arms crossed over his massive chest, every inch the focused lieutenant.

you should be taking notes. you can’t.

because every time he shifts in his chair, your mind drags you back to this morning.

you’d both arrived early, like you do at least once a week. the underground parking garage was still dim and quiet when simon pulled you into his truck. he didn’t waste time with words. the second the doors shut, he had your pants yanked down and you straddling his lap, thick cock already hard and pressing against you.

“fuck, simon,” you’d gasped as you sank down onto him, the stretch burning so good it made your head spin. “we’re gonna be late again.”

he’d just growled against your neck, gloved hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. “then you better ride me faster, sweetheart.”

the truck had rocked with every bounce. windows fogging up fast as you rode him hard, hands braced on his shoulders, his tactical hoodie pushed up so you could feel the heat of his skin. every time you dropped down he bottomed out, hitting that perfect spot that had you whimpering his name.

“that’s it,” he’d rasped, voice rough with sleep and lust. “take every inch. been thinking about this cunt all week.”

you came first, clenching around him with a choked moan, thighs shaking. simon followed right after, thrusting up sharply and spilling deep inside you while he held you down on his cock, breathing heavy against your throat.

“good girl,” he’d murmured, not pulling out yet. “keep me warm a little longer.”

you’d stayed like that until the clock forced you to move — his cum still leaking out when you finally climbed off and fixed your clothes. he watched you with dark eyes the whole time, a satisfied twitch at the corner of his mask.

now, hours later, you’re still feeling every second of it.

price turns to you suddenly. “you good with the secondary extraction route?”

you blink, heat rushing to your face as you force yourself back to the present. “yeah — yeah, it looks solid. but what about the timing on the northern perimeter? if we hit traffic from the construction, we might need to adjust the window by ten minutes.”

your voice comes out steadier than you feel. soap nods in agreement. gaz scribbles something down.

across the table, simon’s eyes flick to you. dark. amused. knowing.

you squeeze your thighs together under the table, the dull ache between your legs reminding you exactly why you’re distracted. you can still feel how full he made you this morning, the faint stickiness in your panties every time you shift.

price continues, pointing to the next slide. you try to contribute properly.

“the intel on the guard rotations seems off,” you say, leaning forward a little. “we should double-check the night shift patterns before we commit.”

simon speaks up then, his low manchester accent cutting through the room calm and professional. “she’s right. better to confirm than risk it.”

you glance up at him. his gaze holds yours a second too long, and suddenly you’re back in the truck — remembering how he’d groaned your name when you clenched around him, the way his hands had guided your hips faster, the filthy praise spilling from his lips.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he’d growled this morning, teeth grazing your collarbone. “that’s it, love… come on my cock again. let me feel you fall apart.”

you clear your throat and add, “we could also scout an alternate route through the eastern sector if the main one gets compromised.”

gaz nods. “good call.”

but your focus is slipping again. every time simon shifts those broad shoulders or flexes his gloved hands on the table, your mind replays the wet sounds of skin on skin, the way the truck gently rocked, the deep groan he let out when he came inside you and held you there, refusing to let you go right away.

soap cracks a joke about the op. everyone laughs lightly. you manage a small smile, but it’s weak.

when price asks for final thoughts, you speak up one more time. “just make sure we have backup comms ready. last time the signal dropped in that area.”

simon gives a single nod, but you catch the subtle way his eyes darken behind the mask when he looks at you.

the meeting finally wraps. chairs scrape back as soap and gaz stand first, still chatting about potential adjustments. price gathers his files and heads toward the door.

simon lingers.

he walks past your chair slowly, close enough that his gloved hand brushes the back of your seat. his voice drops low, rough, only for you.

“still feeling me from this morning, sweetheart? couldn’t stop thinking about how you looked riding my cock.”

you swallow hard, heat flooding your face as you look up at him. “you’re an asshole for making it this hard to focus, simon.”

the corner of his mask twitches. “good. means you’ll be wet and ready when i text you after shift.”

he doesn’t wait for a reply. just straightens up and walks out, shoulders broad under his hoodie, like he didn’t just set your entire body on fire again.

forty-eight hours until the mission.

you’re not sure you’re going to survive the next two days without dragging him into the nearest locked room and letting him ruin you all over again.

