#Graves x reader

[savagebite]

Specific things I think toxic cod men would be into

Tw:Ooc, toxic au, breeding, gunplay, no con, drugging, and abuse. Dead dove do not eat .

Price:

I think price is a breeding guy, like really into breeding. Doesn’t matter what you want, he’ll get you pregnant anyways. Documents your periods and ovulation. He wears a tighter shirt and will be more touchy trying to get you horny so you can fuck. Pokes holes into condoms.

Philip:

Guns. Gun to your head, in between your cunt, in your cunt, in your mouth, and in your ass. It’s never loaded, bullets taken out always. He’s not stupid. He’ll threaten to pull it if you don’t listen to him as he’s fucking you with it.

Makarov:

Dude what isn’t he into? He’ll do anything. I can’t see the guy having limits. He’s a physco, he only keeps you as a pet. so he wants to make you extremely uncomfortable and then take care of you to get you attached to him. I see him as a guy who will carve his name into your thigh.

Soap/johnny

Referencing to my toxic headcanons of him I think he’s really into drugging. Something about having your cute little self sitting next to him as he sneaks something into your drink. Taking care of you as you feel as it hits. His big strong arms carrying you to your shared bed. Gently slipping you under the covers and pulling down your pants.

[beloveds-embrace]

)some graves love for graves enthusiasts like @nightunite & @grombs-blog <3 :3)

No one breathed too loudly in your court. You made sure of that.

The throne room was a thing of precision- cut glass chandeliers that dripped crystals like frozen tears, walls the color of spilled wine, and floors polished until they reflected the gleam of your wrath. Ministers spoke only when addressed, and courtiers knew better than to linger near the dais, and ladies flicked open their fans in practiced fashion so as not to raise your wrath and displeasure, for you were not kind nor were you warm, and you wore your reputation like a crown sharper than the one on your head.

But the moment the great doors creaked open and he entered, the air shifted.

Philip Graves walked with the quiet arrogance of a man who had never truly known fear- not the way others did. Shadows seemed to coil around his boots like old friends. He bowed as always- graceful, efficient, head low, almost theatrical- but those damned eyes found yours the moment he rose and a grin stretched across his face- even when yours curdled like milk.

“You’re late.” You said, voice cool enough to crack glass.

“Only by a few hours, Queen,” he replied, smiling just enough to test your patience. “And I brought you a gift.”

He held out a velvet pouch, and the court stiffened when the glint of a ring- plucked from some now-dead rebel prince-of-the-people, if you had to guess- shimmered inside. But it wasn’t the token that pleased you, for you had far more fancier rings and jewels.

It was him.

You leaned back, studying him like a particularly fine blade, and thus your finger curled to summon him close. “Come here.”

He obeyed, of course. Philip always obeyed you.

With a casualness that sent ripples of horror through the room, you pulled him to sit on the wide arm of your throne, letting one leg drape lazily over his lap. Your hand curled into his hair, tugging lightly- an unspoken warning and a familiar comfort. You felt him exhale, the only noise to be heard in the dead silence of the throne room.

This was your routine. A dance sharp as the knives he uses.

“My little pet,” you murmured, stroking his jaw with the back of your fingers, your cold rings brushing across his cheeks. “Did you make a mess?”

His lips curled, the barest echo of smug pride. “Nothing that can’t be cleaned up.”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. Ministers looked away. One of them- a particularly vocal noble from the southern isles- looked like he might be sick, but you didn’t care; you wanted them to see. Let them clutch their pearls and avert their eyes, for you and Philip were a sight unmatched.

Let them try to reconcile the brutal head of the infamous Shadow Group with the man now nuzzling into the crook of your neck like a favored pet.

They didn’t understand and they never would, because he was yours. Not just your assassin, not just your hound- yours. And no blade he carried was half as sharp as the softness he reserved only for you.

“You missed me, Queenie.” He said quietly, so only you could hear.

“I don’t miss things, much less belongings.” You replied, but your fingers still curled tighter into his shirt, digging like claws that would not let go.

Liar, he almost said. But he just smiled again for he fancied keeping his silver-tongue, eyes glinting like knives beneath silk.

The court watched, silent and stunned, as their cold, untouchable Queen cradled him with all the tenderness of someone holding a beloved cat.

