#cod blurb

[superhoeva]

vacation!john price makes the most of his time off by folding you–the pretty thing he caught staring at his rental boat–in half so he can come inside you nearly every night. he's bending your legs in ways you didn't know possible, pushing your thighs to your chest so he can see the mess you're leaking around him. sometimes, if he's lucky, the light will catch you just right, the man to grunting and cooing at the shining ring of cream at the base of his cock.

"f-fuck, you're deep... feels... feels good." your praise comes out as a stuttering, slurred mess. "really fuckin'–oh, god–s'good."

"christ... s'too bad holiday's almost done, dove." john groans out the reminder, a touch of sad slipping in just under the puffs of pleased breaths. you whine at the hand he presses onto your belly, the sound and sight distracting john, who just tilts his head with pride in his grin. "oh, fuckin' looook a'that, huh. think i might have'ta take ya back home with me... would be a shame ta let a face 'n hole as pretty as yours get away too easy, wouldn't it?"

all you can do is gush and slosh around john as he keeps stuffing himself inside you. holding your knees and puckering your lips every few thrusts so he'll rub his hairy front against your chest and belly every time he bends to kiss you.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[wntersdoe]

18+ mdni

cw: minor mention of face sitting + being eaten out, simon being a freak, simon being very engrossed with your tiddies, spitting.

boyfriend!simon riley who's obsessed with your tits after you got them pierced.

It’s not like he wasn't already incredibly devoted to them. That man loved squishing your tits together and nuzzling his face in between them. Or falling asleep on your chest after a rough day and having you card your fingers through his hair until he eventually would fall asleep and snore like an old bastard.

Simon would leave marks all over them, take a picture for keepsake just so he could jerk off to them whenever you were gone or he'd be out for deployment. He even had an own folder for them on his phone. Yeah, he is very dedicated man.

There were times when looking at them through a picture wasn't enough and he'd end up video calling you just to beg to see them for a bit. Because he was that hooked on them.

And now that they were pierced? Oh boy, they are never EVER going to feel neglected. During sex he'll spit a fat glob of saliva onto the metal barbells, watching it dribble down the underside of your tits before licking it up and sucking on em like a starved dog.

''I could play with these puppies for hours, lovie.''

It's like he's become more filthy after you got them done.

He's noticed you like when he pulls on them as well. Especially when you've changed the jewelry to those with the little chains on them, so he can hook a thumb into each one and tug. Whether it's when you're riding him and he's sitting there all smug, pulling on them just to make you whine and plead.

Or when you're sitting on his face and he’ll reach up to play with them as your grinding down on his tongue so desperately, while he's eating you out like a five course meal.

He'll also pinch at them whenever you're causing a hissy fit so you'll gasp and try pushing his hands away and practically giving him the biggest death glare ever.

Which honestly doesn't work because you're simply just too cute to attempt to look serious.

''Si!'' You'll exclaim and pout all sweet while crossing your arms under your chest, making your tits push up so nicely and Simon's eyes are immediately fixated on them, watching the way the nipple piercings show through your shirt.

And even though he'd already spent about twenty minutes worshipping them in bed, he definitely wouldn't mind throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and taking you back, just do it all over again.

''Mhm?'' Simon barely hums in response as he's fully focusing on your tits, and you'll roll your eyes at him with a heavy sigh.

''You’re such a perv.''

a/n: give me a man as obsessed as him pls. this little blurb came to me at 6AM after having totally messed up my sleep schedule... sigh

likes, comments & reblogs are very much appreciated ♡

[evie-floyd]

Simon Riley does not look like a man who has a pet.

He never talks about his home life. Some of the new recruits joke that he lives on base since he’s always first there and last to leave.

So you’re surprised when he first invites you over after a few dates.

There’s a cat tree and a few springs and jingle balls scattered around the floor.

“Simon…do you…do you have a cat?”

Simon gives one loud whistle and you see a flash of pink skid around the corner.