________________________________________________________________

[codthrow]

red light 🟥

[codthrow]

i absolutely adore your graves art! you draw his face so well!! he’s been my go-to blorbo for a while and I’m always so excited to see people draw him!

have you ever drawn him interacting with his shadows? i’d love to see that! (no pressure of course)

yea he's my fave recently too 💕 i havent ever drawn him with his shadows before actually so here ya go!

he's a pizza party kind of boss jk

[codthrow]

Haii!! If you still taking requests, can you please draw Graves like single father? Or how he just play with somebody's baby, with shadows 🥹🪓

hello!! here’s some graves with child 👶

it's bring-your-baby-to-work whenever he can because he'll only ever be at ease if they're with him

[codthrow]

if you’re still open to requests…

some graves angst perhaps?

what’s the fun in having a blorbo if you don’t put him through the horrors™ every now and then?

mmmm cant say no to good ol angst!!

[codthrow]

I NEVER CATCH OPEN ASK BOXESSS

If its not too much trouble, id love to request phillip graves being all comfy and cozy!! Id love to see your take on his lounge wear 😂

Uhh my take is kinda boring haha 🥲 i imagine that he’s always busy and around other people that he doesn’t have the time or freedom to get properly comfy

his loungewear would probably just be a rotation of a warm jacket + t shirt + soft enough pants/shorts. shadow company issue probably heee

[codthrow]

Hello! First of all, I just wanted to say your art is absolutely AMAZING and you ROCK! 🗣💚 Anyways, if you have the time and don't mind I was wondering if I could request Graves with an orange cat? It doesn't have to be an orange cat, any will do but for some reason that's what my mind goes to 😅

hmm are orange cats the quintessential cats? 🤔 maybe that's why?

anyways here's graves with a lil orange cat !! call it CC the Company Cat

someone brought it back to base after a mission and no one had the guts to remove them

[codthrow]

hiii you draw so beautifully im so jealous (,, ‸ ,, )

if you're comfortable, could you draw Graves bloodied n feral? like someone killed his shadows and now he has a personal vendetta to shove a knife in their throat. if that's too graphic it's totally fine, maybe have Graves eating at his desk while getting work done?

he so messy!!

[codthrow]

omg I love your art style!!! I was wondering if your art request box is still open? If it is, could you do one of merc Graves? Or what he looked like as a young MARSOC marine?

Idk why but I always see him as that golden retriever type. Example: the first dang mission in MWII when you shoot things out of the plane. The way he talks to shepherd, he’s such a golden retriever lol

mmm yea graves definitely gives off needy for validation vibes underneath the seriousness 😏

also i read young MARSOC graves and i !!! here's him as a bratty crayon eater

also here's a more golden retriever-y young graves. but like nerdier because my hands do not cooperate sometimes ....

[codthrow]

practicing drawing expressions with mr graves

[codthrow]

commission for @larrytheberry2 🗣️

[evolbones]

Cowboy Graves Commission for Bearviv!!! <3 Thankyou!! ^^/ I had way too much fun with this one.

💖Get exclusive sketches, comics, and illustrations on my Patreon

https://www.patreon.com/Evolbones

[eevee-of-eternity]

Having to explain to Ghost why you have a bottle of 'fake cum'. This leads to him wanting to see the dildo that goes with it. Wanting to know why you use it. You're embarrassed, sure, but you try to keep your answers to his questions professional.

Dildo is pale blue, the fake cum comes out of the little hole here at the top. I use it because I love the feeling of being full...but dont want kids.

He pauses for a few beats...

"I'll replace it."

Youve died. That's the only thing you can think of. Died and gone to Lt. Hell.

"Beg your pardon Sir?

"I'll give you the real thing, cant have kids Love, been snipped."

And that's how you and Ghost's relationship? Situationship? Agreement? Started. You didnt realize at the time the Ghost had a severe breeding kink.

[fuckit-meme-time]

Okay but Phil's wife finding out what he actually does — not the "military consulting" BS that he told her — but about Shadow Company. She finds out they've been killing people (sure, they're enemies of the U.S.) but they're still killing people. And among the files, she's seen several cases of Phillip torturing some people and she's like 'WHO TF HAVE I BEEN SLEEPING WITH?! 😭' Like she finds (a couple) of his guns in the glove compartment of his car and everything.

And Phil finds out she's been snooping. 👀

Like she thinks she’s marrying a “military consultant” and suddenly she’s staring at interrogation reports and pictures and she’s like who the fuck did I agree to marry???

And Phillip realizing she’s been snooping??? Yeah… that man would clock that immediately and be a little smug/proud of her for being so hard on him.

I got possessed for a minute and wrote a little something inspired by this 👀 Thank you so much for the inspo!!

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The house is quiet when Phillip gets home.

Not the normal quiet. Not the kind where the TV hums softly from the living room or cabinet doors thud lazily in the kitchen while you cook. No music drifting through the open windows. No smell of something half-burnt because you got distracted talking to him across the counter.