Let them whisper and let them fear, for you had your throne and you had your blade.

And curled in your lap, purring like a devil in velvet, you had Philip Graves.

[gothghostiie]

something babysitter!reader waiting for price to drive them home while he's on video call with one of his friends, the little one in his lap, tapping around on the screen; until it somehow does something to make the screen go weird. he chuckles and shows you, inevitably holding the camera right onto you for a moment and showing you before turning it back on him. all you hear from the phone now is a curious hum. "who's the lil' tulip on the couch?"

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Btw Phillip Graves has a fetish for taking care of his partner.

Like sure, he does love when he comes home to you cooking a meal, but he also loves having you on the couch, feet propped up, sipping a glass of sweet tea he made for you, waiting for him to come back with whatever he made.

He has a nice house, bigger yard than home (I have a big head canon that Phillip doesn't want children or is infertile, idk why) and you want a deck? The next day there's a contractor there talking about ideas. Then he builds a good half of the deck, you sat outside on a lawn chair, sipping something alcoholic (or lemonade), because he needs you, his little darl, to see him being your big strong man.

I also headcanon Phillip as pansexual, but didn't know it. Fell in love with a man in highschool, and that's why he went to the military. Thought the discipline would straighten him out (yes, I did make a pun).

Idk Phillip Graves is my biggest comfort character rn and I'm doing bad.

[d-emeter]

Types of lingerie they'd go a little feral over — plus-size!fem!reader x cod characters

Includes: Price, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, König, Graves, Alejandro, Rudy, Valeria

CW: mid/plus-size reader, photos of people wearing lingerie!, mentions of sex/sexual activities

Photos are not indicative of reader's body type/skin colour/other physical attributes! Just meant to be examples, but us bigger girls deserve some rep on here (but also why is it so hard to find cute pics of mid/plus-size girlies that aren't ads or extremely edited?)

All rights go to owners of the photos! I tried to crop out their faces as best I could <3

John Price

Price would love anything feminine. He adores when you play into his housewife kink, parading around the house in babydoll dresses and fur-lined robes (preferably sheer). He wouldn't even bother with taking the pieces off once he gets his hands on you, simply pulling and adjusting where necessary. Not above ripping either, but don't worry, he'll gladly buy you some new sets. Maybe he should get you some of those crotchless panties, poppet, would save him a lot of hassle.

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish

Listen, as much as he loves it seeing you all dolled up, there is nothing that gets him going quicker than you in some raggedy, hole-ridden comfy clothes, preferably when they're his. His boxers framing your plump ass so nicely, digging into your flesh a bit when you move and his shirt doing nothing to hide the jiggle of your tits while your nipples poke through the fabric. If he sees you like this, his hands are all over you in a split second. God forbid your shirt is cropped, showing off your soft tummy and the underside of your breasts — you couldn't pry him off with a crowbar.

(you cannot tell me Johnny doesn't own some dumbass boxers like this)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

In fear of repeating myself, I think Simon would also go a little dreamy-eyed over you in your comfies. Except, unlike Johnny, he loves those sweet little pj-sets you wear. He's still a little taken aback every time he comes home to you curled up on his — your — couch. The realization that he has something this sweet to come home to — that he has a home at all, hitting him like a freight train. Like Price, doesn't bother taking your pajamas off when he pounces on you. Just makes it easier for him to tuck you into bed after he's done with you.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Garters, belts, straps, buckles, the whole thing. And best believe he's the one picking them out, too. You'll randomly find boxes on your bed, the contents in different styles, colours, fabrics. He insists you model them for him, or send him pictures if he's deployed. The sets are an absolute nightmare to get into, but he'll gladly help you take them off, darlin'. Don't mind him though, if he snaps a photo or two in the process. Also loves it when you wear lingerie as part of an actual outfit. What can I say, the man loves showing you off (with the knowledge he's the only one that gets to see the full sets and everything underneath them later).

König

Anything resembling some cheap halloween costume from party city. It honestly doesn't matter to him what; sexy secretary, naughty nurse, you name it. Literally whatever. He will lose his mind a little if you go as far as to engage in some roleplay pertaining to whatever you're wearing — acting like he's your boss or your patient. Oh, a pair of animal ears can and will make his eyes roll back in his head. (He will, however, ensure that your outfits are of relatively good quality — they've gotta outlast a least a few rounds, Schatzi).

