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kyhgwts · 3 months ago

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Summary: Simon comes home from a mission and is in shambles. And you comfort him. That’s it basically.

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader

WARNING(s): soft!reader, mean!simon mentioned but not here, nothing but love.

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You knew Simon from head to toe, left side of brain to right. It does not matter how hard he tried to push you away, you’ll always be there. Not only because you love him so dearly but as well as the fact that you know he isn’t trying to push you away. He’s just scared of the love he thinks he doesn’t deserve.

He can never push you away. Ever.

He had just gotten back from a long mission, dirt and grime clinging onto his body. When he walked in he ignored you on the couch, and rushed to the bathroom. He was in there for about an hour.

When he walked out in a towel, he looked over at you his hands stretching out and fisting. You took notice of it, it was something he did when his mind was too much for him, too many thoughts in his head so he felt like he was suffocating.

He walked into your guys’ shared room, and a few minutes later he was back out in just some sweats.

He just now realized how clean your guys’ apartment looks, and how clean it smelt. Looking around and taking in the calm environment, deeply contrasting to the one he was in before. A candle was lit on the kitchen island, the one you’ve always lit about half an hour before he got home so it already weaved its smell throughout the apartment. The one you got every time you went to the store, because it was your favorite scent, one you’ve stuck to for years.

The floors were shiny, must’ve mopped them. He can see where his dirty boots messed up the cleanliness. Just like how his mess of a self is after you, his war stricken body, contaminating the soft and pure soul that belongs to you.

You were sat on the couch, eating your favorite snack while you watched that stupid tv show you loved so much. He thought it was stupid and drama filled, but you adored it.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, he felt disconnected from his body watching a vile human contaminate a beautiful home.

His dirty clothes were still on the bathroom floor, laid there in all the filth they linger. He was too sick to his stomach to even look at them. He already threw up when he was taking them off.

“Si?” Your soft voice nearly knocked the wind out of him, he whipped back around from looking at the bathroom door.

There you stood right in front of him, pajamas clung to your plush and soft body. Face looking freshly cleaned, hair just a little damp, lips glossy with chapstick.

He looked down at you, and all he could think about was how much he loved you, but also how much he didn’t deserve you.

You were an angel sent from heaven, he doesn’t understand how he landed into your arms. And you never gave up on him, no matter how much he tried pushing you away.

You stood there, looking up at him. All you could think about was how much you missed him, and how much you loved him.

You knew what he was doing, you could tell in the motions of his hands and fingers. In the way he stood, and the gleam in his eyes.

“I love you” you whispered, that’s when he broke.

He nearly made you trip and fall when he engulfed you in his arms.

“Simon!” You squeal as he picks you up walking to the room.

He gets on the bed, still holding you tight. His face hidden in the crook of your neck. He pulled the blankets over the two of you, trying to make sure you don’t disappear out of his arms.

His nose nuzzles into your neck, you hear his sharp intake of breath and sniffle and it nearly breaks you.

“I love you so much, i don’t deserve you. You do so much for me, even when i was an ass to you. You still stuck by my side. And I’m forever fucking grateful for you baby” he whispered through a wavering voice.

“Si…” you whisper, your hands raising to hold the back of his head.

“I love you too, and you do deserve that.” You commanded in such a sweet tone it almost didn’t sound commanding.

He soaked up the scent of you, that always brought him such warmth and calmness. His tears mix in with the water droplets from his hair.

He pulls away, and his eyes are red and he looks so sad the gleam in his eyes making you sob.

“Simon…”

He doesn’t say anything he just kisses you, tasting the chapstick you’ve worn since you’ve first got together. He doesn’t pull away until he needs air. He lays his head on your chest, the sound of your heartbeat lulling him to sleep as you brush your hands through his damp hair.

The house as still as ever, the soft sound of your show still on in the living room the only sound to be heard in the house. As well as his soft snores.

You do love him deeply, and he deserves it more than anyone in this world.

#foryou #kyhgwts #fluff #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #i love him #soft love #ghost x reader #cod #simon riley #why am i crying

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kyhgwts · 5 months ago

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IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE OML YES I LOVE MY BABY SIMON SM

Soap Bends You Over (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Light Dom/Sub play, vaginal fingering, objectification Word Count: 3.9k

Service Dog Johnny Part 12 (full part list here)

“Is Johnny gone already?” you ask the back of Simon’s head when you shuffle to the kitchen the next morning.

“Yeah. Got a complex about being a bother.” Your boyfriend pauses making tea to reach for your hand and bring you to him.

