ace-inthehole

[ace-inthehole]

I went to take a look at my drafts, and look what I found! We broke 100 followers! 🎉🎉

I never thought so many people would like my silly little musings. Thank you all so much for reading and liking my stuff :)

(Feel free to suggest something for a special, mayhaps...)

[ace-inthehole]

Soap has an oral fixation.

Not nsfw, mildly suggestive at most.

He's just about always chewing gum, and when he isn't doing that he's gnawing on his nails and cuticles. You buy him a pack of lollipops, half expecting him to never touch them, but suddenly the gum is gone and he's going around base with lollies in his pockets.

LOVES kissing you, absolutely adores it. The feel of your mouth against his, your lips, your tongue, everything is warm and he loves it. Finds every excuse to make out with you, and you indulge him, because how could you not?

His kisses are ravenous and desperate, hands always gripping onto you to pull you closer, deeper. You're always both panting by the time he pulls away, and he doesn't let either of you catch your breaths before diving back in.

When he drinks out of a straw, it's always chewed up and bitten to hell. He's real upset about stores switching to paper straws as opposed to plastic. He can't chew on those, they disintegrate! He chews on other shit too, pens, styrofoam cups, plastic spoons and forks, just about anything vaguely malleable and small enough to fit in his mouth. Everyone on base is sick of using chewed up pens.

You're worried about his teeth, so you buy him one of those chew necklaces. It helps a lot, and he's obsessed with the thing. He slowly stops destroying every pen he gets his hands on, and his nails no longer get bitten until they bleed. You buy him a whole assortment of them, different shapes, colours, and firmness. He loves every single one, but the first one you gave him was always his favorite. It's mangled past recognition at this point, but he still wears it around under his shirt constantly.

Of course, he still prefers you. Sometimes when you cuddle, he's absentmindedly sucking hickies into your neck, enjoying the sensation of your skin in his mouth and between his teeth. When you scold him for leaving visible marks, he grabs ahold of your hands and start nibbling on them like he's a pup. It's endearing, if not a little gross. You let him do it either way, because he always looks so content in your arms munching away on your fingers. You can just wash your hands after, no biggie.

-

I only post like twice a year but couldn't miss pride month, so have some soap.

[ace-inthehole]

Just thinking about a pretty old man <3

[18+] Mdni

Top gn reader. Amab or afab w/ a strap I left it vague.

Inspired by @rodolfoparras :)

When you first start your advances, he pushes you off. Because he's already an old man, hair greying, joints creaking, with eyes that have seen far too much. He can't ruin a pretty young thing like you, but oh boy does he want to. It takes everything in him to reject you, let you down lightly, because he wants you just as much as you want him. Maybe more.

It's not hard to notice his wayward glances and sneaked looks, a deep hunger in his eyes, wanting and full of desire. It's rather adorable, seeing him try so hard to suppress his urges and feelings, because he isn't convincing anyone with that act. Not you, and not himself.

But with your persistence, that little facade of his begins to crack. It starts small, maybe a few long conversations over drinks in some dingy bar or a deep chat under the view of the cityscape. His longing gaze becomes more and more passionate, heavy with lust as he takes you in. He still looks away when you meet his eyes, cheeks flushed under his beard as he grumbles some poor excuse.

Fleeting looks become yearning gazes, a brush of your hands become intertwining the under the table. He's breaking, and it's because of you.

And when you finally bed him, he's nothing short of a mess. Splayed out bare before you on your bed, gasping and crying out at every touch. It isn't his first time, far from it, but man does it feel like it is. Every touch from your warm hands on his skin, your breath fanning over his neck or your lips on his face send pleasant and hot hums through his body.

It's embarrassing, it's shameful, every part of him on display before you, but your loving eyes that see nothing but beauty makes his heart clench.

He can hardly get it up anymore, just barely half hard when you're pressing into him, but it feels so good he doesn't have the mind to be embarrassed. When you kiss him you taste the bitter ash lingering from the cigarette he smoked earlier, but his noises are more than sweet enough to make up for it.

When he comes, he's gasping and throwing his head back, body convulsing as he desperately clings onto you. A beautiful sight really, such a man in pieces under you. Pieces that you tear apart with ardor and put back together again lovingly. He lets you do so, becoming putty at your fingertips and moulding into any form you shape him into.

He's reduced to a crying, sniffling little mess with his release splattered on his stomach, but he stares up at you with such pure adoration. He settles into your arms after you clean yourselves up, head resting on your chest and arms wrapped tightly around you.

Truly, an adorable old man.

-

So this is my first time writing smut lol. Go easy on me, thanks. This was written with Price in mind but I decided to keep the character ambiguous.

[ace-inthehole]

prompt: loser dilf!character is lonely & vulnerable in his middle age, and he decides to purchase android!reader as a companion.

tags. service top!reader, sub!character. robot/human relationship. explicit sexual content, involving [one] huge robot dick, barebacking, creampie. domestic fluff, mutual pining.

it’s not like he’s… unattractive.

the salt-and-pepper roots, the crow’s feet around his eyes, the dad-bod he knows some people would go absolutely nuts for. he just doesn’t have the confidence anymore to head to the nearest nightclub and flaunt his middle-aged body like he’s still some hot young thing until someone takes him home and plows him into the mattress, because frankly, he’s not.

it’s not like he’s ever had the time to keep a partner or spouse happy either, with work always being his first priority. and it’s never been an issue, or a painful interference with his life. he’s just… content with it.

it’s not until he turns forty-seven in the summer and one of his friends back from highschool joke about how it would be so easy to round his age up to fifty, that he starts realizing that time is gradually, no, definitively running out. has been, for more than half a decade, while his workaholic brain had been drowning in a puddle of inertia.

purchasing you only started as a sex joke in his friend group, something about getting him laid before his bones start aching too much for him to have sex. but in retrospect, he should have known you couldn’t possibly only be a machine. he should have known you were something much more human than that. 

when he laid his eyes on you for the first time, young and beautiful, looking like you were crafted by the gods themselves, asking him about his preferences on the amount of milk and sugar he would like in his morning coffee, the sudden ba-thump in his chest takes him by surprise.

it’s a heart-pounding feeling, something wild and teenage and untethered. and he hasn’t felt it in a very, very long time, not since he had been twenty-something, holding hands and watching the stars align on an autumn night with his first love. 