Philip Graves

Ugh, he's so nasty (affectionate). He wants you to look hyper-feminine. His perfect little all-american wife (even if you've never set foot in the usa, or don't yet wear a ring on your finger) in her hyper-feminine lingerie, waiting for her soldier to come home. Frilly bras, lacy undies and silky night dresses in white or pink or any pastel shade. He gets off on the innocence they exude — makes him want to ruin you. And then wife you up. Maybe give you a baby or two.

Alejandro Vargas

Corsets!!! Or anything somewhat structured, really. This man adores the shape of your body no matter what, and the way the corset only accentuates the curve of your waist and pushes your tits up so deliciously has him rock fucking hard. If you choose to add some thigh-highs to that with the plush fat of your thighs spilling over the edge you may as well have killed him. He also has this weird infatuation with the marks the corset leaves on your skin after you (or he) take it off.

Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parra

This poor man nearly faints the first time you wear lingerie for him (and pretty much every time after that). It doesn't particularly matter to him what it is, but he does like it when you stick to the classics: simple lacy bra and panty set. He likes that it makes you feel confident and (relatively) comfortable, as your comfort is always his number one priority. He also just thinks the simplicity of the sets helps accentuate the beauty of your body, rather than distract from it.

Valeria Garza

Anything expensive. Like, crazy expensive. She has the money, amor, why not spend it on something she enjoys? She'll make sure you only wear the highest quality fabrics (and that goes for all your clothing, by the way, she likes taking care of her girl). There are diamonds glittering all over your body, highlighting all your curves and twinkling with every move you make, and a nice string of pearls disappearing between your folds.

(I couldn't find ANY photos of this type of lingerie on bigger bodies, my apologies. Rest assured Valeria will get everything custom-made for you — remember, only the best for her girl)

[cupidsworstcrime]

graves x f!reader

smut :)

You were supposed to be sleeping.

Lights off, door shut, uniforms half-hung, boots by the footlockers. The kind of military quiet that wasn’t peace—just discipline.

But you?

You were in your bunk, on your back, legs hiked up to you chest, pillow crammed between your teeth.

And Graves?

He was ruining you.

Real slow. Real deep. Real quiet, or at least he tried.

“Shh,” he breathed against your throat, voice syrupy-thick, hand clamped over your mouth now because the pillow wasn’t cuttin’ it. “Gotta keep that pretty little voice down, darlin’. Don’t want s'mone knockin’ just ‘cause they heard you cryin’ my name.”

You let out a helpless sound beneath his palm���half-moan, half-desperate whimper—because God, he felt so deep you swore you could taste it.

“Easy,” he cooed, cock buried so far inside you it felt like your lungs had to make room. “Know it’s a tight fit, sugar. But you take me like you were built for it.”

The frame creaked under his weight as he ground in slow, careful strokes, every one of them angled to punch the air out of you. You gripped his biceps, legs trembling around his shoulders, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from how full—how stretched—you were.

And he just smiled.

“Can’t make a mess’a you if you keep clenchin’ like that,” he murmured, brushing sweat-slick hair off your forehead, his voice dripping with sweetness. “You holdin’ off for me, baby? Tryna be good?”

You nodded, wide-eyed.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “That’s my girl. Bein’ quiet for me. Lettin’ me ruin you nice and slow.”

You were so close, hips twitching, thighs trembling.

And then—he pulled almost all the way out.

You whined, panicked, hips chasing him on instinct, and he just chuckled low, dark, dangerous.

“Aw, now. You know better. That noise? Gonna get us caught.”

You bit down on the pillow, hard enough to see stars.

And then he gave it to you—hard, deep, full-length thrust that had your whole body jolting under him, head slamming back into the mattress. The cry that ripped from your throat was strangled by his hand, muffled and soaked with heat.

“God damn, baby,” he groaned, hips stuttering. “You were made for this. Made to take all’a me, even when it’s too much.”

Your eyes rolled, fingers digging into his back like talons.

“You gonna let me fill you up nice?” he whispered, voice slurred with pleasure. “Real deep? Nice and quiet?”

You nodded—barely.

And he did.

And you came with his name burning in your throat and your body shaking from the effort of staying silent.

When it was over, he didn’t pull out.

