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piratesfromspace · 9 months

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Just Like Old Times (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price (& Reader x 141) Rated: Mature Word count: 2.9k Summary: A cottage in the snow. A Captain you knew in another life. His rugged and attractive men. Will you let them into your life? Note: This is a fic I wrote for @literatecowboy for the Secret Santa event organized by @bunnyreaper! I tried to make something soft and sweet and it's taking place during the winter, it's not smutty but if you like it, I can make a part 2 with some action 👀

EDIT: we have a PART 2!!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, a little bit of angst but it’s mainly fluff, smoking, flirting, praise kink, sharing body heat

MASTERLIST // PART 2

It had been Laswell’s idea.

The team needs to be ready for snow conditions, do whatever you think is best. You have 3 weeks. And I’m talking extreme weather, Price, not a little trip to your local ski resort.

Those had been the instructions Kate had delivered to an unphased Price.

He knew it was only a matter of time before this kind of mission would be required from them. Of course, the men of the 141 have already trained in the cold of England, have seen and tested the winter gear. But Laswell is about to send them somewhere at the very East of Europe, and there is a small difference between surviving winter in London and surviving winter in places where the cold could kill you in minutes if you didn't have the proper equipment or knowledge. Over there, more than usual, tiny mistakes could have big consequences. And Price would rather not have his team freeze to death because of a lack of training.

It’s December and the month is cold already. But it’s nothing compared to the cold Soap feels when he steps out of the helicopter. It’s like Price has picked the coldest place he knows in America. He’s pretty sure they are somewhere in Wyoming or Montana, the only thing he can see are mountains all around them. Spruce and fir trees sprawl in dark patches contrasting with the stark white of the snow covering everything. He crosses the large glade to reach the tree line, as the helicopter takes off, sending the fresh snow flying in every direction. The sky is a light gray, and while the whole scene is stunning - makes his head spin with equal awe and wonder thinking about nature’s force and brutal beauty - it means there is no sun to warm his face.

“Come on soldiers, let’s move, we still have a two-hour hike to reach our B&B!”

“You mean someone will be there to make us breakfast Captain?” Soap chimes, unbridled joy coming through his voice at the prospect of warm home-made meals instead of MREs.

Price has a hard time hiding a smile as he starts walking on the thin winding path, only recognisable for those who know it’s there. ”There will be someone, but I’m not sure they will cook for you, Sergeant.”

Ghost lets out a dry chuckle and follows the steps of their Captain, leaving Soap and Gaz a bit puzzled.

❄️

The sun is already setting when you hear loud voices outside, and soon after a series of knocks on your door. You’re a little stressed when you rise from the floor in front of your fireplace to go open the door. You have agreed to shelter those 4 soldiers for 3 entire weeks only as a favor to Price. An old acquaintance who saved your life, a decade earlier, before you left the field to heal your wounds - body and mind. The large wood cabin had been your home for a few years already. You keep it open for women like you, in need of time away from the world, although it’s pretty rare they come during winter time when the road is blocked by snow. It’s an old building, but well-kept and you made it as cozy as possible, all warm natural tones, plush carpets on dark wood floors, dark gray stones in the bathrooms.

You welcome them with a soft smile, delighting in their surprise - seems like John had not told them he planned on using your cottage as a back-up base for this training expedition. John’s team members are not really what you expected: there is one Scott with a mohawk that seems simultaneously annoyed and happy to be there (he has terrific blue eyes), a young and calm brown-haired Brit (he’s really cute, like movie-star cute), and a behemoth with a literal skull mask (his size alone has your head spinning). You can’t complain about them though, as they are polite and friendly, praising your home - and for sure taking in the comfort and warmth one last time before heading off for days of rudimental camping in the icy woods. You don’t envy them, remembering that one mission you did in Siberia when you were still in active duty, that wasn’t really fun. They settle in their rooms easily and you all share a quick dinner you had cooked - except for the masked giant. The banter goes fast between them, especially after you offer them beers. You like being alone, but you have to admit they are fun to be around.

❄️

The living room is silent and dark, the only light coming from the fireplace across your couch. After dinner, you had trouble finding sleep in your room, so you went to read a bit in front of the fire. But you must have dozed off, because you wake up suddenly, gasping, arms flailing, sitting up immediately. Your frantic eyes, wide open, scan the room for the reason of your awakening, survival instinct going overdrive. Someone is standing in your living room, frozen in place on their way to the front door. It’s the behemoth with the skull mask - the scariest of them all, of course.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” he apologizes. In the darkness of the room, it looks like his jaw is not even moving beneath the dark fabric covering the lower half of his face, like the sound just pours out of him or like he’s speaking directly inside your head. He might actually, you’re not entirely convinced the giant is not some sort of supernatural being John brought back from a cursed battlefield. It’s unnerving to say the least.

“I’m sorry, it- it happens sometimes, I can’t help it, my instinct thought you were a threat…” you blurt out before realizing you may have offended him in some way by implying he’s not worthy of your trust. But instead of scoffing, he lets out a thoughtful hum, lowering his head to look at his boots, almost sheepish.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” His voice is low, calm, and at the same time you can feel something else, sadness, maybe disappointment, in what or who, you’re not sure.

“Care for a smoke?” he offers after a beat of silence, nodding to the front door. You don’t smoke anymore, cut the nasty habit years ago. That’s why you don’t know what compels you to accept, but you’re not gonna be able to sleep now, so you follow him outside, grabbing your coat on the way.

You half expect him to smoke through the mask, but he pushes the fabric up enough to reveal a strong jaw covered in light stubble, and plush lips. So he’s human after all. The slick and heavy storm lighter looks ridiculously small in his giant hand when he lights his cigarette. He takes a deep puff before handing it to you.