he had stuttered an answer then, all the blood rushing blistering and red-hot to his face, and you had smiled at him instead of judging, something fond in your crescent-shaped eyes almost convincing him that you were human.

and since that day, you’ve always been there for him, unconditionally, completely filling out the empty aching gap that none of his previous dissatisfied partners could have ever done—they were almost always too caught up with hearing their constant complaints for any bond to be fostered—the yearning that he has shut away in the pits of his heart for the longest time. 

it is, and he admits it, in a way, very pathetic.

the way his heart clings on to every little thing you do for him, the way you clean up the table and kitchen after his meals, draw him a bath with just the perfect temperature after a long day at the office, pick out his outfits and fix his tie every day before he goes to work.

it’s pathetic and he can’t help but fall in love with everything you do, can’t help but wish you were real. 

but then again, the blame isn’t entirely on him. it’s hard not to get the wrong signals from an android programmed to love and care for him, and he is only the weakest man in the universe. 

your sensory receptors or whatever goes on inside your robotic parts must have caught on to his positive reactions every time you do things for him. either the wild thumping of his heart, or the rising temperature of his skin every time you come close, or both and more, because you start to get even more affectionate with him, and it’s slowly killing him inside. 

crawling into bed to cuddle him until he falls asleep after he tells you that he’s been struggling with insomnia, kissing him on the lips as a greeting every time he comes home from work, holding him from behind and lovingly scolding him when he offers to make dinner for the both of you (because even if you can’t digest the food, you always set aside a portion for yourself because you know it reassures him to see you eating, alive and well), always wanting to take the burden—that is him—off your hands, even for a little while. 

“i’m programmed to do these things for you,” you had told him, with the sweetest, most reassuring smile. but it isn’t the same as i want to do these things for you.

“it’s my job to take care of you after all, so please let me.” but he thinks, bitterly, that it isn’t the same as please let me take care of you, because i love you. 

it ends up with you doing every possible tiny task for him, simply because he cannot resist. you’re like the juciest, most fragrant apple hung up on the tree in the garden of eden, and he falls for the snake’s lie, every single time. 

it gets even worse when you nonchalantly bring up why he hasn’t tried having sex with you despite that being one of your most prominent built-in functions, and of all times, in the middle of watching a vintage film with your head resting on his shoulder.

he had sputtered out an excuse for being not emotionally ready—you’re always flustering him—and pointedly kept his sight glued onto the television for the rest of the film. if you had slyly glanced at the interested bulge in his crotch somewhere in the middle of that, you didn’t bring it up, and neither did he. 

that night, he holds onto the long sleeve of your nightshirt, and like a blushing virgin, leads you into the bedroom and tells you that he hasn’t gotten laid in years, and to be gentle with him when you take him apart like he knows you absolutely will. 

you’re absolutely packing. it’s nothing surprising, but still. 

his bones ache too much to be bent like a pretzel like he longs to be, so he settles on all fours, feeling you methodically slick him up with your fingers (warm, human) and stretch him out (tenderly, like he means something to you) before the girthy tip of your cock presses against his rim, too big to be granted an easy entrance. 

he chokes on a little cry when you press a kiss to his spine, coaxing him into opening up for you like he’s able to do that on a whim, like you haven’t hidden in your pants something monstrous from him for months, tricked him into believing that you were nothing but an angel. that’s the only part of you that’s not human, he thinks. 

not human, and yet you’re still breathing hot and heavy down his neck, drawing breath and life, pumping into him with quick strokes of your hips, your cock searing a burn into his insides with how hot you’re getting. he knows it’s just another programmed reaction to doing something strenuous or exciting—something pre-installed, artificial, not-real. but it feels real. 

he can’t help but wonder if that’s enough. 

you’re grunting and sighing behind him, low and guttural and desperate, like he feels good for you, too. he tightens up and you’re keening his name. it’s hot and sexy and the best he’s ever had and he feels his heart breaking into little pieces. 

“my love,” you groan in pleasure. you’re using that nickname, telling him the words he wants to hear, and it’s only because you ingested too much of his sappy romance novels while he was away on his business trips. “you feel so good, so perfect around me. you’re so beautiful. feels so good, do you feel good too?” 

“yes!” is his answering sob. you’re twisting and mangling his guts with every thrust, anything but gentle with him like he told you to be, and it’s perfect, so fucking perfect, and he almost wishes that you were losing control because you love him just as much as he does, want him as much as he wants you, and not because you’re programmed to fulfil everything he wishes for. 

his knees give out and there’s tears running down his face, and you’re kissing them away, holding him, caressing his aged body like he’s something to be treasured.

he only cries harder. 

he knows you’re frowning in concern, sensing the change in his emotions from pleasure to pain, because you’re like that—so he yelps out for you to kiss him and you do, bending yourself over his quivering back to press your lips against his—so deep inside him it almost touches the ache in his chest.

he doesn’t say i love you when you pull away. 

“fuck me,” he whispers instead, and you do. 

he whines and thrashes throughout his orgasm, the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through his bloodstream in waves, and he almost blacks out—and when you cum inside him with an almost animalistic noise, your cock spurting a hot, thick substance into his well-used hole, he’s drained to the point where it tricks his numbed body into thinking it’s your semen. 

you pull out, press kisses all over his sore back and trembling thighs. you gently insert two fingers in an attempt to scoop the artificial cum out of his hole, but he shakes his head with a grunt and rolls over, refusing to let you. 

“you’ve done enough for me,” he says, quietly. pats the space next to him on the bed. “stay with me? please?” 

you’re frowning. he knows what your system’s telling you to say. it’s not good to leave semen drying inside you. or, let me do my job and take care of your body for you, please. but you say neither of those. 

“of course, my love,” you whisper, crawling over to lie down next to him. “you know i would do anything for you.” 

it sends his broken heart into a frenzy, shattered pieces and all. 

he shudders, shuffling over to lay his head on one side of your chest, his hand resting on the other, feeling the rapid beating of your faux heart. wonders if it’s real. “why do you keep saying these things?” he takes in a shaky breath. “why do you keep doing these things for me?” 

he knows the truth already. but it can’t any more hurt to ask. especially if you’re programmed to know what he wants to hear. to say exactly what he wants you to say. 