Just held you there, breathing hard, bodies fused and slick with sweat.

“Next time,” he drawled against your skin, smug and satisfied, “we find a room with a little more insulation.”

And you, weak and wrecked and still full of him, mumbled into the pillow:

“Or just gag me right first, jackass.”

He grinned.

[nyutasomething]

daddy issue? I LOVE DADDY ISSUES 🫶❤️

[criminalamnesia]

drabble that takes place a few years after the end of traitor — ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you startle awake to the feeling of an arm tossed over your body.

your heart is racing, breathing coming in quick puffs. another nightmare, no doubt, but you can’t even seem to remember it.

your body begins to act— entering fight-or-flight mode, when you remember. it’s not him.

you turn your head as much as you can, eyeing the man laying flush against your back in your peripheral vision.

sandy blonde hair and the scruff of a beard (he’d been growing out since he’d gone on leave).

graves. phillip— the man who had offered you asylum. offered you family.

offered you his bed. (eventually).

your body relaxes. you sink back into the mattress as your breathing slows again. that’s when he moves, his arm circling around you a touch tighter and his breath ghosting the hairs at your nape.

“bad dream?” he asks, his southern drawl thicker in his near-sleep.

“mhm,” you hum back, your hand finding his where it rests on your midriff. “go back to sleep. ‘m fine.”

“talk abou’ it?” he grumbles in his baritone, and you sigh.

“don’t even remember it.”

he goes quiet. you almost think he’s slipped back into a dream when he speaks again.

“he won’t be hauntin’ you soon, honey. we’ll make sure of it, won’t we?”

your fingers lace with his.

“yes,” you say, eyes closing as you picture your revenge.

“we will.”

[arabellasfvv]

Graves discovering his partner just listens. Absolute self indulgence cause I love when I can follow people around.

He first gets a hint when you're out together and it gets a little crowed, telling you to "stay close, sweetheart." And you do–wouldn't wanna get lost. And sure, it can be brushed off to just that for now, not wanting to get lost. But when you turn on your heel in the grocery in response to his "follow me." abandoning whatever you wanted to get, he gets curios.

Tries it the next time when you're laying in bed together, he gets up and tells you to "come on." You do, without question. Does it again the next morning after he got ready for work, "let's go, sugar." And suddenly you're with him, receiving a kiss on the head before he gets into his car and drives off. And you don't question it again, just walk back inside after his car is out of sight.

The first time at his place had your nerves running, unsure what to do, where you were welcome and where not. He tells you "sit." While pointing at the couch. And you're practically diving to do so.

Next time he brings you an outfit, tells you to wear that to your next date. As expected, you do so without protest. "Call me when you're finished with work, darlin'." So the first thing you do after clocking out is dialing his number. "Mind getting me a beer, sugar?" You're up without question again, and off to the kitchen. When he drops something he doesn't even have to say anything. Just smiles coyly at you, eyes switching between you and what he's dropped. The next second you're bending down, and handing it back to him.

But when he does comment on it, "like obeying me, don't you? Little submissive, hm?" You pull a face, as if he'd just asked you to roll in shit. "Not really," your tone is almost questioning, as if you have no idea where he got that idea from.

He meets you with raised eyebrows, "No?" The denial is funny, and he cant bite back a chuckle. "Your actions say otherwise, sweetheart." And you still look at him completely clueless, no idea what he's referring to. And yet when he pats his laps and tells you to, "come here." You do so, without hesitation.

He doesn't know if you're really unaware of how you're acting, or if you just don't wanna admit it. Either way, he doesn't push you on it. Deciding to enjoy your quiet submission instead. But you're more likely to find him smirking whenever he tells you "come" and you just do.

[lay-z]

I need to peg Graves and I will have to make that all y'alls problem.

[secretlysimpash]

If you took one of the boys home, and you had a big ol' dog, I think that...

John would do the thing where instead of petting the dog, he just lovingly pats it's side..."The dad pat". And he's definitely sharing whatever he eats with the dog, too (as long as it's safe for the dog, ofc...he wants to spoil the dog, not make it sick).

Kyle would be on his best behavior with the dog...Until you're not looking. As soon as you leave those two alone, he riles the dog up. You'll be on an important call when there's just a cacophony of barking, play-growling, and stomping from a few rooms over.