“Sorry, last one.”

Your fingers graze his, and you bring it to your lips to drag a small puff that immediately makes you cough.

“You ok?” he rasps, humor tilting the corner of his mouth upwards.

“Yeah, it’s been a while, that’s all” you provide. He hums in approval at your explanation.

When you hand him the cigarette, you take a moment to look at his mouth, the way his throat works when he inhales, the way the silver smoke dances between his open lips and fades into the night sky. Something warms your gut when you realize his lips are set just where yours had been a few seconds ago.

You don’t know what’s more attractive, this or the fact he doesn’t try to make conversation for the sake of it. He doesn’t bother to explain why he couldn’t sleep and felt the need to smoke at 3 in the morning. He knows you understand. You are just glad to bask in the soft noises of nature at night - wind in the threes, the hooting of an owl. Fuck, you’ve been alone up there for too long to thirst on John’s colleagues just like this, just a few hours after their arrival. You shake your head, driving out the thought, and take the cigarette again from his fingers.

❄️

The next morning, you wake up pretty early after a short night, only to find one of them - the pretty one, Gaz - is already fixing coffee in your kitchen like he belongs there. You honestly could get used to this. The thin long sleeves of his shirt are doing nothing to conceal the muscles underneath, rolling as he’s going about this mundane task of preparing breakfast. His kind eyes and soft voice when he asks for your choice of eggs makes your heart flutter with a yearning for this kind of intimate domesticity you had never really allowed yourself up until then. It’s kinda concerning, at this rate you’re gonna ask one - all? - of them to stay with you in your cottage instead of going back to whatever missions at the other end of the world.

The rest of the day is not making you change your mind. Price had asked if anything needed their help around the house, and you gave them the tedious task of moving the gigantic pile of wood logs stocked at the other end of your garden closer to the house. It would have taken you days to do it by yourself. But by lunch time, the pile had dwindled to a fifth of what it was thanks to the hard work of the four men. The two younger ones were down to their long-sleeve compression shirts despite the cold, sleeves rolled up their elbows, showing off strong forearms, various scars slashing across the discreet swirls of black ink from old tattoos. Some disappear under the black gloves they are all sporting. Sweat plasters the fabric of their shirts to their shoulders and chests. You can’t deny they look fucking good.

You had accepted Price’s demand without much after-thought, but now you couldn’t be more happy about it, ogling those four rugged men laboring away for you. Despite being older than his men, Price is far from looking bad. He’s built like a brick house, a healthy layer of fat covering muscles he’s been honing for two decades. Dark hair peaks from the open collar of his jacket, your eyes follow the line of the thin garment which is hugging his tapered waist, down to his thick thighs. Fuck. You remember what it was like to be close to him - literally and figuratively. He was your colleague, an equal, a couple years older than you but you shared the same rank. He was a mentor, a friend, a lover - only briefly, after that fateful mission where he saved your life on the field. You parted ways in good spirit after you announced that you wanted to retire, needed to get your head straight before committing to anything. Today, you ask yourself if maybe you could take this back from where you left it.

❄️

You want to train with us today, love? Just like old times.

Price had asked you the question the next morning and you had not been hard to convince. It was more about being able to look at them than to train your body, but they didn’t need to know that. Even if you keep a pretty healthy lifestyle, you can’t compete with elite soldiers, and by the fourth set of push-ups, your arms are giving out. You’re about to stop and reach for your water bottle, when Price notices.

“Come on, you can do five more, I’m sure!”

You groan in response, but you go back in position.

“Breathe, love. Back a little more straight. Elbows in. That’s it… Good.”

Price’s deep voice is calm as he’s encouraging you, gently correcting your posture.

“Don’t look down, chin up. Perfect, you’re doing good.” he goes on, and you cheeks warm under his praise, enough to make you forget the stinging cold. Your whole body is clenched with the effort, you’re letting out little cries with each push-up, your muscles are hurting, but you want nothing more than to make the captain proud.

“Just one more. Done! You did great darling, I’m impressed.”

He helps you get up on shaking legs and when you almost stumble, he secures you upright against his chest, keeps you there for two seconds more than he should for it to not look intentional. When you raise your head, you’re suddenly so close to his face, blue eyes staring down at you with a glint in them you can’t ignore. You reluctantly part before reaching for your water bottle again, playing coy.

The three others are not oblivious to the little game between you and Price. You notice how they exchange knowing looks and little smiles whenever you both interact. Worst, they also seem to pick up on your love for being praised and soon enough they take every excuse to whisper how good your aim still is during target training, or how smart you are for knowing everything about the local fauna during your afternoon hike. It never sounds like they’re mocking you though, never feels like it’s not genuine. It’s not fair, really. At this rate, you don’t know how you’re gonna survive living under the same roof with four attractive men for three entire weeks.

The answer to this torture of yours is revealed quickly. After a few days of acclimatization at your cottage, Price and his men are ready for a long expedition higher in the mountains, with just tents and even a short surviving-in-extreme-cold workshop. They will be gone for at least ten days. You watch them pack their gear and leave your place with a pinch in your heart you couldn’t expect when you first opened your door to them.

❄️

Days go by, pretty uneventful, until your heating system breaks down. It’s not the first time since you’re leaving up there, it’s not that scary but you’ll have to wait a few days for the repair team to come by. In the meantime, you resort to live and sleep in your living room, where the fireplace provides enough heat to keep you warm in the heart of the winter.

They come back the day after that, and when you see their silhouettes emerging from the treeline, just before the sun sets down, you can’t prevent your lips to form a smile so big it hurts your cheeks after a couple minutes standing in the biting cold.