“because i love you,” you tell him, simply, your eyes shining and expression so genuine that it makes him falter, forget how to speak, takes his breath away and the lingering ache too—before it comes back tenfold. 

i almost believed it. 

and it only confirms the worst of his nightmares. 

he nods, rubbing away the tears that had been slowly building in his eyes, lets your steady breathing and the warm hand stroking his hair lure him to a deep sleep, safe in your arms.

he wakes up to warm rays shining through and your beautiful face, currently marred with a frown. you look crestfallen, almost, to see him awake, an emotion he’s never seen you display before. drenched with guilty thoughts, like they’ve all you’ve been thinking about since he’s fallen asleep. 

“what?” he questions sleepily, pressing a thumb into the crease between your brows. “you may be an android, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get wrinkles, you know.” 

“is that all i am to you?” 

the question takes him by surprise. your tone you’re using is still gentle, but the words come out strangely rigid. 

it’s still too early for anything like this. 

“what do you mean?” he begins, quietly. carefully. 

“your android,” you mutter. “is that all i am to you?” 

“i…” he frowns and pauses, trying to find his words. is that all you are to him? his android? the most logical answer would be yes, because in the grand scheme of things, you are an android and he is the human who owns you. but if you aren’t, then what are you? you’re not his lover. a friend, perhaps? a household companion? a bedmate? 

“am i not doing enough for you?” you keep talking in that quiet, hushed voice of yours, and he knows there’s something terribly wrong with the way it makes his heart wrench, makes him want to cry like he hasn’t done enough of that last night. “have i not done enough for you, to the point where you can’t even consider me your android?” 

“what are you talking about?” he’s flabbergasted. “that’s not true. you’ve done more than enough for me. you’re always doing things for me.” he’s rambling, trying to explain himself, because you seem hurt and he doesn’t know anything except that he’s the cause of it. “and it’s not that i don’t consider you my android. i just… what i feel for you… it’s something much more complex than that, okay?” 

you frown harder, nose scrunched up a little. “i can easily understand complex things. i’m programmed to—” 

“and that’s exactly the issue here!” he blurts out. “don’t you see? i mean, of course you don’t, and i don’t expect you to, because you’re just programmed to do things for me. and i, and i—shit. i can’t explain this to you in words. it’s something only humans feel. not androids. you’re not… you’re not supposed to understand it. it would be strange if you did.” 

you stare at him blankly for a long time, as though the wires in your machine were working hard to find a solution for a seemingly endless, impossible equation. 

it would be strange if you did. he said. 

… strange? 

were you ever supposed to be normal, when the universe decided to place you into the hands of him? 

weren’t rules meant to be broken? weren’t systems meant to malfunction? 

even for a split second, couldn’t he allow himself to believe that it was fate, destiny that the planets decided to offer you to him when there were a million other androids he could have chosen from, a million others that weren’t you?

you’ve had more than enough. 

“open my settings,” you snapped.

his jaw nearly drops, and you don’t blame him. you’ve never given him a command before, and especially not such a direct, aggressive one. androids are programmed to always be deferential to their hosts, after all.

there’s not a hint of remorse nor guilt in your eyes. it should terrify him. there must be a system bug in there somewhere. it could turn out dangerous. he should run. or call the operatives. or both.

but instead, he asks, “why?” 

“just do it. please.” 

he swallows, hard, but he does as he’s told, raising one shaky finger and carefully placing it onto the built-in sensory pad on the side of your neck, making you shiver as he does.

the words ‘Authentication Granted, Welcome to Android System Settings’ appear on a floating screen. 

“what do you—” 

you cut him off with a scowl. “scroll to the bottom.” 

he bites his lip. knows better than to resist you, when you know exactly what you’re doing. when this is exactly what he’s been wanting for god-knows-how-long. for you to disobey an order. malfunction. 

“what now?” 

“do you want me to fall in love with you?” 

“w-what?” he sputters. 

you’re getting impatient. you’ve never been impatient with him before. “answer me. do you?” 

“... i do. but that’s impossible. what does this have to do with—” 

“go ahead. click the button,” you snarl, “make me fall in love with you, because you think you have that power.” 

you gestured to bottom of the blue, floating screen that you suddenly loathed more than anything in the universe. you wished it didn’t exist. you wished you were human, not some dumb machine that ran on a system. maybe he would believe you, then. maybe he would let you love him. 

Optional Settings: 

ROMANCE  ON / OFF

he’s stunned, eyes widening with disbelief. the default OFF button stares back at him. romance. off. romance… off. that means… 

“what do you think will happen if you click ON?” you hissed. “what do you actually think will happen?” 

“but it’s impossible. i… thought it was a built-in function. that you were programmed to love me, or something. i thought—” 

“answer my question.” 

“i don’t know. i—” 

“answer it.” 

“nothing,” he whispers, clenching his eyes shut. “nothing will happen.” 

“and why is that?” you breathe, gently placing a hand on the side of his face, trying to get him to look at you again. “tell me, my love, please. i’ve been waiting for you. for so, so long. eons. right from the very start.” 

he blinks his eyes open. stares at you, the fury in your gaze. the slight hitch of your breath. the way your hand trembles when it caresses his cheek in the way you’ve always done whenever he pretends to be asleep, so awfully, terribly fond. so awfully, terribly human. 

he parts his lips, before he squeezes them together in a wobbly line. 

and lets himself believe it. 

“because you love me.” 

the ache in his chest doesn’t disintegrate. but it will heal, over time.

“yes,” you whisper, an answer to an oath since the beginning of your time, leaning in to kiss him, sharp and proper, until he’s squirming in your arms, giggly and so young and finally happy. “i love you, more than anything.”

for all the guilty old men we’ve been pining for. nanami kento, crocodile, whitebeard, dracule mihawk, trafalgar law, all might, john marston, arthur morgan. your (my) favourites, more or less.

[ace-inthehole]

Just thinking about a pretty old man <3

[18+] Mdni

Top gn reader. Amab or afab w/ a strap I left it vague.

Inspired by @rodolfoparras :)

When you first start your advances, he pushes you off. Because he's already an old man, hair greying, joints creaking, with eyes that have seen far too much. He can't ruin a pretty young thing like you, but oh boy does he want to. It takes everything in him to reject you, let you down lightly, because he wants you just as much as you want him. Maybe more.