Since Johnny doesn't like dogs all that much, he would try to stick close to your side...Or wherever the dog will leave him alone. But alas, the dog definitely decides that he's their new best friend, father, playmate, and everything else that involves Soap being as close as possible. Wherever the Scot goes, the big puppy isn't far behind.

Simon is on the opposite end of the spectrum when compared to Johnny. Simon LOVES dogs, and he comes prepared. Every time Simon comes through your door, expect a gift for you...And one for the dog. Suddenly your dog has a skull bandana to match Ghost, and looks almost disappointed when you come home without him sometimes.

The Shadows already have some German Shepard's and Belgian Malinois on the team...So when Phillip sees that you have a dog that's bigger than the ones he's used to working with, he's excited. Phillip is high-energy, your dog has a lot of pent up energy...Take them to the park, and just watch them both run, play frisbee, fetch...They could do this for hours. And when you get home and the dog is sound asleep, Phillip will still have enough energy for you.

König would IMMEDIATELY try picking the dog up like a baby. As soon as he knows the dog won't try to rip his face off, he just scoops it up into his arms. Half as a show of strength ("Look, Schatzi...They weigh nothing to me!"), and half because I can't help but see him as an animal lover. And if you're watching a movie, or cuddling, or doing anything together, nine out of ten times he'll want the dog to come. Sorry, but that's his baby now, too.

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

You weren’t expecting to see him today. You weren’t expecting to see any of them. But there they were.

Shadow Company moved across the training grounds like a well-oiled machine—uniformed, precise, lethal in their efficiency. You recognized most of them immediately. Faces from another life. Men you once fought beside, bled with. Men who once called you one of their own.

And at the center of it all, as always, was Phillip Graves.

He looked good. Annoyingly good. Strolling across the tarmac with that same cocky stride, hands hooked into his belt, eyes scanning the yard like he owned the damn place. Which, in a way, he did.

You were staring. You knew you were staring. And unfortunately, so did he.

Graves’ sharp blue eyes locked onto yours across the field, and just like that, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipped from your lips.

His smirk was slow. Knowing. Infuriating.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he drawled, making a beeline straight for you. His men barely glanced your way, too disciplined to get distracted, but you saw the flickers of recognition in a few of their eyes. Some of them looked… surprised. Others? Amused. Like they knew. Like they remembered.

“Look who it is,” Graves continued, voice dripping with something between amusement and nostalgia. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, darlin’.”

You clenched your jaw at the nickname. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it didn’t stir anything. That it wasn’t the same voice that used to murmur orders in your ear, used to whisper sweet threats against your skin.

“That makes two of us,” you shot back smoothly. “Didn’t realize Shadow Company had permission to be on base.”

Graves chuckled, stopping just short of you. He smelled like motor oil and gunpowder and something faintly familiar. “Oh, we’re not just visitin’. We’re stickin’ around.”

You frowned. “For what?”

His smirk widened. “For you, sweetheart.”

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could demand what the hell he meant by that, another voice cut in—Price’s.

“You got a problem, Sergeant?”

Graves’ smirk barely faltered as he glanced over your shoulder. “No problem at all, Cap. Just catchin’ up with an old friend.”

You turned slightly, spotting Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz watching the exchange from a few yards away. Ghost’s stare was unreadable. Soap looked mildly confused. Gaz? Suspicious as hell.

“Right,” Price said flatly, stepping up beside you. “Then let’s get to the point.”

Graves exhaled dramatically, as if this was all some big inconvenience for him. “Shadow Company’s been assigned to your next op. Joint effort, higher-ups’ orders. We’ll be workin’ together real close.”

His gaze flickered to you again on that last word, and your fingers twitched at your side.

“Like hell,” Ghost muttered.

“Afraid so, big guy,” Graves mused. “I know you boys ain’t too fond of us, but orders are orders.” His eyes slid back to yours, softer this time, almost teasing. “Guess that means you and I get to reconnect, huh?”

You wanted to tell him off. Wanted to say that you didn’t care. That it didn’t matter. That seeing him again didn’t shake you one damn bit. But it would be a lie. Because what if?

What if you had stayed? What if you had never left Shadow Company? What if things had played out differently between you and Graves?

You swallowed hard, forcing your expression neutral. “Guess so.”

