#cod drabble

your roommate was a strange man.

can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.

he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.

he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.

and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.

so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.

You’re well and truly asleep in your bedroom when you hear the door creak open. You’d be more worried but you’re so comfy, you can’t find it in yourself to care all that much. Besides, more than likely, it’s just your partner, John.

You don’t even care when the intruder climbs on top of you and starts pulling down your bottoms.

You only start to care a little when you hear the sound of a zipper, but you immediately melt back into the bed at the familiar sound of John’s gravelly voice, mumbling into your ear.

“Shhh. Jus’ me, love.” He presses a kiss below your ear and you feel him slip inside your hole. Once he's fully inside, he drops his entire bodyweight on top of you, pressing deeper into you and nudging that one spot that especially makes you squirm.

"John.." You push your hips back into him and bury your face in the pillow.

He huffs, not moving except to press you further into the mattress, "G'back to sleep."

You wish you could squirm at least a little bit to get some more stimulation going, but you're completely stuck.

What makes it even worse is when he falls asleep and you just know that he won't be awake for another few hours.

he gets the text at half one.

"si com eget me plsd" and then, instead of a location pin, a screenshot of a map with your street barely visible in the corner, which tells him everything he needs to know about the state you're in. he stares at it for a moment. closes his eyes. gets his keys.

you're outside when he pulls up, leaning against the brick wall with your shoes dangling from one hand and your hair half out of whatever careful style it was when you left, and the moment you see his car your entire face brightens and you push off the wall and stumble toward him like he's the best thing you've seen all night.

"simon!!," you say, drawing his name out like it's something you've been saving.

"yeah," he says. "i'm here. come on."

you stumble and crash directly into his side, both arms winding around his waist, your face pressing into his chest with a contented sound that he feels more than hears. he stands with your shoes dangling against his back and your hair tickling his chin and after a moment of trying to help you to walk, he ends up picking you up bridal style and carrying you.

"you're so strong si" you mumble dreamily, staring at him in absolute awe. when he places you into the car and buckles your seatbelt for you, "you're responsible too"

you manage the passenger seat for almost a full minute before you migrate.

he's not entirely sure of the mechanics — one moment you're buckled in beside him, the next you're somehow mostly across the centre console, sideways, your chin on his shoulder and your hand warm and certain on his thigh before he's even made it out of the car park. he pulls over at the first opportunity and sorts your seatbelt properly, reaching across you, and you look up at him while he does it with an expression that has no business being that specific given the circumstances.

"you're so good to me," you tell him, with complete sincerity.

"sit still," he says, and pulls back onto the road.

you sit still for thirty seconds. maybe thirty five.

then your hand starts moving on his upper thigh. slow, idle, the kind of absent touch that might be accidental on anyone else but on you, right now, tilted toward him with your eyes tracking his profile you're gazing at him with pure lust.

he watches the road. says nothing. when your hand shifts onto his bulge he picks it up and deposits it back in your own lap without comment.

you put it straight back.

he lets it stay, this time, because clearly moving it isn't working and he's a practical man.

this turns out to be a mistake, because you start rubbing there too. he tries to stare straight forward and focus on the road, but his pants are undeniably getting tighter.

"simon," you say, in a voice that is different from your usual voice — lower, a little slow, the careful diction of someone choosing words through a pleasant haze.

"mm."

"you're so pretty" you say, very seriously.

"not the word most people would use," he says.

"well you are pretty. so pretty si." in some form of cuteness aggression, you lean over the console and softly bite his neck. then you decide its not enough and give sloppy kisses down his neck.

"lovie sit back."

"i am sitting back. i wanna sit on your face though siiii." you mumble against his neck and your nails drag lightly against his bulge. his jaw tightens incrementally. "simon."

"ten minutes," he says. "we're ten minutes away."

"i just want—"

"i know what you want."

"and?"

"and ten minutes."

you consider this for a moment, apparently decide ten minutes is a negotiating position rather than a statement of fact, and say something directly against his ear — low and unhurried and specific enough that every muscle in his body contracts simultaneously. the car remains in its lane. it takes more effort than he would like to admit.

"christ," he says, very quietly, to the windscreen.

"is that a yes," you say, settling back with the satisfaction of someone who knows exactly what they've done.