The fondness in Price’s eyes is not dulled by the news your heater is out of order, nor is the relief on Soap’s and Gaz’s faces at the promise of a solid roof and comfy beds after days of rudimentary accommodations.

You all work to prepare some food, and to bring a couple mattresses with all the duvets you can find in front of the fireplace - the only sane solution for you all to sleep without suffering too much from the freezing temperatures. It reminds you of your years of service, when you sometimes had to share a single room with your whole squad - you’re not missing the stress and the harsh living conditions, but you’re definitely missing the camaraderie, the jokes and fits of laughter, the bodies of trusted people around you.

They leave you the couch - gentlemen that they are - the objectively most comfortable option, but once again you can’t find sleep. The piece of furniture is the farthest away from the fire, and you’re on your own, no one next to you to share body heat with you.

It’s only because I’m cold. That’s the poor excuse you give yourself - and the one you whisper to Price - when you step down from your couch to seek a place under the cover next to John. He’s sleeping next to Gaz; Soap and Ghost are sharing the other mattress. You slide yourself against him, immediately melting into his chest, the man radiating heat like it’s his only purpose in life. He doesn’t even have to ask you if it’s okay to hold you against him because you plaster yourself to him and nuzzle against his chest, old habits taking over your sleepy brain. A sense of safety and comfort envelopes you at the same time his warmth does. You forgot how good it felt to be in his embrace, to be tucked against his broad chest, surrounded by his smell - manly, ambery wood, and the rich spice of his cigars.

He chuckles silently as you settle at his side and let out a little content sigh. He missed that too, he won’t say it out loud, but having you like this, soft and pliant in his arms, it makes him wonder how he could be such a fool for not seeking you sooner. He suddenly wants to kiss you, to make you feel good, here and now, no matter the fact his men are sleeping just a few inches from you. Should he care? He’s not blind to the fact you spend a good amount of time leering at them since they’re here, and to the fact they are watching you back. He can not ignore the shameless flirting going on between all of you five actually. John has never really been in a situation like this, doesn’t know where this will lead him - where this could lead them. But he’s ready to follow you. He takes a deep breath before he talks.

“Just like old times?” He asks, voice low, chest vibrating with it under your palm.

Just like old times… The words echo in your head, echo in your heart. He gives you the opportunity to lead him - to lead them - wherever you wish.

“Just like old times.” You repeat back to him, before you capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

PART 2

#cod fanfiction #captain price x reader #polyamory #poly tf141 #poly 141 #price x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x soap #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty fanfic #winter fics

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rottenpumpkin13 · 1 month

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There's a fire at Shinra building in the middle of the night, what is everyone wearing/how do they look as they evacuate?

Genesis: Red silk pajamas, an eye mask around his head, and a black silk robe draped over him as he drags two suit cases filled with books because "I refuse to let the fire burn my collection"

Zack: Stamp-themed pajama pants, a hoodie he stole from Angeal, and the ">:(" expression because he was woken up by the fire alarm only 15 minutes after he crashed after a night of gaming.

Angeal: Gray sweatpants, a tank top he only put on so he wouldn't be half-dressed, and flip flops that go fwip fwap fwip fwap as he paces around nervously, trying to do a headcount.

Cloud: He got out of bed so fast he barely had time to get dressed before the sergeant was shoving them out the door. He's just glad he's wearing regular sweat pants and a regular white t-shirt. *Cloud has failed to notice that his shirt is on backwards, and has the Silver Elite logo under Sephiroth's face on full display

Kunsel: People are confused as to why Kunsel is wearing pajamas and the SOLDIER regulation helmet, but they're too scared to ask.

Sephiroth: Sephiroth is wearing his uniform.

Lazard, seeing Sephiroth in uniform: Ah, do you guys see this? See? Sephiroth is an example to be followed. He is the only SOLDIER who bothered to get into uniform before being seen in public. His efficiency is commendable and you are all a disgrace to the SOLDIER name.

Sephiroth: Actually, I fell asleep in my office yesterday and was woken up by the fire alarm just now.

Lazard:

Sephiroth: I thought the world was ending.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ffvii crisis core #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #cloud strife #kunsel ff7 #crisis core

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rodolfoparras · 9 months

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Pairing: John Price x Male reader

Cw: sexual tension

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Sergeant,” Price says as you search for the shaving tools located in his very small bathroom.

You just wave him off with your hand, silently cheering when you find what you were looking for before instructing him to take a seat on the toilet lid.

Price is quick to do as you say, before proceeding to try and undo the buttons on his shirt with his injured hand.

Eventually with some struggles he gets the shirt unbuttoned but has no success in taking it off.

“Here let me help” you say standing so close your knees knock together as your warm hands gently push his away.

Price only manages a nod in response trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck ears and cheeks as you help take off his clothing.

“Are you cold?” You say, probably noticing the goosebumps rising on his skin.

“No just get on with it” he grunts out, tipping his chin up.

You just chuckle at his antics before you lather up his face, watching the grays in his beard get coated in shaving cream.

“Just the chin and -“

“And a bit of the cheeks I know” you say with a playful smile on your face as you take the razor in your hand.

“You’re one grumpy old man you know?” You say with a chuckle, eyes flickering up to see the look on his face only to realize just how close you are standing to the older man.

For a second you feel yourself getting lost in those cerulean eyes; the way his black lashes fan against his cheeks, and the way his rosy lips stand out amongst the white foam lathered onto his skin.

“Tilt your head up a bit more” you say voice breathy and strained, forcing yourself to break the eye contact to focus on the task at hand.

He does as you say and although you’re no longer looking at him, you can feel the way his eyes follow your movements as you gently drag the razor across his cheek

Once you’re done with his cheeks. you move down to his chin, slowly but surely uncovering a faded scar on his skin.

