#cod drabbles

The team had been giving him shit for weeks.

Price, with that knowing smirk, muttering about “midlife crises” under his breath during briefings. Gaz, less subtle, whistling low whenever Simon’s phone buzzed with a notification. Soap, the bastard, had gone so far as to draw a crude cartoon on the whiteboard in the rec room—a hulking figure with a skull mask holding hands with a stick figure in a miniskirt.

Simon Riley let them talk.

Fucking let them.

Because every joke, every elbow to the ribs, every envious glance was a trophy.

He was forty-seven. Scarred from temple to jaw, built like a brick shithouse, and his girlfriend was twenty-four, with eyes that could stop a man’s heart and a body that made his cock ache just thinking about it. The age gap wasn't a gap. It was a canyon. And every time one of the lads saw her waiting for him outside the base gates—all curves and soft smiles and that sundress that made his mouth go dry—Simon felt a surge of pure, possessive pride.

She was his.

Tonight, she was on his couch, curled against his chest in a thin tank top and cotton shorts. The flat around them was quiet. Dark, save for the glow of the telly playing some film neither of them was watching.

Her hand was tracing a scar on his forearm, feather-light.

“Simon?”

“Yeah, love?” His voice was gravel, rough from a lifetime of shouting orders and breathing smoke.

She shifted, tilting her head to look up at him. Those wide brown eyes—Christ, they undid him. “I want to. Tonight. I want all of it.”

He knew what she meant. They'd danced around it for months, this line neither had crossed. Heavy petting through clothes. His fingers knuckle-deep while she gasped his name. Her mouth—fuck, that perfect, inexperienced mouth—wrapping around his cock until he had to pull her off before he painted her tonsils white. But never the full act. She’d been shy about it, nervous.

Now, she watched him with a steadiness that made his throat tight.

“You sure?” He cupped her jaw, thumb sliding over her lower lip.

A nod. “I’m sure.” A pause. Then, quieter: “I haven't— I mean, you’re the first. I’ve never…”

Simon’s eyes flared. The possessive beast in his chest roared. A twenty-four-year-old virgin. Looking at him like that. Wanting him to be the first. His cock surged against the denim of his jeans, a thick, demanding pulse.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Is that okay?” Her voice wavered.

“Okay?” He shifted, turning her body so she was under him on the leather couch, his bulk caging her in. One thick thigh nudged between her legs. “Sweetheart. It’s fucking perfect. But we go slow. You understand?”

She bit her lip and nodded again.

He started with her mouth. A kiss that wasn’t gentle...Simon Riley didn’t do gentle, not truly...but it was controlled. His tongue pressed past her lips, slick and hot, and she whimpered into it, neck arching. His hand slid from her jaw to her tit, palming the full weight through the thin cotton. No bra. Her nipple was a hard point against his palm, and he rolled it between thumb and forefinger until her hips bucked up against his thigh.

“That feel good?” he grunted, mouth moving to her throat.

“Yeah. Simon, yeah.”

He dragged the tank top up and off. Her tits were perfect. Full and pale, topped with dusky-pink nipples that tightened further under his gaze. Simon’s mouth latched onto one, sucking hard, and she cried out, back bowing. His other hand found the waistband of her shorts, dipping inside, and holy fuck, she was drenched. The cotton was soaked through, clinging to the plump swell of her cunt.

“God, listen to you.” He dragged his fingers through the slick, smearing it over her inner lips. “This pussy’s been waiting for me, hasn’t it?”

She turned crimson, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “I...”

“Say it.” He pressed one thick finger against her entrance, not pushing in, just letting her feel the pressure. “Tell me this soaked little cunt’s been wanting my cock.”

“It has.” The words were broken, choked. “Wanted you. Wanted this. For months.”

That was enough. Simon kissed her again, deep and filthy, while his finger pushed inside. One digit, slow and steady. Her cunt clenched around it—Christ, so fucking tight it made his head swim. He could feel every ridge, every hot, clinging inch. Her hymen was there, a delicate resistance at the tips of his senses, and he withdrew before he could break it. Not yet.

He worked her open with one finger, then two, scissoring gently. Her slick coated his knuckles, leaking down his palm. A wet, obscene sound filled the room every time he pushed back in.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Her eyes, glazed and desperate, met his.

“You’re going to come on my fingers first. Then we’ll take the rest. Need you relaxed.” His thumb found her clit—a swollen, eager bud peeking from its hood...and circled it in slow, grinding strokes. “Fuck, that’s a pretty clit. Swollen up nice and plump for me.”

She bucked. Gasped. Her thighs tried to clench shut, but his own legs kept them spread wide. The sounds she made...high-pitched, keening, entirely involuntary—went straight to his dick.

“Simon... Simon, I’m going to...”

“Let it go. Now.”

