#cod x gn!reader

But he quickly feels bad because you give him the silent treatment. Refusing his pets, hiding under tables. You even refuse grooming time!!! You loved when he would brush your hair for you!! (╥ ω ╥)

So while you’re sleeping he gently scoops you up with those thick arms of his. giving you small kisses and coos while you wake up. And when you try to escape, legs kicking and wiggling with all your might! he just traces your hole. His finger against it. Finally pushing in when you whined enough. His two thick fingers pumping over and over as he whispers small apologies to you.

“Oh, I know, I know, m’such a meanie. M’sorry I’ll never yell again okay? Bunny? You gotta answer or I’ll stop”

He’s four paces ahead of you at any one time, a big man has big strides already but airport Simon is on another level.

He holds the passports, insists on it, “course I trust you, jus wanna make sure it’s nice and safe” and obviously he’d never lose your passports (if you ignore that one time he forgot his passport and had to ring Johnny in the middle of the night to drive it over in time)

Simon’s bags are always stopped. Does not matter how many or how few bags he has or how strategic he is with packing security always flag him and check his luggage. Catch him grumbling as security rifle through his things and try not to laugh at the poor sod.

He follows you around in duty free, whatever you’re looking at or smelling he’s right behind you. You drown his wrists in perfume and he just accepts his fate as your test subject. “Yeah, yeah smells luvly, whatever you think is right.”

Somehow always guesses your gate number correctly it’s like a sixth sense, he can just pick a number and you check the screen and yup he’s right.

And a little extra about you both on the flight, no one’s paying extra money to book their seats so y’all end up with seat roulette. Simon is chronically uncomfortable, he just doesn’t fit in the tiny packed together seats of an airplane.

With any luck, if the flight’s looking pretty empty, you get a row all to yourself and make your way over to pick Simon up, who’s currently squished between a loud teenage boy and an old woman half falling asleep on him. Looks up at you with pleading eyes because, “Please love, I can’t spend the whole flight like this.” You take pity and bring him back to your free row.

Simon Riley who notices you before he understands why.

Simon Riley who clocks the way you linger at the edges of rooms, not shy, but careful. Who sees how you flinch at sudden noise, how your eyes track exits without meaning to. Sweet little thing, but you always looked like you were on verge of tears.

Simon Riley who doesn’t know how to deal with it. You cried on the first date because he made a remark that would have been brushed off as banter to the average person.

Simon Riley who starts adjusting without realizing it. Positioning himself so you’re never backed into a corner, keeping his voice low when he speaks to you, stepping in when conversations turn sharp. Small changes. Instinctive ones. He knows that you feel everything.

Simon Riley who becomes careful with you. Who watches your hands more than your face. Who learns the difference between your comfortable silence and your overwhelmed one.

Simon Riley who earns your trust not by asking for it, but by being consistent.

Simon’s been missing for months.

At first, it was panic. Sleepless nights. Missed calls. You paced the kitchen floor like a ghost, heart hammering with every unknown number that lit up your phone. Maybe something happened. Maybe he was hurt. Or worse.

But that was before you called the base.

Before some stone-cold voice on the other end told you your husband hadn’t gone missing he’d been deployed. Four months ago. Without a word. No note. No goodbye. No explanation. He left like a shadow and didn’t look back.

And now you’re just angry.

Livid.

Because the man you trusted with your life didn’t even have the decency to tell you he was leaving.

It’s a little after 1 a.m. when you hear it, the dull slam of a car door. Then boots. Heavy and familiar on the pavement outside. You don’t rush to greet him. You don’t cry. You don’t even blink.

You stay in the kitchen, elbow-deep in last night’s dishes because sleep doesn’t visit your side of the bed anymore.

And why would it? That bed hasn’t felt like home since he left it.

You hear the lock click. Then the door creaks open.

Then—silence.

You don’t turn around.

“This how you greet me now?” His voice cuts through the quiet.

You don’t answer.

“Seriously?” he says, sharper. “I come back from hell, and I get a cold shoulder?”

That makes you laugh but it’s hollow. Bitter. You set a dish down with too much force. “Hell? You think you’re the only one who’s been through it?”

Simon stiffens in the doorway.

You turn, eyes sharp. “You left, Simon. You vanished. I thought something happened to you. I thought you were dead.”

“I couldn’t tell you—”

“Don’t give me that shit,” you cut him off. “You didn’t even try. You let some random operator be the one to break the news. You didn’t have the balls to tell your own wife that you were leaving.”

He steps forward, jaw tight. “You think it was easy for me? You think I wanted to go?”

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“I was protecting you—”

“Don’t.” You hold up a hand, shaking your head. “Don’t feed me that line. You didn’t protect me. You abandoned me.”

Silence floods the room again, thick and bitter.

He exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Why not?”

You look away, voice cracking despite yourself. “Because talking leads to arguing. Arguing leads to nowhere. And I’m just… I’m tired, Simon. I’m so tired.”

He watches you quietly. “Okay. Let’s go to sleep then.”

You let out a soft scoff. “Not like that you aren’t.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

You look at him for the first time in full really look. His face is tired. Eyes dull. Shoulders weighed down like he’s carrying something he can’t put down. But it’s not enough. Not after everything.

“Like a soldier.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then another.

Something in his expression falters.

“I want to sleep with my husband,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Not some stranger in a uniform. Not someone who shuts me out, who leaves without a word, who walks back in like I should be grateful.”