He must’ve noticed you looking at it because he starts to speak

“I got it when I first enlisted” he says voice tinted with embarrassment “fell face first, ended up with a big scar right on my face, thought a beard would do a good job at covering it up”

Before you can even register what you’re doing your thumb caresses the scarred skin.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his own and once again you loose yourself in them.

For a second it feels like he’s leaning in closer because before you know of it you’re a hair away from his lips and you completely forget what you’re doing in the first place because suddenly your hand jerks and you’re drawing blood on his cheek.

Price hisses and quickly pulls away.

“Shit! Sorry sorry,” you say, watching the way he quickly walks over to the sink.

What you don’t see is the way he tries to blink back the haze from his eyes, the way he prays and hopes the cool water is enough to sooth his blush and the way his pulse is roaring in his ears as he cleans the blood of his cheek.

After wiping his face completely he returns back to his seat.

“I’m really so-“

“It’s fine,” he grunts out in response “Just get it done and over with sergeant,” he says, this time avoiding your gaze and nervously tapping on his leg

#call of duty #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #x male reader #male reader

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jedipoodoo · 2 years

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Laundry Day (Sergeant Hunter x OC)

Notes: No warnings, just fluff. Lots of kisses. This was written because a0 I just needed to write anything, period, and b) because I promised @dilpickledd fluff with my last Hunter/Saachi piece and gave him nothing but angst. And so, for all of you with baby fever, I present this, inspired by our beloved @seriowan's baby fics

@the-shadow-of-atlantis @queenquazar @allwhoponder

"Gray, squirt, I need you to move."

Gray sat in the center of his parent's freshly-made bed, giving his father a two-toothed grin.

Hunter sighed dramatically, and Gray giggled.

"Alright, suit yourself." He took the laundry basket in his arms and raised it above his head, tilting it forward just enough that the first few pieces of clothes fell off the top of the pile.

Gray squealed in mock terror and toddled over to his mother on the other side of the bed as fast as his chubby legs could carry him.

"We tried to tell you, sweetie," Saachi said soothingly, smoothing back his luscious curls.

Hunter dumped the rest of the laundry on the bed so that they could fold it, and tossed the basket to the side.

"C'mere, little man," Hunter crawled up on the bed and lunged for Gray across the pile of steaming laundry.

Gray squealed again, and half-heartedly tried to escape. Hunter pulled him to his chest and rolled on his side, landing with his head in Saachi's lap.

"Caught ya," Hunter grinned, covering Gray's cheeks with kisses. Gray made cooing noises, licking at Hunter's cheeks in in his best imitation of a sloppy smooch.

"Come on you two, we just washed the laundry, I don't want to have to do it again."

"Aww, just five more minutes!" Hunter whined the way Jasper did when he wanted to stay up late just like Omega, lip quiver and everything.

Saachi bent down and kissed his forehead, "Come on, get up," she slid her hands under his shoulders, giving him a little push. Hunter swung his legs up into the air, and used the momentum to pull himself upright, with Gray cradled to his chest. Gray giggled in delight, and helped himself down, leaping spread-eagle into the warm pile of laundry like a pile of leaves outside.

Everything that was folded was stacked neatly in the basket so that Gray couldn't knock over the carefully curated piles. He crawled back and forth between his parents, presenting each of them with a new piece of clothing he'd discovered, from Saachi's shirts to Hunter's boxers.

"Thank you, Gray," Saachi kissed Gray's forehead, easing the sock from his chubby fingers so that she could fold it with its pair. "Go give this to your buir," She nodded to Hunter, giving Gray a washcloth.

Gray ran across the bed like a toddler on a mission, screaming the whole way as he launched himself at Hunter's chest.

"Oof!" Hunter caught him, "What've you got for me, squirt?"

Gray shoved the washcloth in Buir's face, poking him in the eye.

"Gentle, Gray, remember be gentle," Hunter took Gray's hand, demonstrating how to gently hand over the washcloth.

"Gentle," Hunter repeated. Gray looked up at him with his big eyes.

"Gentle," Hunter demonstrated again.

"Gentle. That's right," Hunter cooed. He patted his knee, and Gray sat in his lap. Saachi paused her folding, watching as Hunter guided Gray through folding the piece of cloth.

"En-ta." Gray said, enunciating his syllables the same way Hunter did.

"En-ta!"

"Good job! You did it!"

"Didi!" Gray threw the washcloth up in the air, and it landed on Hunter's head.

Saachi laughed as Hunter sighed in defeat.

"Worth a shot."

"Who would have thought; Sergeant Hunter, defeated by a baby."

"Hey!" Hunter protested, squishing Gray's cheeks, "You forgot to mention he's a very cute baby!"

"No!" Gray shoved his hands away.

Hunter looked at him in surprise, "No? You're not cute?"

"No!" Gray dove into the pile of laundry again.

Saachi shook her head. She pulled Omega's shirt off of Gray's head, trying to fold it to be put away, but Gray grabbed it at the last second.

"Gray, honey, you need to let go so Mama can put it away."

Gray gave a good tug, but he wasn't strong enough to stand against his Mama.

"No!" Gray repeated, trying to grab it again.

Saachi folded the shirt quickly and tossed it aside, "All gone!" She said, hoping that would deter him.

"No!" Gray whined. He dropped his face in Saachi's lap so that she could see the trauma she was putting him through.

"Come on, let's find something else to put away." Saachi sat him upright on her lap so that he could see everything that was going on. Gray slumped and continued to whine at the loss of his beloved shirt. Saachi tried to offer him other things, like Jasper's sock that was missing its pair, but Gray remained pouting.

Saachi sighed, and from the pile she grabbed one of Hunter's bandanas.