Graves grinned like he could see right through you. “Can’t wait.”

[quarterlifekitty]

WAIT WAIT WAIT

Which cod character(s) are most likely to become attached and unhealthy obsessed with a medic who was just doing their job??😭😭😭

Well, I think it could happen to anyone depending on what your bedside manner is like!

Soap gets fixated on an especially rough medic. You care about results, not comfort. You know it hurts, and you don’t give these pissants warnings before you jab them with the needle. There is no “this might sting a bit” before applying disinfectant. If they wanted kisses and suckers they should’ve gone to their mommy with this boo-boo. And Soap finds the pain you deliver him to be nothing short of exquisite.

If there is one thing Simon cares about in this world, it’s privacy. His grasp over what he reveals to those around him is iron clad. He awakes one day, in the med bay, feeling like he was hit by a truck, but shocked to feel his mask still on his face. Price is there to tell him what happened after he lost consciousness. Despite his injuries, you didn’t lift the mask. It seemed like the brunt of the trauma was to his abdomen, so you settled for gently probing through the fabric to check for tenderness or any bleeding. You very carefully snipped away the hard shell of the skull piece, both to assess beneath it and also to prevent anything injury if he happened to roll over in his sleep. He’s never known respect like that from a stranger. You never went under his mask and yet he can’t get you out of his head.

Graves does not throw tantrums when things go awry. He does not make other people shoulder the blame. But he does deflect the attention. In addition, he’s always the first to heap on the praise for a good performance. So when you end up being the one to give him his stitches and set his bones, he’s singing your praises to anyone and everyone. And he likes to think he has an eye for talent. An appetite for it, too. Part of the reason he compliments so quickly is that he likes to have plenty of aces in his back pocket. It starts as a purely professional interest, but things get deeper and darker the more he learns about his guardian angel.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Bakery/coffee shop au where you have a specific policy of not serving people what they ask for, but rather what you think they need

141 part || konig part)

The bell above the door chimed, and before you even looked up, you knew this was going to be one of those customers.

The footsteps were confident, unhurried- the kind of walk that belonged to a man who thought he owned any room he stepped into. Sure enough, when you glanced up from wiping down the counter, a man was already flashing you a lazy, knowing grin. The same man you’d seen reading your policy outside right before he’s sauntered inside.

“Well, well,” he drawled, taking in the cozy interior of your bakery like it was a pleasant surprise. “Didn’t expect a place like this in a town like this.”

You arched a brow. “A place like this?”

“All warm, sweet, and welcoming.” He gave you a slow once-over before his grin widened. “Guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

You sighed, already unimpressed. “Do you plan on ordering, or are you just here to flirt, sir?”

“Can’t I do both?” He leaned against the counter, eyes alight with amusement. “Tell you what- gimme a black coffee. Strong. No sugar, no milk.”

You barely hesitated. “No.”

His brows shot up, and for the first time since walking in, he looked genuinely caught off guard despite reading your policy. He must have thought it was just a joke, but nope. “No?”

“No.” You repeated, already turning to the espresso machine.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, most places just give a man what he orders.”

“Well, I’m not most places.”

He watched you work, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like you were the most interesting thing in the room. “Y’know, I can’t tell if you’re stubborn or just like makin’ my life difficult.”

“I like giving people what they need,” you corrected, finishing up the drink. “Not what they think they want.”

A few minutes later, you placed a cinnamon breve latte in front of him and beside it, you set down a brown butter pecan cookie. You wished you could have given him something pink, filled with berries and cream but ah- you knew it wouldn’t fly that well, alas.

He stared at them.

Then he looked back up at you, brow raised. “You real serious about this policy?”

You wiped your hands on a towel. “Positive.”

He scoffed, but he picked up the cup anyway, taking a slow, experimental sip.

And that was when it happened, as always.

For just a second- so quick you almost missed it- his shoulders relaxed. His smirk faltered, replaced with something far more genuine. He let out a quiet sigh, the kind that came from someone realizing, damn, that’s actually good. Better than what I ordered, but I’d be damned if I admitted it!

You pretended not to notice that, and instead, leaned on the counter and smirked. “Told you.”

He set the cup down, running his tongue over his teeth as he studied you. “Gotta admit, you’re somethin’ else, darlin’.”

“I hear that a lot.”