The pain is all over your face in the tight press of your lips, the furrow in your brow, the shine in your eyes you refuse to let fall.

“Is that too much to ask?”

You don’t wait for an answer. You turn your back and walk toward the bedroom, the weight of your words dragging behind you like chains.

Simon stays in the kitchen, frozen. Still in his boots. Still not the man you married.

And the silence swallows him whole.

Simon raises a brow at that statement and sits down in the nearby chair. His eyes on you. “Is that so, lovely?”

“Mhm,” you agree with a confident nod and loopy. “No. My boyfriend is prettier than you.”

He isn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment or as an insult, for now Simon decides to not comment on it. “You must be lucky to have such a pretty boyfriend then.” He grins and sips his cheap hospital coffee.

“Oh, I am! He’s pretty and cool and strong. And you should be careful because he’ll be here soon!” You pout, shoving your lower lip forward.

Cute. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gone before he shows up.” Simon reassures you and pats your thigh.

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smitten!konig loves his forced bedtime !!

your shared bedroom has a little bit of everything that's apart of both of your lives. it has konig's mask on the dresser, your jewelry strewn about, his favorite jacket slung at the end of the bed frame.

so, when you drag him up the hallway and into your room and sit him on the bed, telling him to get ready to sleep, he doesn't complain.

konig's favorite thing to do is to watch you get ready for bed. he just thinks you're so cute.

the thing is, you think you look absolutely hideous. there's curlers and/or a bonnet on your hair, at least like... ten pimple patches stuck on your face, and a toothbrush hanging off of your mouth that has toothpaste foam all over it.

and konig adores it. the toilet he's sitting on to watch you is claustrophobic; the space between the counter and the wall is too small for him, so he kinda just has to squish his body between it. but it's okay! he's used to it, and he'll do anything just to watch you prepare for bed!!

sometimes you'll put a clay face mask on him. he hates the texture and it smells funny, but he'll do it because you're doing it, too.

he gets soo distracted by your face when you're both brushing your teeth. he likes the way your cheeks puff out so you can scrub in hard-to-get places. he likes looking at your mouth because it's absolutely lathered in toothpaste foam (as mentioned before) and he just thinks that's so cute! konig likes to kiss you right after you spat out your toothpaste because then your breath is nice and minty. his tongue invading your mouth to get a taste, and you have to stand there and deal with it >:(

koing likes your night clothes, too. (assuming you wear any) he'll stare with wide eyes if you wear his shirts that he doesn't wear anymore. konig likes to lay on top of you and sniff your skin because he can smell the lingering scent of himself on you, which makes his mind blank.

speaking of him liking the shirts you wear to bed, konig loves it when you wear an extremely sized overshirt to bed. it's falling off your shoulder, you're accidently flashing your tit/pec at him occasionally (arguably his favorite part) and he is salivating.

"Mein Gott, du bist so süß.." konig whispers, more to himself then to you.

"did you say something?" you murmur, your voice in that sluggish, sultry tone that has his cheeks burning hot.

"neinneinnein--" konig stumbled. "vhen-- uh.. vhen are you coming to bed?"

"soon, baby." you answer, leaning over the counter to poke and prod at your face.

when you finally turn off the bathroom light and sit on the bed, konig wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you down into bed with him. not nudging at your whining--"i didn't plug my phone in!" "i need to set my alarm!" "i want to turn the fan on!"--and sneaking his hands under your shirt. (again, assuming you wear one. he much prefers when you don't.) he'll groan when you demand he does something for you before you sleep, like switching on a night light or refilling your water bottle. no matter how much he huffs, konig always gets up and does it.

when your needs are met, (because konig insists that he does anything you want before going to bed) he moves close to you, his chest pressed against your back. (or the other way around) he feels the safest with you next to him, so it doesn't take long for him to be drooling against your skin.

COD Men X GN Reader

Price, Simon, Johnny, Kyle, König, Horangi + Bonus

NOT PROOF READ

This is all tongue and cheek. Enjoy!

Simon

Simon was a very.. Well thought out man.

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader

Simon wasn't used to sitting still and just existing.

His mind always rattled with what needed to be done, constantly humming with a mental list of duties he had to complete — less he wanted to get an earful from price and a bark of orders.

Always on his feet, a sturdy mountain of muscle that contemplated every little thing. He couldn't relax and he was half-convinced that he'd forgotten how to loosen the knots in his body, coiled into his flesh that he no longer could unravel. But then he met you.

You coddled him, soft hands that worked meticulously — almost reverently — to ease out the tensions in his shoulders. Murmured sweet words into his ear that had him melting like candy left out too long on the windowsill.

His duffle bag fell against the hardwood floor with a dull thud and his feet carried him to where you were, unceremoniously falling into your lap, earning a laugh from you.

Your massive boyfriend, curled as much as he could manage atop you — never quite fitting, yet stubbornly trying every time. A grumble vibrated through his chest, but it dissolved the moment your fingers carded through his dirty-blonde hair. He went pliant, soft as warm putty being shaped by your touch. "You need a shower," You'd comment, but no real urgency in your words.

"Later," he said gruffly, as it was more important to him to be in your arms than wash away the grime that clung to him.

"You're like some stubborn lapdog, Si," You giggled softly, and the noise went straight to Simon's heart, tucked away carefully for him to replay in his mind when he's deployed in some foreign country.

A quiet exhale left your lips, knowing there were no words you could say to get him off your lap — but you didn't really complain.

You didn't care if he was the clingiest man on earth, just as long as he came back to you in one piece.