Gray's eyes lit up.

"Nana?" He asked.

"Yes, that's right. Nana," Saachi nodded.

She studied the shrinking pile of laundry. It was mostly done, it wouldn't hurt to play, and Hunter certainly wouldn't mind.

"Want to try it on?" She asked. Gray hesitated to grab it, so soon after the shirt had been ripped away.

Saachi wrapped the bandana around Gray's head, loosely tying it in a knot so that it would stay for even just a few seconds.

Gray smacked his forehead, feeling around the fabric to see what was so fascinating about it.

"Nana!" He declared, grinning up at Saachi.

Saachi tickled his stomach and he squealed, "Go show buir," she stood Gray on his feet and gave him a little push.

Hunter was just folding the last pair of socks when Gray crashed into him again.

"Woah! got a little tracker here, I didn't even hear you coming!" He tossed the socks into the basket and caught Gray under his arms.

"Hello, what's this?" He asked, cocking his head to the side as he caught sight of the familiar bandana. Gray mirrored his movements.

Saachi hid her giggles behind her hand and propped the basket against her hip, "Looks like he just wanted to be like his buir."

Hunter's cheeks flushed.

"Boo! Boo!" Gray laughed.

Hunter sat up, "Saachi, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"He said Buir!" Hunter gave his son a big grin, and Gray smiled back.

"He says a lot of things, Hunt."

"I know, but this one's important," Hunter caught Gray by his armpits, tossing him up in the air to be met with squeals of delight.

"Hiya! Hiya!" He begged.

"Be careful-" Saachi warned.

"I will," Hunter promised before she could even get the words out. Gray's flight never got any higher, but he was too excited to notice.

"Omega, Jasper, come put your clothes away!" Saachi called for the other kids.

Hunter caught Gray and pulled his son into his chest, littering his face with kisses yet again. Gray squealed with joy, and Hunter bent to his ear, whispering something Saachi couldn't hear. Immediately, Gray turned to Saachi, opening and closing his fists in a grabbing motion.

"You want me to toss you?" Saachi asked, pointing to her chest.

"No!" Gray shook his head, and repeated the motions with vigor.

Puzzled, Saachi carefully climbed off the bed and made her way over to her boys. Hunter was chuckling, balancing Gray in the crook of his arm to help him reach out to Mom.

"What do you want, baby?" Saachi asked, bending down to Gray's height.

"Now!" Hunter exclaimed. Gray's hands clapped against Saachi's cheeks, and he placed a big, wet kiss on Saachi's lips. Gray screamed with delight as Saachi laughed, even as she wiped drool from her chin.

"C'mere, you!" Saachi snatched up Gray and kissed him in all the places where Hunter had kisses his face. Hunter sat back laughing, sinking into the pillows with all their fresh pillowcases.

"Oh no you don't!" Saachi placed Gray on her hip, and leaned down, giving Hunter his own big wet kiss on his cheek.

"Boo!" Gray cheered.

"That's right, Gray," Saachi kissed his nose, "Buir gets kisses too."

"Hmmm," Hunter pondered that statement, tucking his hands under his head, "Does Buir get more than just one kiss?"

Saachi grinned at him, "What do you think, baby, does Buir get all the kisses?"

Gray raised his hands to the ceiling, "Ah!"

"All?" Saachi asked.

"Ah!"

Hunter sat up eagerly, "You heard the squirt," He puckered his lips in anticipation, but Saachi wasn't giving in that quickly. The moment he closed his eyes, Saachi replaced her face with Gray's.

"Hey!" Hunter protested.

"What? What's wrong with a baby kiss?" Saachi asked innocently.

Hunter's disappointed expression quirked up in a smirk, and he lunged for his wife. Saachi squealed, and Gray laughed as they were pulled in.

"There's nothing wrong with baby kisses," Hunter murmured quietly. He wrapped one arm around Saachi's waist, pulling her onto his lap. His other hand came up to caress her cheek, brushing away an errant curl.

"It's just that sometimes, I want mommy kisses too."

"Ew!" Someone exclaimed, someone who was not Gray.

Saachi's nose brushed against Hunter's as she grinned, "If you insist."

Gray clapped as Saachi's lips met Hunter's, and Hunter held up his hand, allowing his wingman to give him a high five.

Saachi and Hunter looked up, seeing Omega and Jasper in the doorway, and both of them were recoiled in horror.

"Meega! Ja-ja!" Gray lunged for his big brother and big sister, held back by his mother's grasp.

"What're you two on about?" Hunter shook his head. He felt around for his bandana, only to remember it was on Gray's head.

Omega folded her arms and squared her shoulders. Jasper copied her.

"We came to get our laundry, only to find you two sucking face."

"You can call it kissing, Mega," Saachi said.

"No."

"No!"

Jasper shook his head in agreement with Omega and Gray.

Saachi and Hunter both rolled their eyes and climbed up to their feet.

"Alright you crazy kids, here's your laundry." Hunter held out the basket.

Omega and Jasper, convinced that the oogies were past, let down their guard and reached for the basket.

"But first!" Saachi held up a finger and Hunter lifted the basket out of their reach.

"Whaaaaaat?" the two kids whined.

"You must pay the toll."

"The toll?"

"What's a toll?"

Saachi lifted Gray from her hip, holding him out to his brother and sister, "You must each give the baby a kiss!"

Omega and Jasper both screamed in terror.

"No!" they ran from the room as fast as they could, but Hunter and Saachi were after them. Gray was laughing the whole time.