Stood in front of you is a cat. Not just any old moggy. A sphinx cat, naked as the day it was born.

“This is sniper.” He doesn’t explain further as he picks up the cat and positions him on his shoulder, walking through to the kitchen.

Now, Simon takes his responsibility as a dad seriously.

You watch as he grabs down a ceramic cat bowl, the cat staying on his shoulder and watching his every move. “He gets raw, grain free food. Supplement powders and fish oil.”

Later that evening, the cat stares at you as you snuggle into Simon’s side, the TV casting a menacing shadow of the small creature. His eyes narrow.

“Si…I think your cat hates me.”

“Well, he’s just gonna have to learn to share, isn’ he.”

Little did Simon know, he was quickly going to be replaced as favourite human.

[mohawkwontstop]

as comfortable as simon has gotten around you, wearing full sleeves and sweatpants was more out of habit than to hide himself, really.

he's rewarded you with a full view of his soft and pudgy midsection, even his pecs when you were too worked up to finish on your fingers and his words alone. more than once. doesn't mean you were anywhere near used to him showing skin

you're helping yourself to a glass of water when he walks in and you nearly choke. he's wearing a cut sleeve tee and shorts. full tattoo sleeve on display and the biceps???? for free???? all those scars painting his legs which could sooo easily crush your head, maybe he could hold you in a chokehold with his thighs if he liked-

"Still with us, love?" he asks after his fourth attempt to get your attention

"huh- yeah? yeah," the way you hold eye contact for too long to hide how you were ogling him just a minute ago does nothing to suppress your victorian fascination. he's showing skin. he's showing his skin bloody fucking hell

he mumbles something about the heat messing with everyone's head before grabbing himself a bottle of water from the fridge

Ohhhh its the heatwave. right. rightrightright

he looks back at you from where he's gulping the water down, the water escaping his lips running down the side of his neck and disappearing under the neckline. he knows what he did. he also knows why you're half smiling to yourself. you know what you're going to do just as he puts that water bottle down

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Ghost who dies fairly young due to some medical condition, you were his one and only partner and Simon loved you so fucking much, even proposed to you though he knew deep down it would never get to happen. And in the days before his death he begs and begs you to move on after him, he says things like "you're too young to be a widow luv” or “you deserve to be happy while I’m gone” but even though he begs you to promise him that, you just can't. You love Simon and can't imagine loving anyone else. 

Soap who made a promise to Ghost to look after you, no matter what. You two slowly start getting closer, first bonding over the shared grief from losing Simon, then simply becoming friends. And over time you finally finally fall in love with Soap, and finally you two go to his grave together to tell Simon you were able to do the one thing he wanted you to do.

[murdersnerd]

“Oi, Gaz!” Soap whisper shouted, grabbing the other sergeant’s arm.

“What?” Gaz asked, yanking his arm free from the Scotsman’s grasp.

“A lass just walked into L.t.’s office.” Soap pointed out.

“A living one?” Gaz asked, peeking around soap to look down the hallway.

“Yes!” Soap whisper shouted at him again, “And she looked..normal.”

The two took a slower than casual stroll down the hallway, glancing hard into the fogged glass of Ghost’s door. They were barely able to make out two figures sitting at his desk.

Soap grabbed Gaz’s arm with a mischievous grin, and before Gaz could stop him, Soap knocked on the Lieutenant’s door. It was silent for a moment before the door opened a crack, “what do you need, Soap?”

It was obvious that Ghost didn’t want them inside his office, but unfortunately for him, Johnny was far too comfortable with Ghost’s standoffishness. He weaseled his way into the room, “I left somethin’ in ‘ere, my good pen.”

“I don’t- bloody hell.” Ghost, for all his strength, wasn’t able to bully his sergeant back out of the door.

And you, well… You were trying so hard not to laugh at the wide-eyed expression you were getting. You watched as the man’s eyes went from you, to the desk where your lunch was spread, over to Simon. The latter sighed heavily, not even bothering to attempt to stop Gaz from following into the room. It was obvious they were waiting for an explanation, continuing to take in the sight in front of them.