This quiet is wrong. Tight. Like the air before a door gets kicked in. He’s felt it before clearing buildings overseas.

The only difference is that tonight he’s standing in his own house. He's not wearing body armor. And the only dangerous weapon that could hurt him right now is sitting at the kitchen table.

He shuts the door behind him slowly, setting his keys on the counter with a soft clink. His eyes sweep the room automatically.

Living room clear.

Hallway clear.

Kitchen light on.

And you’re sitting at the table.

Not reading. Not scrolling through your phone. Not pacing the way you usually do when you're annoyed with him for being late.

There’s a folder on the table in front of you.

Phillip’s stomach tightens before he even sees the tab on the manila folder.

Black. Shadow Company files.

His jaw ticks once.

“Well,” he says evenly, shrugging off his jacket like he just walked into any other evening. “That ain’t good.” He tosses it on the back of a kitchen chair casually. 

Your head snaps up, sharp and fierce. “You think?”

Your eyes are red rimmed. Goddamnit.

Phillip exhales quietly through his nose and leans his hip against the counter, arms folding across his chest while he studies you for a moment.

He waits. You’ve always been the one to swing first in an argument.

“Military consulting.” you say, voice shaking now. “Security contracting. That’s what you told me.”

He glances briefly toward the ceiling like he’s considering his options before his attention settles back on you. He pushes off the counter and pulls out the chair across from you, lowering himself into it slowly like he’s approaching a ticking bomb.

The folder slides across the table toward him as you shove it forward. He barely glances at it. He knows what’s in it. Doesn't need to do a double take. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained on you. Your chest is rising too fast. Your hands are shaking. 

Here we go.

“There are files in here, Phillip,” you say. “People you interrogated. People you-”

Your voice cracks.

“Who the hell have I been living with?” you demand. “What the fuck is all of this?”

Phillip presses his lips together and exhales slowly. None of his options are good.

He drags his tongue across the inside of his cheek before he speaks.

“Darlin’,” he says quietly, voice low and calm, “You’ve been snoopin’.”

Your chair scrapes sharply against the tile as you stand. “Don’t you Darlin’ me right now.”

Phillip doesn’t move. Doesn’t raise his voice. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile at how furious you look.

“Alright,” he says mildly, holding up one hand in surrender. “Not the time for pet names. That’s fair.”

You stare at him like you might throw the chair.

“Snooping?” you repeat incredulously. “That’s what you’re going with? Seriously?”

Phillip tilts his head slightly, studying you the same way he would study a map before an op.

“Well,” he says slowly, nodding toward the folder. “You didn’t exactly trip over that thing in the hallway.”

“I found it in your desk,” you snap. “Because I was looking for the venue booking paperwork. Which you also conveniently never finished.”

“Mm.” He nods once, like that checks out.“That sounds like me.” 

He drags a hand through his hair once, slow and thoughtful. He reaches forward and pulls the folder toward him, flipping it shut with one hand, concealing the sharpie marked text, as if he could redact the entire conversation all together. Then, slowly, he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“You really wanna have this conversation tonight?” he asks.

“You’re goddamn right I do.”

A beat passes.

Phillip studies your face, piecing out your emotions before nodding once. He leans back again, chair tipping slightly onto two legs as he watches you pace across the kitchen, hand over your mouth, that pretty ring on your left hand still glinting in the soft light from above the sink. 

“I’m still the same man,” he says quietly. “Same one that brings you coffee in the morning. Same one that washes your hair in the shower. Same one that asked you to marry him.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off “Same one you said yes to.” 

You shake your head, “You lied to me.” You gesture wildly at the folder, your voice comes out weaker than you want, “These files! The pictures! The guns in your truck! The fact that you disappear for weeks and come back with bruised ribs and won’t tell me why!”

He lowers the chair back onto all four legs and folds his arms across his chest again. Then he says quietly, “Went through my truck too, did ya?” A flicker of smug pride sparks in his chest. 

Of course she didn’t stop digging.

He shouldn’t be impressed. But he is.

You freeze. Your eyes narrow as you scoff. “That is not the point.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. He clicks his tongue sharply, sucking in air through his teeth, “You’re thorough, sweetheart, I’ll give you that.”

“Phillip!” You hiss

He stands up finally. “You’re not scared of me,” he says calmly.

Your mouth opens. Closes.

“Excuse me?”

Then his eyes drift briefly to your left hand.

“If you were,” he murmurs, taking your hand and dragging his thumb over the heavy stone, “you would’ve already thrown this at my head and walked out the door.”

You hate that you don’t pull away.

And worse, he notices.