#lizart writes #my ocs #saachi gunder #gray gunder #jasper gunder #sergeant hunter x oc #tbb hunter x oc #sergeant hunter #tbb hunter #the bad batch x oc #clone babies #sunter

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eastbubble · 5 months

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you and 09!ghost were never really on good terms, things were always frosty and cold between you two. missions kind of connected you guys but that was notning special, it was the same with everyone else on the team so you wouldn’t really consider that extraordinary.. until something happened.

the location was already bad enough — georgian - russian border, what a blessing. a part of the task force was supposed to clear the house hidden in the woods in hopes of finding makarov as this was one of his possible hiding places. you could only hope for the best.

the mission didn’t turn out to be a success, though. the area was cleared and you shot what felt like hundreds of soliders, yet there was no sign nor trace of the man that the whole world was looking for — vladimir makarov. roach was downstairs copying the files from the central computer he found there, but it was taking extremely long and you just couldn’t help but start exploring the house out of boredom.

your heavy gear was sticking to your body like a soaked towel, your body sweaty from all the stress that was put on you. the wooden floor was creaking under your military-issue boots that were so uncomfortable on your feet after such a long day. however, after a while, you heard the sound of another pair of boots knocking against the probably rotten wood, making you turn your head and look up. ghost. it’s ghost.

“impressive. you did really good,” he mumbled under his breath, though he didn’t seem like he was actually serious. to be honest, you didn’t even know what he sounded like when he was dead serious. the balaclava on his face always somehow filtered the tone of his voice and you couldn’t guess what could be going on in his mind.

and the next thing you remember is him pushing you against the wall and slamming his lips against yours, the fabric of the skull-print balaclava obviously being in the way. both of your saliva made a little spot on the soft cotton, and what a funny touch because you imagined your panties looking the same — with a silly little wet spot on it. he held you tightly under your butt with one arm, your back against the wall so it would be easier for him to keep you up in the air.

just like that, he was already reaching down to your panties. unzipping your pants with shaky, gloved fingers as he seemed incredibly desperate. he circled the wet spot on your undies, outlining it with the tip of his finger as a horrible excuse of foreplay. just moments later he was in his pants too, needily taking his rock-hard cock out of his boxer briefs and not wasting any time to pull the fabric covering your pretty cunt aside, almost immediately sliding into you.

it was really weird that he didn’t say anything. it all just happened and it was weird. you laid you head into the crook of his neck, fingers gripping the gray wool-ish texture of his pullover. at first he only slid in with his flared tip but then seconds later he pushed more of his length in, letting you feel the raw veins on his slightly curved length. he was huge and you were sure that he would hit your cervix the moment he bottomed out inside you — and that was why you began protesting with soft little sounds coming out of your mouth, tiny and silent moans of his rank slipping out. not ghost nor simon, not even riley. you felt ashamed that the only thing coming out of your mouth was just “lieutenant, please..”

“ssh, we don’t want roach to hear you downstairs, do we?” he asked almost silently, but you could tell that he was holding back a few gruff grunts too, judging from the way he breathed. “do we, sergeant?”

“no. no, no. but it’s so-“ and you had to swallow the rest of your sentence down because of how you could almost feel his tip leaking inside you with every word you painfully uttered out. it was messy and sticky, the lewd sounds your pussy kept making were basically reverbating off the walls. and it was all dripping down into your panties, small droplets sliding along your slit and soaking into the thin fabric. “nasty..”

“fuck..”

and as soon as he mumbled that curse out, you heard a pair of boots againts the wooden floor — one that sounded identical to your and ghost’s ones. shit. shit!

looking over ghost’s shoulder you had to blink thrice to confirm that what you saw was indeed real. roach stood there in the doorway like a deer in the headlights, his goggles pushed atop of his tactical helmet as you could physically see his adam’s apple bob from how hard he gulped. he held a few papers and an usb memory stick in his hands, fingers shaking as he slightly raised it up in to the air. “it’s- it’s done, sir-“

#i love writing biblically accurate cod smut :3 #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost mw2 #modern warfare 2

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

Text

Creepy, But Special

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x goth!fem!ME!reader

Summary: Tim sees a woman in a cemetery after dark and can't stop thinking about you. When he calls for the M.E. and you arrive, he gets a chance to find out more about you.

Warnings: spoilers for 5x22, r is an ME and performs an autopsy, mentions of past judgement and insults, fluff, Tim gets kinda flirty even while there's a dead body between them?

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

A/N: The request said shy reader, but she's pretty open with Tim so I didn't include it in the pairing dynamic. R is very professional with the other characters, though, so that could be considered shy, I think. And, as always, ignore the Chenford gif🤭

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Kojo, c’mon,” Tim urges as Kojo tugs the leash away from Tim.

Kojo has been taking his time on this walk, more of a stroll to sniff everything than a walk, but Tim is ready to get home. When Kojo returns to Tim’s side and begins trotting again, Tim rewards him with a whispered compliment: “There’s the best boy.”

As they near a cemetery, however, a cat meows inside the open gate, causing Kojo to stop again. Tim shakes his head but watches Kojo as his ears perk, and he looks into the narrow gate opening.

“No, Bazinga,” someone says from inside the fence. The cat meows again, and this time the voice - pretty voice, Tim’s mind corrects – laughs. “How are you going to do a séance if you can’t talk, Bazinga?”

Tim and Kojo step to the inside edge of the sidewalk for a better view. Tim should know better than to let his guard down here, but when he realized that the creepy cemetery cat had supervision, he needed to know more. Standing at the fence, he can see a gray blanket spread across a small clearing. You’re sitting on the blanket with a large book open across your lap. A black cat, Bazinga, presumably, roams around you before jumping onto your shoulder.