She shattered. Her cunt clamped down on his fingers in rhythmic, fluttering pulses, a gush of slick soaking his hand. He watched her face: mouth open on a silent scream, eyes squeezed shut, cheeks flushed a violent pink. The scent of her sex flooded the air, musky and sweet, and Simon groaned, grinding his erection against the couch cushion.

As her breathing steadied, he lifted his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. She watched, transfixed, a fresh bloom of colour racing down her chest.

“Taste that?” He licked his lips. “That’s what I’ve been missing. Now. We move to the bedroom. No more waiting.”

He stood, hauling her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, and carried her down the hall. The sheets were cool against her bare back when he laid her down. He stripped with brutal efficiency—shirt, jeans, boxers—until he was naked, and her eyes dropped to his cock.

Her breath left her in a rush.

Simon’s cock was… a lot. A fat, ruddy trunk of meat, curving slightly upward from a dense thicket of dark blond curls. Veins ran along the shaft like rivers on a topographical map. The head was a deep, swollen mushroom, already glossed with a bead of pre-cum. His balls hung heavy below, tightly furred, drawn up in anticipation.

“That’s… that’s going inside me?” Her voice was tiny.

“It is.” He settled between her legs, the broad purple tip nudging against her sodden slit. “And you’re going to fucking take it. Every inch. But first—” He leaned down, mouth hovering over hers. “...you tell me this is what you want. Use my name.”

“Simon. Simon, I want you to fuck me.” Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Please.”

The head caught her entrance.

He pushed.

The resistance was immediate...a tight, elastic clutch that had him gritting his teeth against the urge to drive home in one brutal thrust. Her cunt stretched around the invasion of his cockhead, the puffy inner lips parting wide, slick smearing down his shaft. She whimpered, nails biting into his skin.

“Easy. Easy, sweetheart. Breathe through it.” His voice was strained. “Fuck, you’re gripping my cock so good. Feel that? That’s just the tip.”

Her face was a warzone of sensation...pleasure and pain and overwhelming fullness.

Another inch.

The hymen tore. A sharp cry. A single spot of blood, tiny, mixing with the glisten of her arousal on his shaft. Simon froze, letting her adjust, murmuring filthy encouragements against her ear.

“Good girl. Taking this fat cock so well. This pussy’s mine now. First one ever in here. Understand?” He pulled back a fraction, then sank another inch deeper. “Made for me.”

“More.” Her legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his arse. “Simon, please. Fuck me. Properly.”

He gave her what she wanted.

A slow withdrawal until only the tip remained, her cunt clinging desperately, reluctant to let him go. Then a long, deliberate plunge back in. Her slick squelched around him, a wet chorus that grew louder as he found a rhythm. Her tits bounced with every thrust, rippling in hypnotic circles, the flesh shimmering under the dim bedroom light.

Simon propped himself on one forearm, the other hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. He watched where their bodies joined—the way her cunt stretched, impossibly, around his girth. The plump lips gripping him, the swollen clit peeking out and begging for attention. He brought his thumb to it again, pressing down.

She screamed.

A proper, full-throated scream that he had to muffle with his mouth.

“That’s it. Take it. Every fucking inch.” His hips snapped harder, a wet slap of skin on skin. His heavy balls thumped against her perineum with each thrust, her slick coating them, threads of it stringing between their bodies. “This cunt is drenched for me. Doused. Fucking made to be split open on my cock.”

Her eyes rolled back. She was cresting again, a babbling, incoherent mess, and Simon felt his own orgasm building—a pressure at the base of his spine, a tightening below his balls.

He was going to fill this tight, virgin pussy.

A round ricochets off the concrete inches from your skull. Too close for comfort.

"Christ," you hiss, ducking lower to save your brains from painting the graffiti-covered walls.

"Oi, stay focused," Simon mutters, steady beside you. Calm, like he isn't in the eye of the storm.

Johnny, ever so eager to get a word, shouts across the hall: "Focused? The hell's tha supposed t'mean? [y/n]'s nearly had her face shot off!"

"Still might," Ghost replies flatly. "Wouldn't be much of a loss."

Your head snaps toward him. He doesn't so much as flinch when a round grazes his boot.

"Meant tactically." he lies without missing a beat.

Johnny barks out a laugh, even with bullet fragments smashing against the brick. "Bloody hell, L.t., that how you flirt?"

Kyle is just as easily chuffed. "Romantic as sharpnel that one."

Simon's voice cuts in, gravelly and low: "If I were flirtin', you'd be beggin' me to stop."

A grenade lands between you and Simon, but he's quick to scoop it, and lob it to the other side without a blink when he looks in your direction. A short silence amongst them before the shooting begins again.

Price stands up, adjusting his fisher hat, and spitting at that concrete. "If you lot are done speed dating, we've got a building to clear."

After a whirlwind of an experience that has you hoping he'll stick around late into tomorrow, you're both out of breath and you're laughing as Johnny shuffles towards the shower in the bathroom, trying to be some mix of sexy and silly.

"Gonnae join me hen?" He waggles his brows, adding an exaggerated sway to his hips.

