🧸ྀིParisaּ ֶָ֢.

20 ּ ֶָ֢. Phillip Graves's wife ּ ֶָ֢. Got a taste for men who are olderּ ֶָ֢. Recovering from anorexia one day at a time ּ ֶָ֢. New moots? ּ ֶָ֢. 🩷💜💙

[sugarypeony]

I had posted this some time back, but tumblr took it down. (Fingers crossed it doesn't get taken down again) I got the Arwen Evenstar necklace 🥹🩷

[yousummonedme]

“You fucking colonizer! You Brits are always stealing shit that don’t belong to you,” She snaps.

Simon freezes and gazes up at his foreign wife with puppy eyes 🥺. All he did was take the last chip from the bag.

[sugarypeony]

As a Native american, I adore this. 💀

[yuucide]

why are there some writers on here proudly saying their fanfictions are ai slop

I didn’t come to read a robot’s story 😡 I wanted to read a story written by a writer who’s first language ISNT English ok

[bennypbiggestfan]

can we PLEASE NOT NORMALISE STEP SIBLING SMUT GUYS PLEASE WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN

Edit: to people in the comments saying don’t like don’t read, fair enough I don’t but genuinely why do you enjoy reading about incest? Don’t like don’t read? Don’t read my post then 🤷‍♀️

[sugarypeony]

I see far too much of step-cest in general amongst the cod community. It's disappointing.

[bennypbiggestfan]

can we PLEASE NOT NORMALISE STEP SIBLING SMUT GUYS PLEASE WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN

Edit: to people in the comments saying don’t like don’t read, fair enough I don’t but genuinely why do you enjoy reading about incest? Don’t like don’t read? Don’t read my post then 🤷‍♀️

[sugarypeony]

MW4 has me shitting bricks 🫡

[sugarypeony]

MW characters as 🟧⬛️ comments pt.2 because I got bored again.

[talesofanemerald]

Idc, normalize kink shaming. Cause y'all be using “don’t kink shame” and “it’s fiction” to excuse being into incest, pedophilia, cannibalism, etc. Like, be so fr, you ship a 14 year old with a 30 year, want to get railed by your dad and want to see two brothers f*ck each other. I don’t engage with things fictionally that I don’t like/wouldn’t want to do in real life. Yes, I’m judging you.

[sugarypeony]

MW characters as 🟧⬛️ comments because I'm bored.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Write it shitty, write it scared, write it without a clue but don't you be so spineless and have an AI write fanfic for you.

[sodiumvaporss]

i do have to say that no matter how shitty any sort of media is or how shitty your own creations are. always remember

[fawnpalmer]

quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog

[on-a-lucky-tide]

May everyone embracing feral, rogue John Price find a random twenty quid in their back pocket. ILY.

[fuckit-meme-time]

a question- do u think graves has a strong type/preference in women? like a certain look obsession? or is he more chill than that, what do u think?

i heard southern dudes kinda collectively have a thing for pamela anderson and her lookalikes, not sure how true that is, how do you picture graves in that regard? im not asking a strong 'blonde or a brunette' thing, but u know, some fixation he has in his head?

i hope its not a weird question ^^

Not weird at all!! I actually think this is a really fun question, especially because the way I picture Graves, Shadow Company isn’t just some secret military operation. It’s a company. A serious company. He’s the CEO, he’s rich-rich, he’s powerful, he knows how to work a room, and I do think there’s a public-facing side of him that people forget about sometimes.

So with that in mind, I absolutely think Graves has dated beautiful women. Like, model beautiful. Women who end up photographed near him outside of restaurants or clubs, women with perfect hair and designer dresses and a glass of champagne in their hand. I can see him having a little bit of a reputation for that, honestly. Not necessarily in a messy tabloid way, but in that “who is the woman leaving with Phillip Graves?” kind of way.

And I do think some of those women were probably known-known. Models, socialites, actresses, influencers, the kind of women where you Google him out of curiosity and suddenly you’re staring at some old photo of him outside a private club with his hand on the lower back of a Victoria’s Secret angel and you have to sit there like… okay. Cool. Normal. Fine. Totally not spiraling.

Which, honestly, I could see being a whole conversation between him and you.

Like you find one of those pictures online and try to be normal about it, and he’s so casual because to him it was years ago and barely registers as a real relationship. He’s just like, “Oh, yeah. That was back when I was seeing Becky.”

And you're like, “Seeing Becky. Right. Becky the supermodel?”

And he’s just looking at you like you have lost her mind because, to him, it was a fling. Fun, pretty, temporary, not that deep.

I think that’s the important part for me. I do not picture him as a man who was out there having grand, soul-shattering romances with every beautiful woman he was photographed with. I think a lot of it was casual. He likes women. He likes sex. He likes flirting. He likes chemistry. He likes having a beautiful woman on his arm and a good night that doesn’t need to become a whole emotional ordeal.

