Keeiv - Layer:01

Ghost doesn't cutesy talk cats, he talks to them like other adult men and it's hilarious.

They're at a safehouse, and Ghost is listening to the radio, Price hears him talking to someone, and he's confused because both of his sergeants are conked out asleep.

So, he walks around the corner and finds Ghost sitting on a step with the radio playing and a stray kitten biting his laces while he talks to her. "I don't believe shoelaces constitute part of a balanced diet."

John just sits down on the step next to him and ignores how his knees click. "What's her name?"

"She's yet to disclose name or rank, but given that she's clearly smarter than those two through there, I'd say she's a lieutenant." He responds so dryly that John can't help but snort.

"Ah, I see. Making her way through the ranks at her young age, impressive." He leans forward to pet the kitten, flattening down the tuft of fur sticking up on her head.

"She's a hard worker, look at those paws. Grubby, she's been busy."

The kitten offers them a mewl in response, and he nods accordingly.

"She's stern, reminds me of Laswell."

That makes Ghost laugh.

+18, mdni

He stops with a sharp breath, his hands locking around your hips, fingers digging in hard. He’s close—too close—and you can feel it in the way his thighs tense under you, in the way his chest rises unevenly.

"Wait," Simon rasps as his one hand leaves your hip and finds your face, pulling you down until your mouth is on his.

It’s that lazy kind of kiss—lazy and wet, all tongue, just the way you love it. His lips are warm, soft, and parting with a hum when your teeth scrape just a little. He kisses you like he’s trying to catch his breath through you, like if he slows it down, he might not cum right then and there.

Your body doesn’t get the memo.

You're already soaking, but that kind of kiss? That slow, wet drag of his tongue against yours? It makes you clamp down around him so tight he chokes on a moan.

“Fuckin’—love,” he grits out against your mouth, voice rough and cracking. “Stop squeezin’ me—I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

You smile into the kiss, smug and breathless. “Then stop kissing me like that.”

He stares at you for a split second—just one—and then drags you back down, kissing you deeper, messier, like he’s punishing you for talking back.

You keep squeezing.

He bucks once, twice, hips jerking under you like he’s losing the fight. "You fuckin'—ngh—"

You feel it when he gives in.

His head drops back, jaw slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s trying to anchor himself. You ride it out slow, lips still brushing his, feeling him pulse inside you while you grin like a little menace.

“You’re evil,” he mutters, breathless, his eyes half-lidded.

“And you’re terrible at resisting me.”

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gooood morninggg

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

scaredy cat

chapter: unumbered one shot (maybe more to come) pairing: simon 'ghost' riley warnings: nothing explicit. all lowercase. a/n: because everyone deserves a love that is patient and kind. in spite of everything. for @wraithdance and @disgustingtwitches

it’s why he blames himself when you run.

he’s invaded your space, pushed too hard against the ease of the relationship you’d found yourselves in. it wasn’t purposeful, but simon knew there was something amiss. could sense it from the way your gait had changed around him. how you’d taken to covering parts of yourself from him that you’d otherwise let him bare witness to. the clothes didnt change, no, but your laughter did. clipped and short, long enough to fool others but simon knew you better.

he saw you transform into a version of yourself he’d only seen before he knew you. a hardened version of you made by the winds that eroded your softness.

you’d erected walls for refuge. hiding yourself away from the reach of any hands who tried to tug at you, kind or otherwise.

and yet, simon had been granted access until recently.

he’d pushed his luck, known some conversations were likely to push you to the brink, but you held strongly. in the end, it wasn’t even a conversation. you’d clammed up mid conversation giggling over childhood talks. he’d seen the realization dawn on you in real time.

overexposed, overly comfortable, unprotected.

your things were gone the next day. his side table clear of anything of importance to you. there were still traces of you, lingering in the crevices of his flat but he knew they were there to keep him off your scent. to keep him from being alarmed.

he’s a damn good soldier though. better at understanding when someone’s got the urge to run. and exceptionally good at finding people.

he gives you two days. no messages, no calls, nothing.

all so you can breathe a little easier. work yourself out of the state of mind you’d found yourself in. leaving you bare and exposed.

then he shows up to your coffee shop. order his drink and yours and simply waits.

the baristas know him by now, and they’ve already known you, so when you approach the counter eager to get your liquid energy they simply wave to simon.

you’re an expert at hiding your emotions. anyone else would have accepted your absence of a reaction as expectation but simon knows better. sees the small inhale, your hands curling on the strap of your bag, other hand clutching your phone a little tighter. you’re unhappy, but not angry.

he’ll give you your space, let you run but be within your vicinity. watching you from behind the glass while you get comfortable around again. until you allow yourself to have your back to him, to let your fingers graze the back of his, until you find yourself curled into his side again.

he’s willing to wait.