"it's a keep your hands where they are and let me drive," he says.

you keep your hands where they are. you also keep talking — which, as it turns out, is considerably worse than the hands. a steady, uninhibited stream of observations and suggestions delivered in the candid cheerful tone of someone who has temporarily misplaced their filter, all of it aimed at him, all of it landing exactly where you intend it to. simon drives. he keeps his eyes on the road. he responds to none of it, which he's aware is not the same as not hearing it, and the ten minutes stretch out into something that feels significantly longer than ten minutes.

he gets you inside.

the lift is its own specific trial. you're facing him with your back against the panel, arms loose around his neck, looking up at him with those eyes that have always been a problem. you're talking again, softer now, something about his hands and something else about what you'd like and he reaches past you and hits the button for your floor and keeps his eyes forward and breathes steadily and thinks about absolutely nothing at all.

"you're ignoring me," you say.

"i'm listening to every word," he says, which is true and is the problem.

you stop twice on the way to your door. once to tell him something about his shoulders that he files away against his better judgement, and once to make a suggestion so detailed and vulgur that he stops walking entirely for a moment, stands in the middle of the hallway, and takes a slow breath before continuing. you look pleased with yourself.

he gets you through the door. gets you to the bedroom. you sit on the edge of the bed and reach for him with both hands, expression open and warm and wanting, and he catches your hands gently and holds them.

"lie down," he says.

"come with me," you say.

"in a minute. i'm getting you water."

you lie back against the pillow with a small sound that does nothing helpful for the ache in his pants, and he turns and goes to the kitchen.

when he gets back he sees you face down on the pillow, one arm thrown wide, your shoes finally abandoned somewhere between the door and the bed. there you were, fast asleep in your dream world, a small pool of drool already forming at the corner of your mouth, breathing slow and even and completely, utterly unconscious.

simon riley thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. he wants to worship you, get on his knees for you, kiss every part of you like he means it. he’d like to rest his face between your honeyed thighs for the rest of his life, he thinks.

simon riley loves the way you talk to him, like he’s precious. like he’s someone worth softening for, like he’s someone worth anything. he didn’t think he was made for much before he met you. he was just going through life’s motions, slipping through death’s fingers again and again, not knowing why. but now he knows; he knows he was made to love you.

simon riley loves the feeling of you between his arms, how your body is made to fit in his. he’d always felt like a stray dog — no home, person, or feeling to call his own. it was like being lost at sea his whole life. then he found you, he found the way his heart did a little jump when you kissed him so sweetly. you became his home, your lips his altar.

simon riley never dared to take his mask off. not for anyone. he was scared, though he’d never admit it. scared of what they’d find, of what they’d think. scared that they would leave him. but something deep between his ribs told him he could trust you, and so he did. he’ll never forget the feeling of that night, you pressing your lips to each scar and holding him like he was holy, your eyes ghosting over each of his flaws with so much love. he thought that maybe he was dreaming, or dead. maybe he’d reached heaven. but he woke up the next morning with your fingers still curled around his.

simon riley hates being away from you, dreads going on missions because it means he has to leave you. he misses you like an ache somewhere soft in his chest, he misses your sweet giggles and the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you smile. he swears sometimes he can almost feel your hand in his, but he turns around and you’re not there. and so he stares at your picture till late, the small, tattered one he keeps in his wallet, until his eyelids start to flutter shut. even then he dreams of you.

Hear me out though, you’re at a bar. You’re making out, you’ve had a little too much to drink. Not enough to be completely gone like you’re sure Simon is but enough to be making out with a stranger.

Then you’re back in his truck, he’s practically begging for you to let him fuck you and you say no. You ‘don’t do that type of shit, one night stands and all that’ you say. Simon’s next thing is to beg for a blowjob, you again say no. ‘Part of the boyfriend package’ blah blah blah.

Then Simon delivers his final offer. He is so desperate he offers to pay for a handjob, he cringes after the words come out of his mouth thinking you’d be offended. But to his surprise you say yes. You need the money, and want him to feel good so why the heck not.

And it’s the best damn handjob he’s had in his life.

Should I turn this into a whole fic? Let me know 😊

Major was your best boy.

When you joined the team, the 141 were unsure. How was a dog more skilled than 4 trained killers.

“So lass, tell me. Does he bite on command or only when someone annoys him?” Soap would ask. “Depends, Johnny. Wanna test it?” Would come your reply.

That was until he took down an enemy with one bite to the neck. He came back about covered in blood, just looking for his tennis ball reward - tail wagging.

Soap calls him wee beastie - it earns him a growl. He tries to win him over with dog treats (it half works).

Unsurprisingly, or maybe surprisingly, Major takes a shine to Ghost.