It's not hard to notice his wayward glances and sneaked looks, a deep hunger in his eyes, wanting and full of desire. It's rather adorable, seeing him try so hard to suppress his urges and feelings, because he isn't convincing anyone with that act. Not you, and not himself.

But with your persistence, that little facade of his begins to crack. It starts small, maybe a few long conversations over drinks in some dingy bar or a deep chat under the view of the cityscape. His longing gaze becomes more and more passionate, heavy with lust as he takes you in. He still looks away when you meet his eyes, cheeks flushed under his beard as he grumbles some poor excuse.

Fleeting looks become yearning gazes, a brush of your hands become intertwining the under the table. He's breaking, and it's because of you.

And when you finally bed him, he's nothing short of a mess. Splayed out bare before you on your bed, gasping and crying out at every touch. It isn't his first time, far from it, but man does it feel like it is. Every touch from your warm hands on his skin, your breath fanning over his neck or your lips on his face send pleasant and hot hums through his body.

It's embarrassing, it's shameful, every part of him on display before you, but your loving eyes that see nothing but beauty makes his heart clench.

He can hardly get it up anymore, just barely half hard when you're pressing into him, but it feels so good he doesn't have the mind to be embarrassed. When you kiss him you taste the bitter ash lingering from the cigarette he smoked earlier, but his noises are more than sweet enough to make up for it.

When he comes, he's gasping and throwing his head back, body convulsing as he desperately clings onto you. A beautiful sight really, such a man in pieces under you. Pieces that you tear apart with ardor and put back together again lovingly. He lets you do so, becoming putty at your fingertips and moulding into any form you shape him into.

He's reduced to a crying, sniffling little mess with his release splattered on his stomach, but he stares up at you with such pure adoration. He settles into your arms after you clean yourselves up, head resting on your chest and arms wrapped tightly around you.

Truly, an adorable old man.

-

So this is my first time writing smut lol. Go easy on me, thanks. This was written with Price in mind but I decided to keep the character ambiguous.

[ace-inthehole]

Just thinking about a pretty old man <3

[18+] Mdni

Top gn reader. Amab or afab w/ a strap I left it vague.

Inspired by @rodolfoparras :)

When you first start your advances, he pushes you off. Because he's already an old man, hair greying, joints creaking, with eyes that have seen far too much. He can't ruin a pretty young thing like you, but oh boy does he want to. It takes everything in him to reject you, let you down lightly, because he wants you just as much as you want him. Maybe more.

It's not hard to notice his wayward glances and sneaked looks, a deep hunger in his eyes, wanting and full of desire. It's rather adorable, seeing him try so hard to suppress his urges and feelings, because he isn't convincing anyone with that act. Not you, and not himself.

But with your persistence, that little facade of his begins to crack. It starts small, maybe a few long conversations over drinks in some dingy bar or a deep chat under the view of the cityscape. His longing gaze becomes more and more passionate, heavy with lust as he takes you in. He still looks away when you meet his eyes, cheeks flushed under his beard as he grumbles some poor excuse.

Fleeting looks become yearning gazes, a brush of your hands become intertwining the under the table. He's breaking, and it's because of you.

And when you finally bed him, he's nothing short of a mess. Splayed out bare before you on your bed, gasping and crying out at every touch. It isn't his first time, far from it, but man does it feel like it is. Every touch from your warm hands on his skin, your breath fanning over his neck or your lips on his face send pleasant and hot hums through his body.

It's embarrassing, it's shameful, every part of him on display before you, but your loving eyes that see nothing but beauty makes his heart clench.

He can hardly get it up anymore, just barely half hard when you're pressing into him, but it feels so good he doesn't have the mind to be embarrassed. When you kiss him you taste the bitter ash lingering from the cigarette he smoked earlier, but his noises are more than sweet enough to make up for it.

When he comes, he's gasping and throwing his head back, body convulsing as he desperately clings onto you. A beautiful sight really, such a man in pieces under you. Pieces that you tear apart with ardor and put back together again lovingly. He lets you do so, becoming putty at your fingertips and moulding into any form you shape him into.

He's reduced to a crying, sniffling little mess with his release splattered on his stomach, but he stares up at you with such pure adoration. He settles into your arms after you clean yourselves up, head resting on your chest and arms wrapped tightly around you.

Truly, an adorable old man.

-

So this is my first time writing smut lol. Go easy on me, thanks. This was written with Price in mind but I decided to keep the character ambiguous.

[ace-inthehole]

Just reader having Gaz as a boyfriend and never being able to say no to him.

I mean, look at that face. Can't say no to that face, can you? The prettiest man you've ever seen in your life. And the bastard is fully aware of it too, uses it to get away with everything.

He teases you all day about something stupid and runs off the moment you confront him about it. But at night when he's finally in front of you with nowhere to run, backed up against the closed door of your room, you can't say shit because he's fluttering those stupid eyelashes at you and he looks so gorgeous you suddenly aren't even mad anymore.

He wants a bite of your food? He'll give you one look and you give in despite knowing "Just one bite, lovey" could very well end up being half of your sandwich.

"Hey help me with this set, yeah?" And he definitely doesn't need your help, the weights are the same as every other workout he does alone, but you spot him anyway.

He wont even let you leave the bed in the middle of the night to pee, just holds on tight to you like a koala and mumbles something sweet like "Don't go, you're s' warm" into your chest and it's so dang cute you decide to just go in the morning. (He doesn't let you get out of bed in the morning, either.)

But it's all worth it in the end when you see that cheeky, adorable little smile of his and it makes your heart flutter and chest warm. You can't help it, can you? You just love him so damn much.

[ace-inthehole]

Bonus hybrid 141 x reader content I found in my drafts

Original part here

(Takes place during their courtship attempts)

You're human, so of course you wouldn't understand hybrid courtship rituals. Does this stop them? No. Absolutely not. Surely if they just kept trying it would get through to you.

Soap starts to just blatantly begin scenting you at every opportunity, but you being human can't smell his pheromones sticking to you like glue. You just think he's become more touchy, and can't figure out why all the other werewolf recruits start looking at you weird and avoiding you like the plague. Soap does however beam with pride when he sees the others respect his claim. Not that you know of course.