Tim can’t help but be intrigued by you. He can tell you're young in the dim light of a nearby streetlight. While he’s simultaneously drawn to you and put off by your odd choice about where you relax, Tim lets his logic win and snaps for Kojo to heel beside him. With one final glance at you, Tim leaves you in the dark but remembers your voice long after you ask your cat, “What do you think about the black cat stereotype and how well you fit into it?”

When Tim wakes the following morning, his first thought is you. Part of him wonders if he imagined you, a young woman dressed in black reading in a cemetery in the middle of the night, yet he can’t get you off his mind even as he rises and gets ready for work. Now that overtime has been approved, he has to focus on catching the masked individuals who attacked Aaron and Celina just hours after he saw you.

Once he hears Aaron and Celina’s statuses, it’s easier to forget you and your cat. When they find Roy Gracco and prepare to enter his house, Tim doesn’t even remember his previous cemetery-side walk.

Tim leads the alpha team into Gracco’s home, prepared for anything, but is surprised to find the house clear and cold.

“Drop the gun! Drop it!” he demands as he rounds a corner.

“I think he’s dead,” Nolan calls.

Tim approaches him slowly and confirms that Gracco is dead, 10-5-5.

“It’s a trap,” Nolan realizes aloud.

“Abort! Abort! Abort!” Tim yells. As he exits Gracco’s house, he radios, “Control, I need the bomb squad to the target house for a full sweep. Send the M.E. and TID out here, standing by for a priority search once the house is clear.”

“Yep, got it,” you reply to the police dispatcher.

Your work phone buzzes with a message containing the address where you’re needed. The van is prepped and ready to go, so you only grab your phone, keys, and seal-wrapped black coveralls. When you arrive at the house, dozens of police officers, crime scene investigators, and city officials are waiting.

“Sergeant Grey?” you ask as you approach him. “Has the house been cleared?”

“Almost. Bomb squad’s doing a final walk-through,” he answers. “The officers who found the body are inside and ready to assist you.”

“Dispatch said the air had been cranked down to delay decomp. Do you know if anyone touched the thermostat?”

“No. Sergeant Bradford made sure the house stayed in the same condition as how they found it.”

“Perfect.”

“All clear,” one of the bomb squad members calls as he exits. “Your people are free to enter.”

“Hold up,” Grey calls to TID. “Let the M.E. get what she needs first.”

“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder as you approach the front door.

“Hi, I’m Officer Chen,” an officer greets you as you enter. “Bradford, M.E.’s here.”

“Sergeant Bradford, I hear you preserved the scene and the body. Thanks,” you tell him as you set your bag down.

Tim doesn’t reply, too intrigued that you, a woman who hangs out in cemeteries with her black cat, is the M.E. That and your age, to be more precise.

“What’s the temperature in here?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Fifty-eight,” he answers quickly, shaking himself out of his thoughts and reminding himself not to stare.

“Fifty-eight,” you murmur as you scribble something on your paper. “Then I’m putting time of death between 1 and 2 a.m.”

“Before Aaron and Celina were ambushed,” Lucy says.

“How can you limit it to an hour?” Tim asks. Not because he’s overly interested in your method but because everything you say and do interests him. He wants to hear you talk again. To him, preferably.

“The air temperature and confinement slowed decomp but also affected the blood coagulation. Because of that, and knowing the average maintained temperature since death, I can calculate it with a bit more accuracy,” you explain.

Tim nods and looks at Lucy, who seems to know why he took a sudden interest in forensic science. He has a dozen more questions he’d like to ask you, very few of which are about the case, but you frighten Tim Bradford just enough that he falls silent to let you work.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say suddenly.

“Is everything okay?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, just this little guy.” You straighten and extend your hand to show Tim a moderately large spider. “There’s a web in that windowsill, he must have been confused by the temperature drop.”

You cup your hand as you walk toward the window and gently place the spider back on its web. Tim watches every little move you make, trying not to be convinced that you were in a cemetery and are still dressed in black merely because you’re creepy.

“So, based on positioning, lividity, and blood coagulation around the wound in his hand, I’m confident that my estimate of 1 to 2 a.m. today is accurate. More, I’d say that he was unconscious when both the bullets and the knife entered his body. There’s no sign of jerking or resisting, and the stiffness in his spine suggests that he’s been positioned like this for closer to a day.”

“A day?” Tim repeats. “How could he be in one position for nearly ten hours before being shot and stabbed?”

“Was he alive when he was stabbed?” Lucy inquires.

“Yes,” you answer her. “He didn’t react in any way to that pain and the lack of naturally dried blood around the wound, so he was likely already in a state of statis. His heart rate was likely low, the temperature was impeding the healing process, and, as I’m sure you know, bullet wounds don’t close on their own.”

“Then why lead us here?” Tim wonders.

“This is related to the cops that were attacked this morning?” you ask. “I heard about the riddle.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Tim asks.

“I don’t think you’ll find much in this house other than him.”

“I agree.”

“If Gracco is a patsy,” Lucy interjects, “then we should be asking why him?”

“He’s a felon with a history at Mid-Wilshire,” Grey answers as he walks in.

“Sure, but there are hundreds of guys like that. So, why Gracco? Did they pull his name out of a database or is there some kind of connection?”

“You think it’s personal?” Tim asks.

“Look, if I was gonna go to the extreme of targeting police officers, why not take out some of my enemies along the way?”

“That’s gotta count as a goth point,” you murmur.

“Costs us nothing to run with that,” Grey points out. “Get back to the station, check Gracco’s known associates, family, coworkers, anyone he did time with that might hold a grudge. Run them against people that we arrested. And say a prayer while you’re at it.”

“Actually, Grey, can I escort the M.E.?” Tim asks.

You look up from your spot on the floor, and Tim looks away quickly because he suddenly thinks that in that position, you look like a cat.