“just a cup of coffee. take your time, i’m not in a rush for anything love. i’ll be here”

more blunt!simon because he’s hot

he doesn’t even look up from his phone when he says it.

just sprawled across the couch, one arm behind his head, legs spread like he’s on a throne instead of a beat-up cushion that still smells like smoke and sweat.

“ya know, if you’re gonna walk around like that, you oughta be ready to get fucked.”

you freeze. halfway across the living room, wearing nothing but a big t-shirt and the tiniest pair of shorts you forgot you even owned.

“like what?” you ask, already feeling the heat crawl up your throat.

he finally lifts his gaze.

smirks.

“like a mouth-watering little tease,” he says. “jesus. i can see the crease of your pussy from here.”

you make a shocked sound—half gasp, half laugh—and wrap your arms around yourself like that’ll help.

he scoffs.

“don’t act shy. you bent over the fridge earlier like you wanted me to notice. ass all high, thighs squeezin’ together like you were tryna get off on the cold air.”

you open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, lazy and cruel.

“if i pulled your shorts down right now, you’d be wet already. bet your fuckin’ panties are stickin’ to you.”

you stare. breath caught in your chest.

he grins wider.

“c’mon. lemme see. won’t even touch. just wanna take a look. see if i’m right.”

his eyes drop, heavy-lidded and hungry.

“you do like it when i talk like this, huh? your nipples are hard.”

you cross your arms tighter, turn to walk away, but his voice chases after you—

low and amused and absolutely depraved.

“run off if you want. just know the second i hear that shower start, i’m gonna be sittin’ here jerkin’ off with the door open. loud. so you know what you did to me.”

Sorry for abandoning you tumblr ily bbg i just suck at social media]

here's a shirtless robot guy

continuation of this work

cw: confusing relationship, authority, threesome, hints on rest of the taskforce.

lieutenant simon riley has a pet, a good, sweet girl, you are, made to be a soldier, ending up under a heavy wing of the man higher than you by rank, stoic, brooding, more of a mystery than a human, but nothing out of this things makes you rethink your position, you always come when he calls, trotting behind his back obediently, settling on your knees between his legs should he say so.

that's why you don't try to escape when simon invites someone else, in this sacred place, in your shared secret, while you're being stretched open to the point of your head turning cottony, drool seeping from your mouth, open to whimper out a plea for a little rest, but the only thing you hear is a growled permission for someone to enter, door creaking for only a couple of seconds, scraping over someone's too bigger body, the thud of boots suddenly buzzing in your eardrums.

captain price, a man that got his post not just because, but for his prophecy, for the ability to lead people, to know if something is happening, even if behind his back, and so he found out about you, found out what simon does at night, why someone's bed knocks against the wall, not allowing many to sleep, as a result, ending up here, rings of blue in his eyes thinning at the mere sight, of the sobbing moan you let out, drowned in the wet squelch from between your thighs.

you are your lieutenant's good pup, so when simon says that his captain wants to have a taste of the forbidden, you spread your shiny, puffy folds and present, letting john's bulk bear you heavily against the messy sheets, ramming into your dripping hole with rapid, quick pumps, broad hips and fat, swollen cock working in tandem, your mouth too occupied with another cock to sob weak cries of overstimulation, but price still apologizes, huffing in your ear that he's already close.

simon has a couple more people he can introduce to you, and seeing how john smoothes a palm over the crown of your head while you sleep, fucked out to the point of losing your consciousness, calloused hands wiping off the cum that spills out your gaping, swollen cunt, utterly gentle, he's sure boys would be as good to you too, but for now, you need a good time to rest.

main masterlist. quidelines.

cw :: semi-exhibitionism, crying, simon a freak

lieutenant simon ‘ghost’ riley who lets his birdie sneak onto base. newlywed and just can’t keep hands off each other. 

he guides you carefully into an empty room, looking over his shoulder for any snitches before locking the door and keeping you to himself. so long, too long since simon’s been able to hold you, kiss you, love you. you can see it in his eyes, his face now uncovered with his mask tossed. 

slamming lips together, you pull at his gear and rough fit while he pulls you impossibly closer, his sweet girl’s been restless at home. all alone, so when you call him in the middle of the night, desperate for any touch of him, he just couldn’t resist. he pecks quick and messy kisses on your lips as you roll grinds against his body. 