He huffed a laugh, reaching for the cookie. “I bet you do.”

The silence that followed was surprisingly comfortable. He took his time with the cookie, alternating between that and his drink, and every so often, you caught him glancing at you like he was sizing you up- not in an arrogant way, but in a huh, I actually like being here kind of way.

…You were talking to yourself a little too much today.

Finally, as he dusted the last crumbs off his fingers, he leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, you win this round. But don’t think I’m lettin’ you boss me around forever.”

You tilted your head, eyebrow raised though you could barely stop your lips from curling into an entertained smile. “Oh?”

“I’ll be back,” he said smoothly, tapping a finger against the counter. “Gotta figure out what other tricks you got up your sleeve.”

“Sounds like an excuse.”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “But it’s a damn good one.”

With that, he tipped his head, turned on his heel, and strolled out after paying- just as cocky as when he walked in, but with a little more warmth behind the smirk. He’d left you even a little note.

Philip.

And sure enough, a few days later, the bell chimed again, and there Philip was.

Just as he’d said he’d be.

Coffee Shop Masterlist.

[d-emeter]

Breakfast, lunch and dinner (or: cod characters and how they eat you out) — plus-size!fem!reader x cod characters

Includes: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, König, Graves, Alejandro, Rudy, Valeria

Note: take this as my formal apology for being inactive for so long :') exam week had me hanging on by a thread and i'm also suddenly moving so. yay. expect some more action after like... this week i hope

John Price

Listen. Getting eaten out by Captain Price is not, in any way, meant for your pleasure. No, this is him disciplining you. It hardly even matters what for. Maybe you have been teasing him, sliding your hand up his thigh under the table, rubbing your ass against him while passing by him. Maybe you've been a brat all day, complaining and huffing and puffing about everything, barely listening to any of John's requests and/or demands. Either way, sit on his desk and spread your fucking legs, doll. He'll be edging you for what feels like hours, tongue moving so torturously slow that all coherent thought has seeped from your brain aside from how badly you want to cum. Too bad, bad girls don't deserve to finish this easily.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

With Simon, it's always a surprise what position you'll end up in. The only certainty you have is that it's definitely not what you'd expect, and sometimes you wish that for once he'd just lay you down and get busy. But alas, he'll have you kneeling with your face in the pillows, or bent over the back of the couch. Maybe he'll have you hanging off the edge of the bed so all the blood flows to your already overheating brain. You're clinging onto whatever you can get a hold on, mostly in pleasure, and sometimes in fear of falling when he has you up on his shoulders and leaned against the wall. Well, he doesn't exactly hear your complaining over your moans and whimpers, he argues, and he wouldn't dream of dropping you.

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish

As with Price, this has little to do with your pleasure: it's all for his own benefit. Please, lass, he loves your cunt, and she loves him, doesn't she? Come on, let him have a taste. He could give two shits about where you are or how convenient it is— if he wants to lick your pussy, he's going to. He's down on his knees while you're desperately clinging onto the kitchen counter, or the shower wall, or the shelves of your pantry. Hell, you'd have to hope and pray a sales associate won't come by your changing room in fear of them hearing all of his moans. Oh, and you quickly find out you cannot wear a skirt around him, because it won't come down from your hips if he has any say in it.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

He's devastatingly methodical. He knows your body better than you do at this point, and he's not afraid to use this to his advantage. He can work you just right, but the worst part is that he will refuse to. Unless you kindly ask him for it, that is. Tsk, pretty girl, use your words. Let him know where you need him, what you need him to do. He's hovering close enough that you can feel his breath on your neglected clit, your cunt clenching around nothing in desperate search for friction of any kind, but he won't do anything until you tell him in excruciating detail what you want. And be aware, any time you stop talking, he's pulling away in a second.

König

Oh, König... Sweet, wet-rag-of-a-man loser that he is, will completely lose his mind any time you allow him near your pussy. He can practically feel his brain melting while he's drowning himself in your slick, and he looks like it too. His eyes have rolled back, face flushed and his eyebrows scrunched in pure, unadulterated pleasure. His body has turned to complete mush, his cock leaking against the sheets and hands clawing onto any part of your body he can reach (which, with his arms, is basically everywhere). Unintelligible mumbles made into your cunt, teetering the edge between praise and begging. He is a little inexperienced, Schatz, so you'll have to show him how you like it. Shove his face between your folds and ride his nose, and you'll have him moaning like a bitch in heat. When he finally comes back up for air you can tell you're not the only one that reached heaven just now.