“Do that,” Grey agrees. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Chen, Nolan and Harper are at the station and ready to assist you.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy replies as she exits.

“Why do I need an escort?” you ask once you’re alone with Tim.

“Because we don’t know what we’re up against and I don’t want to find out the hard way that we’re closer than we think,” he answers.

You nod as you stand, then remind Tim that you have to prepare the body to take back to the morgue. He nods and steps aside, hands clasped, happy to watch you.

“Got it,” Tim says into his phone. “Pine’s got Metro mobilized; do you need me to come back?”

You pull your gloves on as Tim ends his call. He steps toward you and says, “I’m clear to stay with you.”

“Why?” you ask.

“All of our bases are covered. So, if you find something, we need to know.”

You shrug as you concede. It’s not that you don’t want Tim with you; you are confused about why a decorated Metro Sergeant would want to keep you company while you perform an autopsy.

“If you want a mask or anything, they’re in the black case behind you,” you tell him.

“Of course it’s black,” Tim muses.

“Meaning?” you inquire as you mark your incision points.

When you look toward him, Tim gestures to your outfit. You certainly don’t dress like other medical examiners. Or act like them, for that matter.

“What do you have against black?” you tease. “Or are you just jealous of the Converse?”

Tim smiles as he tips his head and replies, “I would rock some studded black Converse, right?”

“Totally. I’ll hook you up with my shoe guy. He might want to see you in the heeled version first, though.”

“So, why’d you become a medical examiner?” Tim asks as you begin the first cut in Gracco’s chest.

“What do you think?”

“Love for science?” Tim guesses.

You lift the scalpel and narrow your eyes at Tim. “Most people just assume I’d like to dig around in dead people.”

“Why? Because you wear black and pick up spiders?”

“Amongst other things.”

“What other things?”

You shake your head and argue, “You have to tell me something about you first.”

“I like the Dodgers.”

“Wow,” you drawl. “Mark me as shocked and surprised.”

“I’m a cop, there isn’t much time to do things worth telling.”

“Fine, I’ll go first but you better have something when I’m done.”

“Yeah, of course. Just, one more thing. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. Don’t you dare say oh, you look older, or wow, you must be smart, I really can’t take hearing that again.”

“I didn’t think you must be smart. You clearly are,” Tim replies.

“Good answer. You still want to know about me?”

Tim nods, and you tip your chin down to continue the autopsy as you speak.

“So, you can tell that I like black and spiders… I feel most alive in the fall, Halloween is my favorite day of the year. And cats! They’re much better than spiders because you can watch horror movies and Beetlejuice with them, and birds bring out their violent sides. But cats will also read witch books with you and listen to music, hang out in cemeteries. All the stuff that gets you labeled a ‘creepy weirdo’ is more fun with a cat.”

“Has someone called you a creepy weirdo?” Tim questions.

“More times than I can count. But I have another list that’s longer.”

“A list of what?”

“The coolest tattoos I’ve ever seen.”

Tim hesitates before he asks, “On dead people?”

“Some,” you admit honestly. “Most of them are on live people, though. They’re not as cool when the skin underneath isn’t moving or filled with blood.”

“Interesting.”

“Is this where you call me a creepy weirdo?” Tim shakes his head, and you add, “I guess I’ve just always felt drawn to stuff like that, and it makes me happy, so why should I care what people say about that?”

Tim leans against a table across the morgue from you as you continue to work. He asks a few questions as you work, but the autopsy is as simple as expected. Gracco was killed. There’s no additional evidence about who killed him or why, and his body is relatively clean and well-preserved.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” you tell Tim as you discard your gloves. “If it was a full moon I may have been more help.”

“Because you like full moons, I assume.”

“It was actually a weak werewolf joke, but yes, I do.”

“Does Bazinga?”

You freeze beside Tim before you look up at him to ask, “How do you know my cat’s name?”

“You said it,” Tim answers.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Not today, uh… I saw you in a cemetery a few nights ago.”

“I knew there was someone out there! Bazinga thought it was a ghost.”

Tim nods, unsure of how to keep the conversation going. You both want to keep talking, but there’s something Tim can’t ask, and you aren’t sure you can answer. So, you trace the shape of a crescent moon on your wrist to encourage yourself.

“Will you go out with me?” you ask quickly.

Tim opens his mouth to answer, but you add, “You don’t have to! If I’m misreading this or you’re just being nice and really do think I’m crazy, I understand.”

“I’d love to,” Tim answers when you fall quiet. “Maybe Kojo and I could join your next cemetery picnic.”

“You don’t think that’s creepy?”

“Really creepy,” Tim answers dramatically. “But you like it, so I’d like to see why.”

“What’s your shoe size? I’ll bring you some black Converse.”

“With studs?”

“Wouldn’t you be the stud?”

Tim laughs as he follows you into your office, but his phone rings with an update from Sergeant Grey and he quickly exchanges numbers with you before he leaves. Later, you remember that you never asked who Kojo was, and the picture Tim texts in return to your question makes you smile in your lonely office.

“How nervous are you?” you ask as Tim and Kojo meet you outside the cemetery.

“Probably not as much as I should be,” Tim answers with a smile. “Just don’t tell me we’re eating with someone, uh, someone in there.”

“No, of course not.” You open the gate and joke, “We’ll ease into that.”

“Where’s Bazinga?”

“Bazinga is a cat. In the picnic basket.”

You help Tim spread your favorite blanket on the grass and join him and Kojo as you set the food out. Tim watches you and realizes you’ve never been creepy, scary, or a weirdo. You’re special and if this spot beside you has been left open for him by people underestimating or judging you, he’ll make sure you know how special you are.

#tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x fem!reader #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #the rookie #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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