And of course you're going to join him. Not a chance you're going to miss out on more fun in the shower, but you take a moment to just relax and come back into your body as you hear the shower turn on.

You realize too late you forgot to warn him when you suddenly hear the most high-pitched, inhuman screech.

Silly you forgot to mention your hot water took a bit of time to heat up. An old water heater. And Johnny had just stepped right in, still blissed out from the night's previous activities.

soft open mouth kisses where you don’t know where he ends and you begin. tongues, teeth, lips clashing againts one another without any regard. he weighs you down, literally, you’re crushed on the couch under him. your hands on his neck pulling him impossibly closer. he doesn’t stop, losing himself in the taste of your lips as if to mold himself into you.

you finally break apart after what seems like hours, heavily panting, lips swollen and red, pupils wide and blown, his eyes still trained on your lips. he’s hypnotised. he looks so divine like this, hair disheveled, lips nipped and bloody, breaths coming in short and heavy pants. all ruined, all yours.

the two of you don’t waste anytime before welding your lips again and you let out a whine as he slips his hand under your tank top, fingers fiddling with your tits. he takes this as an opportunity and slips his tongue in your mouth again. such a good girl. so soft and pliant.

your hands find their way to his jeans, undoing his button with practice ease and letting your fingers linger near the waistband of his underwear, he groans in your mouth and you lose your composure, kissing him harder, taking his lower lip between your teeth and giving it a little bite.

uhmm so a little post before my exams start again ‼️

masterlist

"Oooh do you have another printed selfie in the background?"

Streamer!Reader, picking up the photo: Oh that? Two more boyfriends, aren't they cute?

"Is- did you take this in an alleyway 💀"

Reader: Yeah they were on a smoke break and recognized me and asked for a photo. I was gonna say no but one of them works in a bakery and he offered me a muffin so, yk

And the chat is going nuts with "why the fuck would you do that", "don't do that" "don't eat the pasteries"

Reader: But I already ate them!

"Jesus Christ"

Reader: I don't think he's in here Simon

I mean obviously it doesn't have to happen like this but I just think its a funny "what if"

Like bro don't go into a random alleyway cuz someone offered you a muffin 😭

🐿️

pack (begrudgingly according to reader) is ASTOUNDED by how streamer!reader picks up boyfriends like crazy ?!? tbh the amount of polaroids in their bg makes pack think… it’s a bit !!

but the moment all of their boyfriends move the discord plans to irl and show up to their house for a movie night, shit gets real!!

price, nikto, and surprisingly? simon are pretty secure, they were pretty aware and actually, adore being able to share (lowk find solidarity in being the lurkers in chat)

könig, soap, and horangi? jealous to an extent, ESPECIALLY KÖNIG !!! you’re sitting on his lap, soap is beefing with horangi and you’re just melting, happy and content with all of your boyfriends

wait

where’s kyle? oh- he’s brooding. biggest pout on his face cause könig isn’t fucking sharing you!!! kyle hadn’t seen you since twitchcon and he missed you!! SO WHY ISN’T KÖNIG SHARING!!!

the boys adore their little streamer!reader <33 some are more willing to share than others but… you give them kisses and cuddles for being here

Fem reader, roommates, fake marriage but it’s only for the gym membership discount

It starts innocently enough with the two of you sharing an apartment together. It’s a small studio apartment, and the two of you share a bed- because it’s cheaper that way bonnie! What do you mean a full sized mattress is too small? Smaller beds are cheaper!!

One night he’s spooning you from behind and murmuring how you first met, the first “date” you went on, the wedding venue you were at, and you thought it was some sort of sleep talking.

But the next day you find out that the local gym has a discount for married couples and he wants that discount.

He even got a matching ring set for the two of you to wear. You thought it was a *little* weird when he coaxed you to try on his sister’s old wedding dress (with his sister’s blessing) and took photos of you in that dress.

What you don’t know is that while on base soap refers to you as the lovely wifey, and the rest of the 141 didn’t believe he had actually managed to find someone.

Oh, absolutely!! I bet it’s easier for him to have someone he trusts cut his hair for him. His beard, though—I imagine he grooms it himself (too many oh, sir, you should cut it this way—), and he prefers a straight razor over a blade. If he really, really trusts you, he'll let you do it for him, but he's been grooming his beard since he was 28, and so. No one does it better than he does. 

His hair, however? He considers it a free cut.

》 WARNINGS: Um. Just some domestic bliss, really. Bantering. Allusions to sexual content, PTSD, and trust issues (not as serious as it sounds; just briefly mentioned). This is basically just gratuitous fluff. This was written with absolutely no discernible characteristics for the Reader—gender-neutral reader 》 WORD COUNT: 1,9k

"Hold still."

"Holdin' as still as I can, love."

His words are thick—little more than a grumble rasped into the collar of his shirt, distorted from the tilt of his head, chin resting on his sternum.