#pmc

[mellohiizz]

guys, my parents got divorced. ☹️

[hunt3rr4t]

All it took was 500$ ☠️☠️☠️🙏

[princeysage]

I've a penchant for shippy pmc lately! the poly virus has caught me (expect to see more of them + vitalasubzam and zamropicc soon) ... leo and min smoochin' under the cut !!!

[helianss]

hes just a silly guy covered in blood :3

graahhh doodle dump !!!!

[xxpereonn]

PMC - SHADOW COMPANY

[cheeseatlantic]

GALA APPLE (OF HIS EYE)

sugardaddy!graves x fem reader

“You look stunning,” Phillip’s voice was low, rough, and for a moment, you felt the weight of his gaze on you—like he was scanning you, taking in every detail. His approval, though subtle, was there. You could always feel it.

You ran your fingers over the fabric of your black gown, the smooth satin falling in soft waves around your body. The dress clung in all the right places, a deep V neckline revealing just enough to tease, and the slit along your leg gave glimpses of your thigh with every step. The high heels were unforgiving, but they made you feel powerful, confident, as if you too belonged in this room of high stakes.

The shadows. They were always with you. Always watching. You didn’t need to look to know that Graves’ men—the Shadows—had positioned themselves in the corners of the room. You’d never seen their faces, only the vague outline of their presence as they blended into the background, lurking in places that felt too close for comfort, ensuring the security of their boss. They were silent and invisible, moving like whispers through the room, eyes always alert, always following.

You didn’t mind it, though. You knew the game. You knew the rules. Graves was no stranger to dangerous work, and neither were the men who followed him, his most trusted, shadow-clad soldiers. They were his private army, his ghosts. And tonight, they had a simple task: protect you.

“Relax,” Graves murmured against your ear, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he led you toward a velvet-draped table where high-profile guests sat. The air was thick with power, the kind that could suffocate you if you let it, but you thrived under it. You were his baby, after all—the one who got to flaunt her sugar daddy in front of the world.

“I am,” you replied, taking a deep breath as you placed your hand on his arm, pretending to look more composed than you felt. It wasn’t just the power of the room that made your pulse race, it was the dangerous tension you felt when you were near Graves—like everything could slip into chaos at any given moment.

A voice interrupted your thoughts, smooth but laced with an edge. “Graves, you made it.”

You turned to see a tall, broad man in a sharp suit, his smile calculating. His eyes flickered over you quickly, as if sizing you up, before returning to Graves with a nod of respect.

“We made it,” Graves replied, his hand tightening around your waist, subtly pulling you closer as if to mark you as his own. The gesture was possessive, commanding, and your heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“This is my…,” Graves trailed off, his voice lowering just slightly as he glanced down at you, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. The shadows were always there, surrounding him, but you didn’t need to ask. He didn’t need to finish his sentence. “My girl. My baby.”

The words sent a thrill down your spine. You loved when he called you his, even in front of these people, especially them. It was like a badge of honor—proof that you were his and no one else’s.

The man in front of you smiled knowingly, but his eyes were calculating. “You’re quite the arm candy, Graves,” he teased, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary before he turned to take a sip from his drink.

Graves’ lips twitched, a silent warning in his eyes. “Watch your tongue, Hudson. You wouldn’t want to be misinformed about what’s mine.”

The tension between them thickened, but it was brief. You noticed the way Hudson’s posture stiffened at the subtle threat. Graves wasn’t the type to be underestimated, not by anyone. And you? You were his. He was protective, and the way his fingers tightened on your waist proved it.

Another figure approached the table then, cutting through the crowd with the same menacing grace you’d grown accustomed to—the Shadows weren’t just men; they were ghosts in the flesh. This one was tall, with an intimidating presence. He looked at you once before focusing on Graves.

“Everything’s secure,” he said, his voice low and rasping, eyes scanning the room with the precision of someone who had seen too much to care about small talk. His eyes flickered over you for a split second, and you knew he was appraising you—just as he had with Graves’ last “projects.” But his gaze softened slightly when it returned to you. You were his boss’s property, after all.

“Good,” Graves responded, his voice cold but calm. You could sense the authority in his tone. “I trust you’ve taken care of the details, Bishop?”

Bishop gave a sharp nod before turning, retreating back into the shadows, as his name suggested.

You knew what he meant by details. You knew the Shadows took care of anything that threatened their operation. Tonight, the PMC gala was simply another moment to flaunt their success, and you were the perfect centerpiece—beautiful, dangerous, and utterly tied to Graves.

As the night progressed, the whispers around you grew louder. Men and women in tailored suits and expensive gowns eyed you with curiosity. They couldn’t help it. You were Graves’ possession, and everyone knew it. What they didn’t know—what they couldn’t see—was the tension that pulsed between you and him.

The night was growing darker, both outside and in the room. The lights dimmed, and the sounds of the party melted away into a low hum. Graves leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered. “You’re mine tonight, baby. No one else’s.”

Your pulse spiked at the commanding tone in his voice, the possessiveness wrapped in dark velvet. You nodded, knowing that nothing in this room would deter him from showing you off, from making everyone else see just who you belonged to.

And as the Shadows moved around you, blending with the dimming lights, you couldn’t help but feel the thrill of it all—the danger, the power, and the unspoken agreement between you and Graves.

You were his, and tonight, you would let the world know just how far he was willing to go to claim you. No one would dare try to take you away from him.

fun fact im allergic to apples cause of pollen food allergy syndrome but i live them, gala apples are my favourite hence the title ;)

[rodolfo9999]

2024年12月28日、ハワイにお邪魔。新しいパスポートコントロールアプリ、MPCが超便利でした。とても珍しい事に、日本出発便の機内食が旨かった。

[rancid-tactics]

Shadow Company

[amogusgusgus]

Decided to start posting some of my wips.

I had a pretty good idea for this one, but unfortunately the art block hit me like a truck.

[whynotzzz]

[wisp-exe]

heres that pmc art i promised a month ago

[darkestdaybreak]

PMC, you mean PubMedCentral?

[hunt3rr4t]

TIMEJUM

Little thing I drew in class yesterday:)

[princeysage]

poly pmc. maybe, mayhaps. >:D

ill never get sick of drawing these three

[helianss]

God, I'm so lovesick

closeups (w/o the light) and stuff

[s-milesart]

If Lodestar is the Mom and Pop shop, Shoreline is the big business.

A PMC turned "research and asset redistributor", the frozen wastes hold secrets and power that Shoreline would love to sell to the highest bidder.

"Don't get in our way, or the waves will wash you away."