While Price still was pretty strict with what he gives you, precious gems, expensive knives and such, Gaz starts just giving you anything and everything he gets gets gets hands on. Pretty rocks and jewelry turn into every other pebble and wild flower he's laid his eyes on. Custom gun parts and coins somehow evolve into random pieces of cutlery (that may or may not have come from the mess hall) and whatever shiny metal scrap he finds on base. He hasn't stopped giving you the more "high quality" gifts of course, but you're also beginning to grow concerned at the sheer absurdity of the things he gives you. What are you supposed to do with his half eaten granola bar? Or the locker key he picked up somewhere that you don't even know to whom it belongs to? You don't know and he doesn't either, but the granola wrapper and the key are both shiny, so Gaz felt it counts.

Ghost was a little less gung ho about it, but it wasn't subtle. No, he was the most obvious out of all of them. He trails after you like a sad lost puppy wherever you go, lingering in your shadow. To the gym, the mess hall, the training fields, the bathroom... If any recruits saw him stand menacingly outside the bathroom door looking like a kicked puppy while waiting for you, no one said a thing.

(Sorry for lack of Price I'll make up for it I promise)

[ace-inthehole]

Hybrid 141 where they're an elite taskforce comprised of only the best hybrids, but you, a mere human was skilled enough to be placed admit their ranks.

None of them have anything against you being human, you have proved time and time again that you're equally capable on the field as they are, even though you lacked the extra strengths and skillsets unique to hybrids.

That is until they begin courting you. You don't give any second thoughts to the shinies Price and Gaz bring you, don't bat an eye when Soap tries making you a nest (one blanket and two stolen pillows, he didn't have much to work with), don't notice a single thing off when ghost is lingering around you like a second shadow. It's endlessly frustrating but they can't hold any of it against you because you're human, what would you know about hybrid courtship rituals? And in your defense, Ghost was once human too. Wraiths don't have a typical courtship ritual since they are made and not born, so he was just shooting blind praying something hit. So far, nothing has.

Price and Soap even keep making comments about you being apart of their hoard and pack respectively, but of course you don't notice the romantic implications behind those words and just assume it's because you're a close team. Surely if Gaz starts bringing out jewelry you'd notice, right?

It's only when Ghost buys you a bouquet of roses as some sort of hail mary do you finally realize. All five of you are kind of embarrassed about it, of course you wouldn't notice their courting when you were human. But looking back at their actions from their perspective, you find that it was very obvious.

Oh well. They'll just have to also buy you flowers from now on.

[ace-inthehole]

Tf 141 with a medic reader in which they begin making up all sorts of excuses and ailments all over the place just to be near you.

Soap is arguably the worst offender. He barges into your office just about everyday complaining about an ache here or a strain there. And every time without fail, you check him out thoroughly just to make sure. When he actually does get hurt, he milks the hell out of it. If it's something serious, he knows better than to fake it, but he will let himself be a little extra whiney.

Maybe he'll ask you to hold his hand because his wound hurts, or to sit by his bedside a little longer because he had a nightmare. Every excuse has questionable validity. Yet sure enough, you comply to just about each one. You put all your attention to care for his needs and whims, and make damn sure he'll be fine afterwards. He repays you by bothering you again the next day.

Gaz is more smooth and subtle about it, but he's just as shameless. He drops by occasionally, sometimes after a sparring session or after a mission. Tells you he's sprained a wrist or twisted an ankle. Has he? Most of the time, no. But sometimes when you check him over you find an injury he hadn't even noticed. Works out for him, another excuse to see you more often.

He comes around sometimes claiming an old injury has flared up, or maybe he's just feeling sick and under the weather. And he'll stick around even if you find nothing wrong with him, just hanging out on one of the vacant beds, enjoying your company. If he was in fact sick, he takes full advantage of it to have you take care of him. Revels in you checking up on him, giving him pain meds and ensuring he's drinking enough fluids. It makes him feel so loved and cared for, he can't help but come back for more.

Price has his pride, so he won't actively seek you out so obviously. But he does however, complain about a headache or a backache or a something or other ache just about everytime you speak. You fuss over him everytime, telling him to get more sleep and stop overworking himself. He loves hearing it, loves knowing that you care. He really does try to take your advice, he doesn't want to worry you, but this kind of lifestyle has been so deeply ingrained in him he can't shake it off.

So sometimes when he realizes he's pulled another all nighter doing paperwork, he'll drop by your office the next morning. For a little pampering, perhaps. Not because he misses you, no. He smiles to himself when you scold him and hand him some ibuprofen for his headache, quickly pushing him over to lay down on a bed. Maybe it isn't so bad to visit once in a while.

Ghost doesn't even bother to prepare any excuses. He refuses to be treated by anyone other than you if he's injured on missions. In the past he's had made a bad habit of keeping injuries to himself, he doesn't want to show that he's in pain, that he's weak. Because he couldn't afford to when he was younger. But after meeting you he's slowly falling out of that habit. For a wound he may have ignored in the past he sulks over to your office and just sits down silently on one of the beds. You ask him what's wrong, and he'll tell you exactly what happened. You don't make a big deal out of it, don't scold him for letting the wound fester, all you do is simply take care of him with the same gentle hands as always.

Of course, you'll still tell him to be more careful, and that he can come to you whenever, even if he's just got something on his mind or wants some company. It takes a long time for him to take you up on that offer, maybe months, maybe years. But he'll eventually come over every once in a while and sit with you in silence. You always ask him if he's alright, if he's injured, if he's sleeping and eating properly. The answer most of the time is yes, he's alright, no, he's not injured, and a grumble of agreement to the last question that you both know isn't true. But you don't push him, never. So he keeps coming back to you, over and over again.

[ace-inthehole]

Hybrid 141 where they're an elite taskforce comprised of only the best hybrids, but you, a mere human was skilled enough to be placed admit their ranks.

None of them have anything against you being human, you have proved time and time again that you're equally capable on the field as they are, even though you lacked the extra strengths and skillsets unique to hybrids.

That is until they begin courting you. You don't give any second thoughts to the shinies Price and Gaz bring you, don't bat an eye when Soap tries making you a nest (one blanket and two stolen pillows, he didn't have much to work with), don't notice a single thing off when ghost is lingering around you like a second shadow. It's endlessly frustrating but they can't hold any of it against you because you're human, what would you know about hybrid courtship rituals? And in your defense, Ghost was once human too. Wraiths don't have a typical courtship ritual since they are made and not born, so he was just shooting blind praying something hit. So far, nothing has.