“need you–si–oh god, pleaseplease–!” he shushes you gently, taking your weak hand and kissing it lovingly to calm you down. 

“i’ll give you what you wan’, dove. don’tchu worry.” you hold onto his shoulders as he undresses you both minimalistically, drop of your jeans and a quick slide of your panties while he fishes his cock out, hot and throbbing. simon keeps a longer kiss on your pouty mouth as he slides himself in, trying to keep you as quiet as possible. 

but he finds this hard for himself, groaning deeply into your neck and digging calloused fingers up past your shirt and his other hand holding your leg up. the cold metal of his wedding band hits your sensitive skin causing you to yelp. he grits his teeth and fucks right into you, the unstable position letting his creamy tip pound right into your gummy heaven, more important your g-spot. 

“quiet, stay quiet f’me, lovie. be my good girl, shhh.” he gets you to comply and you push your mouth closed, your clit jumping at how he pants short breaths against your ear while fucking you. 

his blunt fingernails practically stabbing into your waist, his hips grinding up and cock massaging your needy-cunt, the friction making you jolt and writhe against him, dangerously close to your orgasm. the way simon grunts and groans in your ear, almost shuddering when he hears his scottish sergeant in search of him behind the door—it’s too much. too much going on and you can’t even moan your man’s name. you grip tightly on his shoulders and let big fat globs of tears stream past your face. your lips shake and your only idea of support is your huge fucking husband, the only way of any release is by sobbing silent cries. 

simon sounds almost concerned, “aww, fuck baby what’s wrong? ‘ts too much?” you nod, you love it so so much but feel like you’ll pass out if you don’t let it out, and he just smiles. kissing and licking at your salty cheeks, regaining some sort of comfort as you lean forward on him, crying quietly. his pretty baby can cry all she wants but she certainly won’t leave him without a few orgasms first!

masterlist

Simon Riley pretends to be grossed out by you. Not like dramatically, but makes it obvious.

But he's actually in love with you.

You lick your lips and smirk up at him. "You look delicious today, handsome~"

He side eyes you. Wide eyed. "Fuckin' mental." But he's smirking behind his mask. And when you looked away he's looking you up and down to think of something nice to say back. He never did, because he didn't know how.

One time you came up behind him and hugged him tightly. You rubbed your face into his back and grumbled about college being the worst. And he's eyeing your arms, basking in the feeling of you against him.

He's not used to any physical affection, that's the whole reason. He wasn't shown much love when he was younger so of course it followed him into his adult age.

And he never tried. The women before you only used him and he did the same. It was something he was used to. And affection wasn't something he tried to do.

So maybe he started trying with you. And you don't notice it. (He thinks you don't, but you absolutely do and you're careful about it. Like carefully feeding a deer.) He starts to reach for you. Sitting on the couch, he's got his finger curled in your shirt. Driving, he would playfully slap your thigh, then sooth it like he was sorry, then leave his hand there.

You let him at his own pace. But you found that it you're talking and you reach for him, like his hand, he lets you take it and caress his knuckles.

He recognized that you were careful with him. You considered how he felt a lot of the times, and he saw that. Maybe that was why he fell harder for you than you realized.

Soon, he's pulling you into his lap so he could look up at you. He's pulling you in for long hugs. He's tugging your hands and putting them on his neck (you'd better scratch at his neck and back because he will never ask you to but he loves loves loves the feeling.) You've accepted that the man is kind of touch starved and will never voice it to you.

But he never stopped acting like a bully.

"Simon, you're so fuckin hot. I'd pay you to do filthy things to me." You stated so calmly that it made his eye twitch when he realized what just came out your mouth.

"Don't worry love, we'll find you that therapist soon." He shook his head with a sigh. And his heart leapt in his chest at hearing your laughter.

Ghost in the Shell (1995)