You make a disappointed sound into his chest, sort of wishing you hadn’t abandoned them for the comfort of your own bed in the middle of the night. Your eyes are still puffy from crying so hard, and you really wanted to thank Johnny for the disgusting amount of emotional support. There are never enough thank-you’s for someone like him.

“How are you?” you ask Simon, very aware that you haven’t really had a conversation since everything happened.

He makes a grumbly noise, releasing you. “I’m fine.”

In other words, he’s embarrassed, and feeling like he let you down.

You tip your head up to get a look at his face, and though he meets your eyes, you can practically see the skull mask hiding his features from view. There’s a certain kind of dismissiveness in his expression, which you recognize for what it is: self preservation. That wall has come up, separating you from his emotions, compartmentalizing them even from himself.

He took it harder than he let on last night, and that’s stupid because it’s not his fault.

This version of your boyfriend only responds well to two very different sorts of feedback from you. One, the one he’s hoping for, is that you’ll leave him alone. You’ll let him go off to work and become the mask, and you’ll just wait around and hope that he’s feeling a little more like himself when he comes home. Or, option two…

“Don’t give me that look,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and tilting your chin at a playful angle.

His expression doesn’t shift. “This is my fucking face.”

“Mmm, no.” You set your hands on your hips, staying just inside his personal space and trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

He crosses his arms, giving you a look that tells you he knows what you’re trying to do, and he’s not in the mood. “Going to be late.”

“Tough titties. You should have thought of that before you gave me those eyes.”

The tight silence stretches on, but he should know by now that his usual intimidation tactics don’t work on you. He can flash that dark gaze at you all he wants, but he’s not getting off the hook until you get what you’re after.

Finally he caves. You know the instant it happens, because the corner of his mouth does an annoyed tick. “What’ll it take to get you off my back?”

Immediately dropping your mean-mug, you throw him a pretty smile. “Inspection.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He cricks his neck and lets out a deliciously frustrated exhale, which you love because it means he’s going to play along. After a quick glance at the clock — he has plenty of time — he grabs you under your armpits and hauls you up his chest, cradling your ass so you can comfortably wrap your legs around his waist.

“Now… Let’s see.” You trace your fingers over his cheekbones, keeping a clinical expression on your face for the sake of the bit. “This is normal… okay… nose is normal… chin is… extra cute.”

His mouth twitches while you trace the scar that split his chin at one point. Got him.

You take longer on his eyes, diligently studying the depths of them as he stares back at you. You run your fingers delicately over his lashes and eyebrows a little, and then, “Aha! Found it.”

His whole expression softens when you take his head in your hands, then lean forward to place a kiss right between his eyebrows. “There. Fit for duty.”

“Quite sure?” he asks, squeezing your ass a little.

“Afraid so. No sick days for you.”

“Give us one more, just in case.”

Smiling, you press another kiss to his forehead, and then one to his nose, and then his hand envelops the back of your neck, and he gets a good one right on the mouth. It’s not very long, because you can tell he’s brushed his teeth and you haven’t, but you make it extra good by murmuring soft, pretty things at him between presses of your lips.

“What do you think,” he asks when you pull back a little, “about having Johnny again tonight?”

That’s just the last thing you expected him to say, so you frown a little while you mull it over. “You don’t… need more time?”

“Might be better to get on with it.”

You eye him carefully, trying to figure out if he’s being honest. Logically it makes sense, rip off the bandaid, so to speak. But trauma isn’t logical, and you’re afraid of a regression if he pushes himself too far.

“That is…” he blinks at you, like he’s just thought of something concerning. “You’re not… sore, are you?”

“Oh, no. I’ve been, um. I’ve been very comfortable.”

“Good.” He sets you down carefully, gives your ass one last pat. “Quality inspection, love.”

“Thank you, baby. Hurry up, for god’s sake, you’re going to be late.”

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“Look at you.”

Your heels click across the floor as you cross the kitchen some ten hours later, under Johnny’s rapt gaze. “Hi, Johnny. How’s your arm?”

Simon snags your waist before you can walk past him, lifting you one-armed up to his mouth for a kiss. That’s a good mood kiss if you ever saw one. It instantly relaxes you, gets you in the mood for a pleasurable evening instead of an anxious one.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur, giving him one more peck before he sets you down. He must have just got home, because his hair is still a little wet and messed up from the shower.

“Arm’s fine,” Johnny says pointedly, clearing his throat to get your attention away from the man-candy. “Foot’s the pooched bit. Got this thing now.” He brandishes the clunky plastic boot on his foot that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Fancy,” you remark.

“Pfft, yer one to talk.” Johnny rakes his eyes down your body. “You always show up to work like this?”

“Yep,” Simon answers unhelpfully.