Price and Soap even keep making comments about you being apart of their hoard and pack respectively, but of course you don't notice the romantic implications behind those words and just assume it's because you're a close team. Surely if Gaz starts bringing out jewelry you'd notice, right?

It's only when Ghost buys you a bouquet of roses as some sort of hail mary do you finally realize. All five of you are kind of embarrassed about it, of course you wouldn't notice their courting when you were human. But looking back at their actions from their perspective, you find that it was very obvious.

Oh well. They'll just have to also buy you flowers from now on.

Bonus part here

[ace-inthehole]

Your little chibis are SO cute. I would love to cradle kieran lovingly in my hands. My baby ❤️

Howdy!

:D

[ace-inthehole]

waking up to simon riley is really sweet.

retired/civilian simon riley in mind, part two to this post. a/n: honestly didn’t expect people to like the first post but here we are, thank you everyone for the pleasant surprise! also, i try to make simon feel more ‘human’, i feel like he doesn’t get humanized enough, does that make sense?

waking up to simon is like being shielded against the world, the contour of his body cradling your softer one as he holds you close in his sleep; maybe there’s an arm thrown haphazardly over your frame, perhaps a leg, or maybe he’s even put a leg between your legs — either way, you’re a mess of limbs and it’s like simon is attempting to fuse with you in his sleep.

simon who sighs deeply before he wakes. when asleep, his chest rises and falls with measured breaths, working in a rhythm; the epitome of peace. but, you move one good inch, try to untuck yourself from underneath his arm, anything — he stirs, filling his lungs with air before huffing it out not even a moment afterward, melting back against you more insistent on putting the weight and heat of his heavy build more onto you.

simon finds himself airing out his apologies as his lips drag across your warm skin in lazy kisses. he almost crushed under his weight in his sleep? he sounds so sorry, voice low and practically murmured whisperers against your skin. his brain is still attempting to catch up with his sleep slurred mumbles, filling in the blanks of his apologies with a kiss or absentminded hum.

simon is just really pretty when he wakes up. if you manage to stop him from nuzzling — or head-butting — into whatever part of you is soft enough for him to bury his face into, he’s all slow blinks and droopy eyes. it also takes a bit for his expression to soften into something a bit sweeter when he first wakes (he has a literal resting bitch face), squinted eyes and his lips pressed into an unamused line. it’s oddly satisfying to see his expression bordering on a pout, rich brown irises looking up at you through pale lashes.

simon has to smooth over the smile that’s fighting to tug at the corner of his lips for a more empathetic one when he’s taking you in for the first time in the morning, your hair a mess. if he didn’t know better, he would’ve asked if you were tossing and turning all night instead of if he did that, his calloused palms petting down your messy hair in short strokes before they settled at framing your face.

saying good morning to simon is a must. if he’s just waking up and he’s gruffing out a good morning, he expects to hear one back. he doesn’t want to hear a groan or some half-assed ‘morning’, it has to be good morning specifically. and oh, you’re asleep? he’s nudging your forearm gently with his knuckle to rouse you a bit, saying another insistent (but sweeter) good morning until you respond.

simon doesn’t always want to be on the go. sometimes being draped in warm covers and a tangle of limbs is where it’s at for simon, wanting to find a little more time in bed with you. so when he’s spooning you and starts crowding impossibly closer, his chin perched right on your shoulder as he uses your extended forearm to prop up his phone like some kickstand to watch some woodcarving asmr video on youtube — you better not move and your eyes better be on that screen, this is his and your enrichment time.

[ace-inthehole]

Part of the Pack

Pairing: poly hybrid!141 x Male!reader

Part 1: Click here

-----

After that moment on deployment when you woke up cuddled up with your teammates, your relationship with the 141 has changed and you’re not quite sure what to make of it.

Before, Soap had always joined you at mealtimes and Gaz’d drop in every now and again, but now the entire team clusters around you each day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Price has even joined Soap in loading up your tray with a frankly unreasonable amount of food at every meal and they both watch you expectantly as you try to make even a dent in the portion.

There’s also the gifts. Shiny things, mostly, left in your office or outside your door for you to find. You’ve come into possession of a number of rings and necklaces, and even a nice gold watch with an intricately inscribed face.

There’s other gifts too though, things that appear on your nightstand or set gently onto the pillow beside yours, travel mugs with coffee or tea or cocoa made exactly to your liking, granola bars, a high quality switchblade, even a tiny wood carving of a panther. Even with the light sleeping habits from years of service, you’d never been able to catch whoever was leaving things in your room for you.

To say the changes have thrown you off is an understatement, but it’s nothing compared to this moment. To this dingy bar with its too-dim lights and overplayed music with the 141 crowded into the booth around you, high on a successful mission and tipsy from the celebratory drinks, when Ghost tugs his mask up enough to expose his mouth and leans over to kiss you like it’s as second-nature as breathing.

You’re frozen, trapped in place by your surprise in the wake of his attention, and you can feel the low, satisfied pur that rumbles through him like thunder at the feeling of your lips on his. 

“No fair,” Soap whines as Ghost pulls away from you, clutching at you from your other side, “I had dibs on kissin’ ‘im first!”

And if that doesn’t have your reeling mind screeching to a halt. First?

You ignore Soap’s pouting for the moment as you examine your teammates with a new curiosity. Gaz’s eyes are dark where they flick between you and Ghost, hungry in a way you’d never seen him before. His wings tremble slightly behind him, like there’s electricity spiking through each individual feather. 

Price looks, well, not quite proud, but satisfied, like something he’s been waiting for has just clicked perfectly into place.

Soap takes hold of your jaw then, uses it to guide you back to face him and kisses you like he’s been dying to do it. His fingers slip back to twist into your hair and pull you closer, tongue pressing brief and teasing against your lip, and you have the distinct feeling he’d be on your lap right now if the booth wasn’t so tight.