And honestly, casual probably worked for him for a long time. Graves does not exactly have an easy life to date around. He disappears. He keeps secrets. He cannot always say where he is, what he is doing, when he will be back, or if he is coming back in one piece. That does not make him easy boyfriend material. So I think for a long time, he kept things light because light was manageable.

A fling does not need to know everything. A fling does not need to be folded into all the ugly, complicated parts of his life. A fling can be fun, beautiful, intense, and over before it starts asking too much of him.

But I don’t think that means he has one strict physical type.

To me, Graves is too grown and too experienced for that. I don’t picture him as a man who is only into blondes, or only into brunettes, or only into one specific body type. I think he has absolutely been around enough beautiful women to know that beauty by itself is not rare in his world. He can find pretty anywhere. He can pay for access to pretty. He can walk into a room and have beautiful women notice him.

If anything, I think that kind of lifestyle would make physical beauty less defining for him, not more. When you have been around enough gorgeous women, gorgeous becomes less shocking. It is still nice, obviously. He still notices. He still appreciates a bombshell. I can absolutely see him understanding the appeal of that sun-kissed, glamorous, Pamela Anderson type of beauty, especially with the Southern man of it all.

But I don’t think that is his fixation. I don’t think he sees a woman who does not fit that mold and suddenly loses interest.

I think what actually gets under his skin is presence.

He likes a woman who can hold his attention after the first impression. Someone who does not just look good on his arm, but can sit across from him and make him want to keep talking. Someone with warmth, confidence, humor, and a little bit of bite. Someone who is feminine without being helpless, soft without being weak, and not so easily impressed by him that he gets bored.

Because the thing is, I think a lot of people are impressed by Graves. The money, the confidence, the reputation, the voice, the authority, the way he carries himself. He is used to people responding to that. He is used to people wanting the fantasy of him.

So the woman who really gets to him is not necessarily the one who fits some perfect visual mold. It is the one who sees all of that and still treats him like a man. Not a bank account, not a title, not a fantasy, not a war story. Just Phillip.

That, to me, would be the difference between someone he has fun with and someone he cannot shake.

So yes, I think he has preferences. I think he likes beauty, polish, femininity, confidence, and a woman who knows how to carry herself. I think he has probably had his share of glamorous flings and pretty women photographed beside him. But I don’t think Graves is sitting there with a checklist of hair color, body type, or exact features.

I think his real “type” is a woman who makes him feel like he has met his match in a softer, more intimate way. Someone he wants to protect, but not because she is incapable. Someone he wants to spoil, but not because she needs to be bought. Someone who can be sweet with him and still call him on his shit.

He can have fun with beauty.

But he falls for presence.

And he remembers the woman who lingers in his head after she leaves.

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Taglist :

@larrytheberry2 @phillygraves @kathrynwilmot @vused

[codthrow]

yes graves sketches instead of doing work

feat. @archangelswing's oc magda :D

[nikxredfield]

🫢

[fuckit-meme-time]

he surely has a daddy kink, right? i feel like it just makes sense. i also saw a post about how he'd def call you "young lady" and now i can't stop thinking about it..................................................

When I tell you I could get so in the WEEDS writing about Phillip's kinks.

I reeallllyy had to rein myself in for this one because hevean only knows I could write fic after fic after fic about my thoughts on this.

A Daddy Kink? Oh, absolutely.

But with Phillip, I don’t think “Daddy” is just about the word.

It is about what the word does to him.

Phillip likes titles. Commander. Sir. Daddy. Husband. Father. Those words put him in place. They tell him who he is in the room, what kind of authority he has, what kind of claim he gets to make.

So before kids?

Yeah.

“Daddy” is pure cocky authority kink for him.

It is the same part of his brain that likes being called Commander Graves. The same part of him that likes giving orders and watching people obey. Except now it is you saying it, breathless and flustered, handing him control with your own mouth.

And he would be so smug about it.

You’re mouthing off, pushing him, acting real brave for someone standing that close, and he just tilts his head.

“Careful, young lady.”

And you hate how fast it works.

Hate that your mouth shuts before you can stop it. Hate that your breath catches. Hate that your whole attitude stumbles for one stupid second.

Phillip sees it.

Of course he does.

His eyes drop. Just once.

Then they come back to your face, slow and mean and pleased.

“Oh,” he says, voice low. “That’s what we’re doin’?”

Awful man.

Terrible man.

Because now he knows.

And once Phillip Graves knows something works, you are finished.

I think he is very much a say my name man. He wants you present. He wants you looking at him. He wants all that attitude stripped down until the only thing left in your mouth is him.

“Say it, darlin’. Let me hear it.”

“Look at me.”

“Who’s got you?”

“Who do you belong to right now?”

And yes.

Absolutely.

“Who’s your daddy?”

Not in a goofy way. Not in a corny way. In that low, controlled, too-cocky Phillip voice where he already knows the answer and just wants to make you give it to him.

That is the part he likes.

The admission.