“No.” You shoot your boyfriend a reproachful look, which he simply absorbs with a half-smile. “The district guy’s a misogynist, and he’s finally gone this week, so I dressed up a little to celebrate.”

“What’s that on your hind end, there?” Johnny frowns and waves his finger in the direction of your hip, so you do a confused little twist to try and see what you accidentally sat on.

It’s not until you raise your eyes again - only to be met with two boyish grins - that you realize he was just fucking with you to get a better look at your ass in the pencil skirt. “Ha ha, very funny, MacTavish. You have a librarian kink, don’t you?”

“Fuckin… who doesn’t?”

You roll your eyes. “Well I’m sorry to ruin the fun, but I’m going to change before dinner. Are we doing takeout?”

“Thought about going out tonight,” Simon tells you, offering some of the nuts he’s eating. “Fancy that beer place?”

That actually sounds really fun, going out with the two of them. You know exactly what he means by ‘that beer place,’ the one with the outdoor seating and hanging lights, and his favorite beer. It would be nice to do something friend-y with Johnny for a change.

“That sounds great,” you agree with a smile. Get a little buzzed, laugh at all the dumb jokes, come back and get fucked. You’ll be quite the happy camper for the rest of the evening.

“Want one last look before I change?” you tease Johnny, twisting to give him a better view.

He smiles at your good spirits, lingering his eyes on the curve of your ass. “Aye, but what do you reckon about a quickie before supper?”

“Oh— um…” You glance around the kitchen for a second, as if you’ll find your sexual desire lying somewhere on the counter for you to grab. “Sh-sure, yeah, I’m just, ahh— historically I’ve had a hard time getting off with quickies, so, as long as you’re good with that.”

He shrugs. “We’ll do it the fun way, make it a wee bit easier for you.”

“The fun way, huh? Okay.” A cursory glance towards Simon tells you he’s good with it, so why the hell not. “What do you have in mind?”

Johnny inclines his head towards the corner of the kitchen. “Go put your cheek on the table.”

You blink a few times, automatically swiveling your head to stare at your unassuming kitchen table. Put your cheek on it? Like your face kind of cheek? Like… bend over?

After one last glance at Johnny to verify that he’s serious - he is - you take a hesitant step towards the table, scooting the chair out of your way to make room for what he’s asking.

Except… It's easier said than done. You stand there for a moment with your thighs pressed to the edge, staring down at that plain, flat surface. You don’t know how exactly it’s happening, but suddenly the simple request seems like an enormous ask. There’s a deeply uncomfortable distance you’ll have to lower yourself to reach it, not just with your hands, but with your actual face. And with your stupid heels adding to the height…

It feels like he’s asking you to jump off a building, but naked. It’ll be a vulnerable position, not just in a sexual sense, but also as some kind of primal defense mechanism. Arousal is crawling through your pelvis at even the thought of complying, but at the same time, this bizarre kind of fear is just as intense. It’s literally just a table and Johnny, so why do you feel so exposed?

Come on, it’s easy. Just do it already, they’re waiting on you.

Tentatively you press your fingertips to the surface, and then you have to bend at the waist slightly to put your palms down on it. Again, that electric shock of shame and fear bursts through your nervous system, and it finally clicks why you’re feeling like this.

You just blurt out what you’re thinking, because you’re taking way too long at this point, and you don’t want them to think you don’t want it. “I… grew up in a pretty disciplinarian household.”

“Nothing like that,” Johnny quickly assures you. “Easier to touch you is all.”

Right, sure. It’s definitely not as easy as he’s making it sound, even knowing that it will only result in good things happening to your body. There’s still that innate, self preservation instinct that’s locking your muscles into place, rebelling against the entire concept.

“We can do something el—“ Johnny starts to say, but you cut him off.

“No, no, I want to. Just give me a minute, it’s just— It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

There’s silence for a moment behind you, while you grip the lip of the table, trying to psych yourself up. Then Johnny says, “I can help, if you want.”

That sounds a lot easier. Having him come over here and guide you down, make you feel a little less exposed with his hands moving your body into place. It sounds far more doable, but—

“I want to do it myself,” you decide, for some reason.

You can feel both of their gazes on you, as you stand there and shift your weight from one shoe to another.

Rip the bandaid, come on. All you have to do is lean over, and no one will hurt you or make you feel small. It’s just a tiny, first step into kinky stuff - which you want - but at the same time, there’s still that insurmountable wall. The barrier is purely psychological, but, then again, you suppose that’s the point of kink.

You laugh nervously, palms flattening down again, and again feeling that panic at bending even the slightest bit. “I’m really relating to you right now, Simon.”