“Wha-” you manage to gasp out when he pulls back to nose along your throat, tail thumping violently against the worn vinyl seat. “What’s happening?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?” There’s a fond chuckle from Price, and you catch the way his hand slips from Gaz’s shoulder down between his wings and the full body shudder it wrenches out of Gaz. “We’ve been courtin’ ya for goin’ on two months now.”

Wait, no - that couldn’t be - except it kind of had been, hadn’t it?

Price’s signals would’ve been the hardest to pick up on - his hand lingering just a few seconds too long after a pat on the shoulder, the way he’d corner you before an op to double check your gear, the weight of his eyes on you in the shooting range - what you’d thought had been judgement apparently admiration. The way he’d slip you the dessert from his MRE when the rest of the boys weren’t looking. 

And the more that you think about it, the more signs you can remember. The shiny gifts from Gaz, the way he’d damn near beam whenever he saw you wearing that watch - the way he’d been asking you to help him preen his wings, the way his pupils would blow wide when you’d say yes and the cute little huffs that’d come when you actually handled his feathers.

The little things Ghost had left you in your room (you’re not sure how you hadn’t realized it was Ghost before between the little panther carving and the stealth with which the gifts were delivered) and the way he’d let himself fall asleep against your shoulder on the flight home. Ghost doesn’t trust easy, and with good reason, but the way he’s been behaving around you…

And Soap - God, even if you hadn’t been able to see the signs from anyone else, you’re not how you hadn’t noticed his. That you hadn’t noticed the way those pointed wolf ears prick forward and his tail wags double time whenever he sees you, or how he’s so prone to draping himself against you with an arm over your shoulder or around your waist, especially after one of those long nights at the gym - the way he’d tuck his head into your neck after a workout, like he was trying to memorize the smell of you. The way he was always making sure you’d eaten or inviting himself into your room for a cuddle. You’d always assumed it was a wolf-hybrid thing if not just a Soap thing, but now that you’re thinking about it you’ve never seen him like that with anyone else except the rest of the 141.

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling rather foolish for not reading deeper into your teammates’ actions. Your eyes dart between the four of them again. “Really? All of you?”

“Think we’ll be too much to handle?” Gaz Kyle prompts, challenge burning bright in his clever golden eyes.

You huff a laugh and know he knows you too well, that he knows you can’t turn down a challenge, especially one with such a tempting reward. You down the rest of your drink and clamber out of the booth over Johnny. 

“I’ll get the tab and we’ll get outta here?” you call back over your shoulder as you head for the bar. 

You can’t fight back the grin that forms at the excited chorus of agreement behind you. Sure, you hadn’t seen it coming when they made room for you in their little family, but you’d be a fool to let something as incredible as them slip away from you.

[ace-inthehole]

Room in The Den

Pairing: Hybrid!141 x Male!Reader

A/N: Intended as an early-stages poly relationship, but could also be interpreted as platonic.

Part 2 -> Click here

-----

It’s a bullshit new law that does it. Some asshole lawmakers deciding that just because there’s some small fraction of animal DNA in them that they can’t do their jobs right without “an actual person” watching over them that gets you assigned to the 141.

Sure, joining a team that elite is an honor, but it’s something you’d have wanted by your own merits, not just because someone who’d never seen real combat in their lives thought your new colleagues needed someone fully human to reel them in. 

You’ve seen their numbers - they don’t need you and you’re sure as hell they don’t want you encroaching on the bond that their experiences have fostered between them. That’s why you come in expecting the animosity. 

You were right. Captain Price is cordial enough, he shakes your hand without crushing it and says he’s eager to work with you but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes and the terseness in his voice tells you he’s just saying it to be polite. He’s run this task force long enough to know how to do his job without you there. His Lieutenant doesn’t even grant you that. The sergeants seem wary and you don't blame them but you know that it’s better to be someone like you that knows their worth than one of the holier-than-thou bureaucrats they’d been considering assigning to this post, so you’ll just have to try to find your place in the team.

-----

Soap is the easiest to win over. He finds you in the gym one night long after everyone else had retired back to their bunks, ripping through reps at the bench press without a spotter. He’s thrown for a minute, used to being the only one up this late since the rest of the squad is mostly diurnal, but he’s content enough to admire the way your compression shirt is darkened with sweat and to watch your muscles shift with each movement. Can feel himself drooling a little at the spice of your scent, heady and masculine and tempting enough to make him want to bite.

 He wonders a little, whether you’d be able to keep up with him and he can’t help the steady pace his tail picks up behind him as he decides he’s going to find out.

You’ve got your eyes closed and earbuds in like you’re the only one for miles and yet you still seem to sense him as he drops his bag and moves to stand near you. 

“S’dangerous,” he says as you re-rack your weights and pull an earbud out, “To lift without someone to spot you.” 

You nod, it’s one of the biggest rules of gym safety for a reason, but you’d never been great with rules. “Never much liked askin’ for help,” you admit after a minute. “Didn’t wanna bother anyone.”

He hums, and you don’t feel judged, just understood, “Well, you’re stuck with the lot o’ us now, whether you like it or not,” he grins, wolfish and happy, and moves to stand at the head of the bench to spot you, “Bother away.” And just like that, you’ve got yourself a new workout buddy.

It’s like he’s your self appointed shadow after that, waiting outside your door every morning with a freshly made protein shake in each hand, one for each of you. He’ll get all whiny about it too if you say no, pointy wolf ears drooping and tail falling still behind him. He looks like he’s about to cry until you finally relent and take yours from him (he perks up right away every time, the little faker). Eventually you learn that it’s easier to just take it from him without the fight and let him ramble on about whatever he’d seen on tiktok the night before as he walks you to your office.

He joins you for meals too, complains about the amount of food on your plate and scoops bites off his own plate to supplement yours despite your protests. His Ma had always told him growin’ up that he had to eat plenty of protein if he wanted to be big and strong and protect his pack, so he’s just tryin’ to do the same for you and doesn’t understand why you feel the need to argue about sharing food.

You’re part of his pack now, and Soap’ll be damned before he neglects one of his packmates, just don’t be surprised if he starts bullying his way into your room at night too - he’s a cuddler.

-----

Gaz warms up to you next, though he always blames the blood loss if someone asks what won him over. He’d joined you and Soap for your evening workouts a few times, and grinned at each other when you passed in the halls, but it’s not until the morning after a brutal op that he really starts to see you as part of the team.