Gaz enjoys playing with him, until he gets too nippy then he realises why he’s got the “don’t fuck with me” patch on his harness.

When you’re hit, Major takes down the enemy and stays by your side, not leaving until Ghost and Soap get there.

Major stands guard, not leaving until the boys have you stable.

When you’re back at base, Major lets ghost get yours and the enemies blood off his fur and snoot. He makes sure there’s no injury to him. “Easy lad. Let’s have a look.”

The nurses try and shoo Major off the bed when Ghost sneaks him into the room, but one look at the four men surrounding the bed has her retreating.

Here me out: poly!141 × healthy polyamory!reader

Sure, the boys have had their fair share of additional partners over the years as a polycule. But they've been burned more times than they can count when the group attempted to bring someone into their relationship. Sometimes, the prospective partner flat out ignored Kyle in favor of the other three. Other times, they were too scared of Simon, at times flat-out, finding the man unattractive under the mask. Many couldn't keep up with how high energy and clingy Johnny could be, and some even called John 'to old.'

And honestly? Fuck that. The 141 have an unspoken agreement. It's all or nothing when it comes to adding in a fifth. They love one another too much (or is it trauma bonding from work?) to allow even one of them to be left behind in the dating pool.

So. When they meet healthy polyamory!reader and, through a series of events, end up asking them out, the boys are a little stunned (full on, deer caught in headlights moment), to say the least:

What do you mean Reader uses the 141's favorite colours to keep track of dates and time spent with each of them in their day planner? Gaz no longer feels left out or blatantly ignored in favor of his boyfriends. He can see his favorite colour right there in their planner. His time.

What do you mean Reader actively finds fun activities to do while on dates with Johnny? Always looking for ways to help the man burn off his extra energy, and when it gets too much, they actually tell the Scot. Reader doesn't push him away or lash out when he becomes what some have called 'too much.'

What do you mean Reader slows down and enjoys letting John lead their time together? His slight age difference never pointed out as it's, truly, not worth bringing up. They're both adults, after all.

And, excuse me, what do you mean they aren't immediately trying to pressure Simon into removing his wide assortment of surgical masks and balaclavas? Letting the poor man keep his boundaries until he's comfortable to further their relationship at his own pace.

Just a thought. Will this become a ficlet? Maybe.

Sleepy! Simon who wakes up his toddler by snoring like a malfunctioning engine about to explode. Y/N smacks his ass to wake him up– might even pinch his nipples like a human defibrillator. (In his defence, the man is surviving on months of catastrophic sleep deprivation.)

Sleepy! Simon who is horrifically shocked when his wife shoves the baby’s pacifier into his mouth to silence the snores. “Sucky sucky, big boy.”

Sleepy! Simon who wakes up grumbling about having the sweetest dream of him and you scuba-diving in an indoor aquarium, like that somehow explains anything. Not to forget, you have phobia of water.

Y/N who is already livid after hearing their baby cry at this ungodly hour – entirely thanks to her husband; decides she’s had enough and chooses violence shoving the pacifier back in his mouth. "Do you feel like a fish yet!!!"

Sleepy! Simon is still processing life, pacifier stuck in his mouth, when his wife returns to bed and deposits their wailing baby girl directly onto his chest like a consequence.

Y/N who turns on ambient rainforest sounds on her phone and immediately dozes off. “Night. You did this–now pay. Love you sooo much.”

Sleepy! Simon makes the dumbest faces until his baby girl finally settles. Her big brown eyes twinkle, clearly thinking her dad is an absolute nutjob.

Y/N who wakes up later to see Simon snoring lightly, their baby sleeping happily beside him babbling in sleep. Her chubby little legs planted at his tummy as he holds her gently.

Sleepy! Simon who is woken up after hours with a soft kiss on his head from his wife. But the threat that follows "I'm gonna wear a sock and walk miles in it, from the bakery to the butcher shop to that abandoned factory and come back and shove it in your mouth if you snore like this again", knocks every bit of sleep out of his system.

Y/N who smiles watching him laugh rubbing his eyes. They both look down as their sweetheart baby babbles happily watching her mum dad.

"Dada pig" she giggles pointing at Simon.

"Huh...Darlin...the fuck who taught you that" Simon blinks sitting upright. Out of everything she could call her dad. This is what she chooses– oink oink???

Before he could turn and face you again, you rush out of the room laughing. Yeah, being a Riley was chaotic.

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A/N: Yeah I should stay away from writing when sleepy...uh. Comments, likes, reboobs are appreciated. Luv u all🩷

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