It’s your boyfriend’s voice you hear next. “Do halfway.”

A smaller hurdle. Smart. You tell yourself to just go down to elbows, and finally you’re able to move. Your body is suddenly unfrozen and allowing you to bend against the edge of the table, and then it’s so much easier. You’re able to get your forehead down to the wood, and then, huffing a laugh at your own ridiculousness, tuck your hands in beside your armpits.

You feel a hand on your lower back just as you finish settling your cheek against the smooth wood, bringing with it the shocking absence of fear. All of a sudden there are reward chemicals smoothing through your mind, at the same time that Johnny’s fingers run up your back to help brush your hair out of your face.

“Comfortable?”

Instantly, your pussy catches up to the position you’re in, warming at the sensation of his hand curving over your hip. “Yes, very.”

It’s true. You can just rest here on the table with your ass in the air, and you don’t have to do anything but what he tells you. You can relax and just… take it.

“Remember your job?” he asks, running his palms down the outside of your thighs.

You have to think for a few seconds, having momentarily lost any specifics amid the storm of feelings. “Put my cheek on the table?”

“Mhmm. Can you keep it there?” The bottom hem of your skirt begins to rise, getting expertly dragged up your ass. Fuck.

“Yes,” you breathe, closing your eyes to drink in the feeling of him removing your one piece of modesty, bunching your skirt up around the top of your hips.

He was right, this is the fun way.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears while Johnny draws your underwear down your thighs. You can’t even begin to process how much you like this. Your whole body experiences wave after wave of sexual thrill, with even the smallest movement of his fingers against your skin. It’s almost too much, you almost need a break to adjust to that near-painful flash of arousal.

“God, you’re a sight.” Johnny squeezes your bare ass a little, and all you can do is moan softly as you endure the next lance of heat. You’re just going to have to brace yourself for this being fast and inescapable and hot as fuck.

You do yourself a favor and edge your foot out wider, the heel of your shoe making a little scuffing sound against the floor while you try to tempt him with a more convenient pussy. Unfortunately it has the opposite effect of what you intended, prompting Johnny to run his hand down the back of your thigh instead.

“I like these shoes,” he tells you, his fingers unintentionally tickling a little when they near your knee, causing you to shiver in place.

“I like you,” you mindlessly flirt, in an effort to get your clit touched.

Johnny laughs under his breath, and you feel him step to the side slightly, bringing his hand back up to knead your ass for Simon to see. All you can do is lay there with your pussy clenching in anticipation, and fantasize that Simon likes seeing you like this. That he’s watching Johnny’s thumb brushing up and down the outside of your vulva, teasing over the portion of your outer lips where your clit is tucked away. You can’t open your legs any farther with your underwear around your ankles, so you try to just relax and be patient.

Johnny makes some kind of noise that you can’t discern, pausing for a few seconds, and then he finally starts to run his thumb back and forth over your clit.

His other hand gently palms your ass, and you feel so adored in that moment. Objectified, but in the best way, like your body is pretty and soft and delicious to him. That hand on your lower back swipes a reassuring thumb over your spine, and he starts to circle your clit so nice, and the hand on your ass squeezes down to that sensitive connection to your inner thigh—

Waitwaitwaitholyfuck—

That’s three hands.

Your body seizes up and your knees jerk towards each other, and you just start panting in shock at the realization of what’s happening.

“She’s alright,” Johnny says, when the hand on your ass pulls away slightly. “She just likes it. Don’t you, baby?”

You try desperately to get a grip, for Simon’s sake. Your body is still trembling a little, but you’re able to calm your breathing at least, and reply with a wrecked little, “Yeah.”

This is really happening. Simon is touching you, and your job is to keep your cheek on the table, and this isn’t at all how you imagined it happening, but it’s so good.

The finger on your clit wanders up to your entrance, and Johnny just presses straight into you without further teasing, forcing an undignified groan out of you. That easy slide tells you everything you need to know about how ready you are, how you’d take pretty much anything at this point, no questions asked.

That pressure against your g-spot is so exactly what you need, it takes you a moment to realize there’s something else, a wet, gentle finger brushing against your clit now.

You practically choke on air, head spinning and heart pounding in a tangible slam against the wood of the table.

“Breathe,” Johnny directs, pulling his finger out of your wetness to palm your ass again.

Okay, yeah, you can do that. Obediently your gulp down a few lungfuls, mourning the complete absence of Simon’s hand ever since Johnny decided you need to calm down.

“Doing okay?” Johnny asks, once you’ve started flexing your legs in a silent bid for more attention.

“Yes… yes, I’m just… please, more.”