The fact that you can be stubborn and mouthy all you want, but eventually he can get you soft enough, flustered enough, desperate enough, that you say it.

And the worst part?

It gets to him too.

You can see it. The way his eyes go darker when he finally hears it. The way his mouth parts for half a second before the smugness slides back into place. Like hearing you hand him that title hits somewhere lower than he expected, and now he has to make that your problem.

And Commander Graves?

That is its own fucking issue.

Because that one is cleaner on the surface. Polished. Professional. Respectable.

Which somehow makes it dirtier.

I can absolutely see his secretary calling out sick and you filling in for the day. Nothing serious. Just answering phones, organizing papers, sitting outside his office in a skirt and heels like you are not fully aware of what you are doing to him.

And Phillip tries to be normal about it.

He really does.

For about twenty minutes.

Then you walk into his office with a folder tucked against your chest, all eyelashes and floral perfume, sweet and helpful, and say:

“Commander Graves?”

His pen stops moving.

That is it.

Just one little pause.

For one second, Phillip does not look at you.

He looks at the paper like it has personally betrayed him.

Then his eyes lift.

Slow.

Sharp.

He takes in the heels first. Then your legs. The skirt. The folder held against your chest. The innocent little expression on your face like you are not playing with fire in his office while he is trying to run a company.

“Need somethin’, sweetheart?”

And you smile like butter would not melt.

“Just your signature, sir.”

There.

That one gets him.

You can see it in the way his jaw shifts. The way his hand tightens around the pen. The way his eyes flick to the office door and back to you like he is doing math he already knows the answer to.

That door is getting locked eventually.

Maybe not right away, because Phillip has restraint when he wants to.

And honestly?

He likes the waiting.

He likes watching you sit outside his office pretending to behave while he knows exactly what that title sounded like in your mouth. Likes having to school his own hand away from his belt buckle when he catches sight of you through the glass, sitting at that desk in your skirt and heels, working so hard for his company like you are not doing every bit of it on purpose.

But eventually, the intercom clicks on.

“Come here a minute, darlin’.”

And when you step inside, he is leaned back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, expression calm in that way that should immediately make you nervous.

He does not say anything at first.

Just looks at you.

Then he nods toward the door.

“Lock it.”

So yes.

Daddy. Commander. Sir.

It is all the same family for him.

Authority. Control. Permission. Proof that you know exactly who he is and still want him anyway.

But after he becomes an actual father?

The Daddy thing changes.

Not disappears.

Changes.

Because now “Daddy” is not just something you call him when he has you pinned down and flustered. Now there is a baby in the house calling him that with sticky hands and sleepy eyes and his whole little chest.

Now it is real.

Now it has weight.

Before kids, Daddy means:

I’m in charge.

After kids, Daddy means:

I made you Mama.

And unfortunately for everyone involved, that would go straight to Phillip’s head.

Because Phillip’s breeding kink is not just “I want to get you pregnant” in some shallow way.

It is proof.

Evidence.

Consequence.

It is the fact that your body carried something that came from both of you. The fact that there is a little person in the world because you loved each other hard enough to make life.

And Phillip Graves would be absolutely unbearable with evidence.

The baby is proof.

Your body is proof.

The way you answer to Mama now is proof.

The little voice calling him Daddy from down the hall is proof.

Proof that he had you.

Proof that you let him.

Proof that you chose him so completely that both of your lives changed shape around it.

He would see you holding the baby on your hip, tired and soft and giving him attitude over your shoulder, and it would hit him low and hard all over again.

That is his wife.

That is his baby.

That is the woman who let him love her so hard it became a person.

And God help you if he decides he wants to do it again.

Because now when you call him Daddy in bed, it is not just a game anymore.

It is a reminder.

A threat, almost.

A promise.

He is thinking about another baby.

Another little voice.

Another piece of proof.

He is thinking about his hand spread low over your stomach and the first time your body took him seriously enough to make him a father.

It is not just:

“Who’s your daddy?”

It is:

“You remember what happened last time you called me that?”

And he says it with his mouth close to your ear, voice rough and too fucking pleased with himself because he knows you remember too.

Because there is a baby sleeping down the hall who happened last time.

Because he knows exactly what he gave you.

Because he knows exactly what you gave him.

That, to me, is where the kink gets hotter.

Because it stops being only about control and starts being about consequence.

Phillip is a results man. He likes proof. He likes outcomes. He likes being able to point at something and know he made it happen.

So of course breeding would get under his skin.

It is the most physical, undeniable version of all of that.

His name in your mouth.

His baby in your arms.

His whole life suddenly walking around outside his body because the two of you could not keep your hands off each other.

Before kids, he likes the title because it gives him power.

After kids, he likes it because he is Daddy.

Because you made him one.

Because every time he hears it, some greedy, possessive part of him remembers that he got to make you Mama too.

And wants to do it again.

Over and over.

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Taglist:

@larrytheberry2 @phillygraves @kathrynwilmot