@eroticismofthemachinedetector

Rainy day in Kyoto

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.

Early morning shenanigans

cw: somnophilia-adjacent

3:07 a.m.

You feel him before you hear him. Broad chest pressed into your back, thigh nudging between yours under the sheets. His hand slides across your waist, firm, certain.

“Turn over.”

It’s low. Rough. Not a question.

You blink, still dazed with sleep. “Simon—what—?”

“To your side, sweetheart.” His voice is deeper than usual, coated in something hot and lazy and fucking dangerous. “Need you like this.”

You roll without thinking. Your body always listens to him first. The second your thigh hikes forward and your spine curves, he’s already there fitting behind you, bare skin against bare skin, cock thick and hard, sliding between your legs like he’s been grinding against you for hours.

“Fuck,” he groans, like the heat of you ruins him. His hand slips between your thighs, fingers stroking through the slick mess between them. “You were already wet for me, weren’t you?”

You whimper, caught between sleep and need, pushing back into him without shame. “Simon—”

“Shh.” His mouth is at your ear now. Teeth scrape. Tongue soothes. “S’just me, yeah? Let me fuck you slow.”

He doesn’t give you time to beg. Just tilts your hips and presses in—slow, steady, all of him. The stretch makes your breath stutter. You clutch the pillow as his hand comes to your throat, soft but heavy, holding you there while his cock sinks deeper.

“That’s it. There she is.” He’s fucking you like he missed you. Like you weren’t already in his arms. The sounds are obscene in the quiet, slick and wet, the soft drag of his cock inside you, the creak of the mattress with every slow grind of his hips. The bed creaks with each grind of his hips, your soaked cunt dragging him back in every time he pulls out.

His hand drags up, cups your jaw, tilts your face back toward his mouth.

“Love you like this,” he breathes. “Warm, soft, still dreamin’.”

You come like that. Half-asleep and full of him, biting down on a moan while he holds you through it, hips rolling, mouth at your throat. And he doesn’t stop until he’s buried deep, groaning against your skin like it splits him open.

You fall asleep with him still inside you, cock softening slow, arms wrapped around your body.

12.27.24

Ghost sharing you with the rest of the 141, simply because he honestly can't keep up with your sex drive. Ghost fucking loves you, but he isn't in the mood that often. It's a wonderful thing when he is — he always gets you sobbing from pleasure with his nice, thick cock and dirty words spilling from his mouth — but it just doesn't happen much. Between his chronic pain flaring up or his ptsd rearing its head he finds it a little difficult to want to fuck you as often as you'd like him to. He knows you're more insatiable than him and he feels guilty sometimes, not being able to keep up; even though you have never and would never complain about the infrequency of sex.

Takes a while for him to come to terms with it. Takes a bit longer for him to decide on what he thinks is the only suitable option; let his mates, the men he trusts with his life, have their way with you. Starting with the one he trusts most.

It's nerve-wracking the first time he lends you to Captain Price, some cynical part of him worried that you'll like it a bit too much and decide Ghost isn't worth sticking around for. Ghost shouldn't have been worried though — Price sends along a video of him fucking you, assumedly recorded just seconds before. The noises you make are loud and filthy. You're clearly cockdrunk and almost incomprehensible when you whine. But when Price growls the question in your ear, you don't hesitate.

"Tell us who you belong to, sweetheart, go on. Who owns you, darlin?"

"S-Simon!" You moan, nearly sobbing it out. Ghost's hand is on his clothed cock as he watches you cry and squirm. "Ah, 'm Simon's! Please, please, fuck, please!"

Price chuckles and the video cuts just as his hips speed up. A moment after Ghost is finished watching, a text pops up underneath it.

> Got yourself a good one.

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.

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

here's a shirtless robot guy

ghostsoap commission for @bluegiragi!

thank you so much for an opportunity to draw them again 🖤