Philip Graves

I'm going to speak my truth here, he does not strike me as the kind of man to give you oral all that much. I am SORRY, but it's true. He usually prefers to get you nice and ready for him with his fingers, or by having you ride his thigh, or simply from the absolute filth he spews into your ear while dry-humping. However, on the odd occasion that Phil does get down and dirty, he aims to make it special. It's strangely sentimental, actually. It'd be outside on a picnic blanket after his homecoming, or in your shared bed after your anniversary dinner. Anything that reminds him how much he loves you, and how much you mean to him, and he's going to show you with his tongue. There's reverence in every suck, praise in every lick and prayer in every word he murmers into your core. You're his goddess and he's just here to worship you, baby.

Alejandro Vargas

For Ale, it'd be a form of gratuity much in the same way it is for Graves, though the difference is that he'll use that as an excuse even for the most menial things. His belly nice and full after your homecooked dinner, grin on his face and asking when his dessert is being served. You've been so good to him, amor, welcoming him home with a smile and a kiss and a plate waiting for him, now let him thank you properly. You fixed the button on his shirt that had fallen off? Well, put it on and lay yourself down, time to lap at your cunt in thanks. It's gotten to a point where you're convinced he just decided his goal in life is to pull as many orgasms from you as possible. Not that you're complaining, of course.

Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parras

Eating you out is, in many ways, a means to an end for Rudy. He wants to make sure you're properly prepped and ready to take his cock, so it's almost instinctual for him to bury his face between your soft thighs for a while before inching himself into you. It's part of the routine, the way he thought sex was supposed to go. It's not until you explain to him that it can actually be the main event, and that you'd thoroughly enjoy it if he maybe put in a little more effort, that it dawns on him just how much he can actually do down there and how much time he's wasted not doing it. Now, tesoro, you may have shot yourself in the foot with that one, because he now can keep you pinned down for hours, just suckling away at your clit and fucking you on his tongue, dumb grin on his face after your fifth orgasm renders you basically comatose.

Valeria Garza

The only way Valeria will actually relax for once is with your pussy in her face. Seriously, you've tried everything else: lavender baths, deep tissue massages, even trying to get her to meditate. But no, the only time you actually see her shoulders lose all their tension is when she's between your folds. She's had such a long day, vida, come sit on her face. She's not even groping you the way she usually does during sex, hands instead playing idly with the fat of your thighs and ass while all her worries melt away. There are no thoughts running through her mind aside from how good you taste, how pretty you sound and how nice you feel under her hands.

[codnasties]

cowboy!graves x farmers!daughter reader 🪦 (🌽 link)

cowboy life has never been forgiving, and it probably never will be. long working hours on top of a horse, mediocre pay and high risk. but to graves is very much worth it, this is the life he wants to be living. the fact that he gets to see you it's an added motivation factor.

when he first started working he had been explicitly warned about not going after you, that you were of limits, at least if he wanted to keep the job. but you can't expect someone like graves to be told no and not get even more interested.

so he works his southern charm on you, little praises, calling you darling and sweetheart, lingering touches but always polite. he just can't keep himself away from you and your pretty sundresses that hug your body just right.

and once he has your trust, he sweet talks you into sneaking to the barn with him. his idea was just to kiss you up a bit and get a feeling of your body, not much more. but he couldn't hold back, seeing you there, laying breathless in the hay, he had to get a taste. bunching your skirt up only to find you weren't wearing any panties - what a dirty little girl he calls you -, perfect so he can get himself a taste of that sweet cunt. and well, now that you two are at it, and you are begging for it, may as well pull his hard cock out and give it a warm regard. your gummy walls fluttering as he pushes more and more of his cock until you are taking him to the hilt. and then he starts fucking you slowly, speed picking up and his bulbous tip bullies your sweet spot.

it seems like you are the only one with brain, making him pull out and sucking him before he cums inside of you. can't risk getting pregnant. but his mind was working just right, he knew what he was doing. it's just that this one time he didn't fuck you dumb enough for you to forget about the risk of having him cum inside. maybe another time ;)