Simon looked at you apologetically, knowing there was no way he was going to get you alone again before your visit on base ended, “this is the missus.”

“The missus?!” Soap about shouted, which finally made you laugh. Yeah, it was going to be a long lunch.

Edit: Here’s a part two!

[z0mi3]

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.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto | i wrote this while listening to Not You Too by Drake at 4 am !! o(≧∇≦o)

[starrussforsimon]

TW: none

Third person

No mentions of y/n

Tags: Fluff/comfort

Word count: 657

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ⋆ ˚｡ 𖦹 ⋆｡° ᯓ★

Clingy Simon

Simon had never been touch-starved in his life until her.

Now he acted like a man dying of dehydration every time she touched him.

He was sprawled across her lap on the couch, all broad shoulders and heavy muscle, one arm looped around her waist while she played with his hair. His eyes were closed behind those stupid old-man reading glasses he wore at home, lashes resting softly against scarred skin, expression completely peaceful for once. The television was running in the background, forgotten.

Her fingers scratched lightly against his scalp, and Simon actually melted.

A deep rumble left his chest as he pushed closer, burying his face against her stomach like a massive overgrown guard dog trying to crawl into her ribs.

she laughed softly. “You’re clingy tonight.”

“Mm.”

Not denial there.

She combed her fingers through the silver strands near his temples and watched his entire body loosen. This terrifying man — this giant, scarred soldier that made people nervous just by entering a room — practically purred for her affection.

He got shy about it. the second she tilted his face up in her hands, his ears started turning pink.

“Hi, handsome.” His eyes flicked away immediately. “Don’t start.”

Too late.

She leaned down and kissed his forehead. Then the bridge of his nose. One cheek. Then the scar along his jaw.

Simon made the softest, most embarrassed noise she’d ever heard from a grown man.

“Lovie—”

Another kiss. The corner of his mouth. His burn scar. The spot beneath his eye.

And now he was fully blushing, cheeks red beneath rough stubble while he stared at her like she’d just told him she hung the moon herself.

It was absurd.

This man had probably killed people with his bare hands before breakfast and now he looked seconds away from hiding his face in a pillow because she kissed him too much.

“Oh my God,” she whispered in delight. “You’re so cute.”

“am not.”

“You are.”

She grabbed his face and Squished

Simon blinked in shock as she compressed his cheeks between both hands, his lips smushed together while she grinned at him with genuine cuteness aggression.

“Look at your FACE.”

He was glaring now, except it completely lost all intimidation when his cheeks were being held hostage.

“Woman.”

“your scars are so pretty.” That stopped him cold. Every single time.

Simon went still beneath her hands while she traced the burn stretching along his neck and disappearing beneath his shirt collar. Most people looked away from it. She never did.

She touched it gently like it was something precious.

Something loved.

“I mean it,” she murmured. “I love this one.” His throat bobbed.

Then her fingers drifted lower, brushing the damaged skin along his side where the burn spread unevenly across his ribs.

Simon looked at her with that awful vulnerable expression he only ever wore in private. Like he still couldn’t understand why she looked at ruined parts of him with affection instead of pity.

“You’re strange,” he muttered quietly.

She leaned down until their foreheads touched.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m in love with you.”

And Simon — terrifying, hardened, emotionally constipated Simon Riley — actually got clingier afterward.

That night he lay practically on top of her in bed, one leg hooked between hers, face buried against her chest while she scratched her nails lightly over his scalp. His full body weight pressed into her like he needed constant reassurance she was still there.

Every few minutes he’d press sleepy kisses against her shoulder or collarbone. Possessive. Needy. Soft. She smiled into his hair.

“You know,” she whispered, “for someone so scary, you’re basically a golden retriever.”

Simon tightened his arms around her waist immediately.

“Only for you.”