You don’t want to specifically ask for Simon, so you won’t put pressure on him in case he’s not able to continue, but god do you want it.

“Tap the table if this gets to be too much,” Johnny says, and fingers find your clit again, casually rolling and playing with it.

That’s absolutely not going to be a problem, but you just nod pathetically because you’re incapable of coherent speech. Your entire vulva feels soaked against the air of the room. You’re so fucking turned on, and helpless to the way your body is responding to this entire situation.

When that extra hand finds your hip again, you don’t dwell on the implications of your boyfriend touching you for the first time. You don’t wonder if you’re scaring him off with the sounds leaving your throat, or with the pussy that’s uncomfortably wet and swollen against his fingers. Your mind has completely whited out, latched onto the only two things that matter in the entire world — Johnny’s voice, and Simon’s fingers.

It’s as if your pussy is connected to your lungs, the way that first, thick finger pushes a whimpery breath out of you when it presses inside. You can’t help but clench down on it a little, desperate to identify exactly who it belongs to. Logically you know that Johnny’s hand is still on your back and his finger is busy with your clit, but you wish you could see.

“S-Simon? Is that your finger inside?” It slips out before you can stop it, with how dumb and impulsive you are in this state.

It goes still, deep in your pussy, but he doesn’t pull it out. Then you hear the most wonderful, low, “Yes,” you’ve ever heard in your life.

“Hhhuh,” you pant against the wood of the table, failing to prevent another internal hug around him. “Can you give me another? It feels really good.”

Johnny curls his fingers approvingly against your spine, and drops his other hand away so you can feel every bit of the stretch when your boyfriend slides a second finger into your willing body.

“Baby,” you groan, blissfully full, and just wishing he’d give them to you a little harder.

You need something consistent to latch onto, need something faster than what they’re giving you, but you don’t dare ask for it. You don’t dare do anything but what you’re supposed to do right now, letting Simon use your pussy however he wants. You’re prepared to offer your aroused body to him for as long as he needs it, keep it wet and exposed for him, even if it means you get denied what you’re currently weeping for.

“Fuckin pretty, isn’t she?” comes Johnny’s voice, squeezing your ass again in a way that spreads your pussy a little. “Feels good on your fingers, when she’s soaked like this.”

“Johnny.” Simon exhales heavily through his nose. “You’re fucking killing me.”

Johnny laughs quietly, thumbing your clit again and making you tighten up around Simon’s fingers. “Don't think it’s me that’s killing you, mate.”

You have to bite down on your lower lip to prevent a moan of disappointment, when your boyfriend pulls his fingers out of you. “Sorry, love,” he whispers.

“It’s okay, baby,” you manage to say, clenching and unclenching your fingers to cope. “It’s okay.”

You can practically feel him withdrawing, physically and mentally. He’s only taken a step or two away, but there’s a Simon’s shaped vacuum somewhere behind you now, where he’s supposed to be. It hurts that he’s gone.

Johnny steps around the table to where your head is, bends down to look you in the eye. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m good.” Simon’s fingers are supposed to be inside you, and they’re not.

“D’ya want to cum, or should we be taking a break?”

You do want to cum. You’re so worked up right now, it’ll be painful if you don’t. But it’s just you and Johnny now, and your boyfriend touched you for the first time. His fingers were inside you, and you can practically feel them still, how nice and thick and lovely they were, gently fucking you just like you’d always imagined. And if Johnny fucks you now, the lingering feeling of Simon’s fingers is going to be erased.

Simon finally put his hands on you, and you want to hold onto that for a little while longer.

“I— I don’t know,” you say, swallowing and trying to figure out a nice way to let Johnny down, even though your brain is mush. If you don’t continue, he won’t get to cum either.

“Break then. Stay there a sec, I’ll get you sorted.”

Johnny disappears from view, and soon your underwear is getting put back into place over your aching pussy, and your skirt is getting pulled back down with measurably less finesse than if it were you fixing it.

Maybe Johnny wasn’t very into what just happened. Maybe he didn’t get hard, because he wasn’t expecting to fuck you.

When you shakily push yourself off the table and straighten up, it’s an interesting scene, there in the kitchen. There’s you, practically knock-kneed and cramping between your legs. There’s Simon, absolutely bricked up, leaning against the counter and failing to meet your eyes. And there’s Johnny, with a slightly sheepish expression, rearranging his erection in his pants.

Jesus, what a team.

“You guys want to hang out in the room while I get dressed?” you offer, reaching back to unhook your bra. “These shoes are killing me.”

Thank you to @forgotten-lego-piece for beta reading! I appreciate you so much!

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