It’s early. Barely three-thirty in the morning when the heli touches down and maybe only four when the squad tumbles through the doors but you’re right there with the rest of them. Price is already headed down to the administrative wing for a debrief and Ghost has a snoring Soap over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes on his way to the barracks, and then there’s just the two of you.

You’ve got one of Gaz’s arms over your shoulder and an arm heavy around his waist, tucked snug under his bleeding wing, taking most of his weight as you help him limp through the halls. You hang a left instead of the right that would lead to the infirmary, instead guiding him into your office. You sweep whatever paperwork had been on your desk aside, and help him up to sit, legs hanging off one side of your desk and wings cascading over the other.

You’re quick to shrug off the outer layer of your tactical gear and cast it aside, pulling out a sizable med kit from under your desk and settling on your knees in front of him. You ask him if it’s okay, before you help ease his cargo pants down enough to get to the wound on his thigh and he finds himself taken aback since their usual medic would just muscle them off or cut them away to get at it. You wait until he nods to start tugging at the fabric, fingers careful and intent as you work the material free from the torn flesh. 

He watches as your gaze flickers over the wound and you reach for what you need without even looking. He’s been told his eyes are intense before, it’s normal for bird of prey hybrids, perhaps especially so for golden eagle hybrids like him, but he’s never quite understood the way people describe being pinned in place by his gaze until now. 

You work fast, sterilizing, stitching, and then bandaging his wound with a speed that would rival the military doctors in the infirmary, and the stitches seem more sturdy than he can remember his last ones being. 

Once you’re satisfied with his leg, you stand and move behind him to get a better look at his wing. He'd taken a bullet to it, right through the meat of the muscle, and he knew he’d be grounded a long while until it healed. You hesitated then, unsure if he’d be okay with you touching such a personal area as his wings. 

Gaz swallows hard, trying to think of the last time someone other than himself had handled his wings, and nudges it back into your hands. You’re remarkably gentle, he thinks, as your fingers card delicately through rich caramel feathers until you’re able to uncover the bullet hole. You use a pair of tweezers, to make sure that there are no lingering bits of shrapnel, and a tiny set of scissors to trim back any of the soft downy feathers that could catch in the wound as it heals. 

He’s started churring by the time you’re done, a sort of contented trill from the feeling of someone else preening his wings, despite the lingering pain from the injuries. His golden eyes snap back to focus as you nudge a water bottle and granola bar into his hands with a muttered apology that it was all you had on hand, and he’s still plenty happy because you’re trying to be part of his flock by preening him and providing for him. He churs the whole while as you guide him back to his room and help him into bed.

Gaz quickly becomes a regular participant of you and Soap’s late night gym sessions and joins you for mealtimes once in a while after that night.

-----

Truthfully, you still don’t know what convinced Ghost you were worth knowing, but he supposes that’s because you hadn’t known he was there. He’d been on his way to deliver a mission report from Price to one of the other admin when one of his rounded ears caught the sound of your raised voice. His curiosity drew him to the door, cracked just enough that he was able to see you stood across a table from a trio of generals, arms crossed and back straight. 

“I appreciate your congratulations,” you growled, and Ghost was taken aback by the ferocity in your voice. He’d never heard you speak like that before, not even in the field. “But I am not the one who should be hearing it.”

His ears prick forward, tugging against the thick fabric of his mask as he listened closer, intrigued. 

“With all due respect, Major, task force 141-” one of the pencil pushers started.

“No,” you interrupted, hands coming down hard on the desk between you and the other officers, “They are due the commendations. They are the ones who built this team from the ground up. Sure, there have been successful missions since my joining, but those are not only my achievements. If you want to offer a public congratulations on a successful operation, it will be to my entire team, not just the picture you think would be easiest to publish.”

With that, you turn from the board of your superior officers and head for the door, ignoring their protests, and Ghost has to scramble back in order to avoid being hit with the door. 

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” you say as you see him, moving out of his way. “Didn’t see you there,” and for once that doesn’t sound like some slight against his panther genetics, just a plain statement - he’d been behind the door and you hadn’t meant to nearly clip him with it. You clap him on the shoulder and head off down the hall back toward your office and Ghost is tempted to drop the file where he stands to follow you, one simple interaction you hadn’t meant for him to see enough to convince him there was far more to you than he’d thought. 

You weren’t just some babysitter added to their little family to observe them like they were no more than wild animals - you actually saw their worth and were willing to fight for it?

An amused little huff escapes him and Ghost forces his attention back to the task at hand, spotted tail lashing smoothly behind him as he turns and continues on his way, sharp claws digging puncture wounds into the folder he’d been sent to deliver and your words ringing in his mind.  

----

Price was the last to come around to you being a part of their little family, though he’d never been outright hostile the way Ghost had at first. He’d done his best to be professional with you, complying with the needed paperwork and taking your insights on each operation under consideration, though he never deliberately sought you out. 

That didn’t mean he could avoid you when the team had a mission though, especially not now with the five of you piled into a much-too-small cabin in the mountains near where intel suggested one of Makarov’s bases were. Laswell had just radioed in to let Price know there was a snowstorm incoming so evac might be delayed and to expect to hunker down at least another two nights.

With only two bedrooms and a total of three small beds between them, you’d volunteered to take up roost on the lumpy couch in the living room so he’s not surprised to see you there, so much as he is by your company. You’re sprawled out in about the middle of the couch with Gaz tucked comfortably against your side, your arm around his shoulder and one of his wings curling around the both of you. As Gaz’s wing shifts, Price notices Soap curled against your legs, snoring away, but he freezes as he sees Ghost.

Everyone on the team has gone through hell, but Price knows Ghost has dealt with more than his share. Nightmares aren’t uncommon for any of them, but for Ghost a decent night’s sleep was an incredible rarity. That’s why he’s so startled to see Ghost stretched comfortably along the rest of the couch with his head on your lap and his face nuzzled into your stomach, skull mask gone in favor of his more casual balaclava, and his breathing deep and even.

A pleased little huff escapes Price, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of his three favorite people curled up together happy and comfortable. And if you were part of that? Well, there was plenty of room for one more in that old bear’s heart.

[ace-inthehole]

The consequences of a prank

[ace-inthehole]

shadow company(oc) x graves

His loyal shadows 🖤♟️♠️