Poly!Marauders X Reader Insert, Best Cuddler/hugger/kisser Headcanon:

Afterburn

(Everyone x F! Reader)

Rating: M Wordcount: 8k Tags: Aftercare, Post-nut clarity, Praise kink, Taking a bath together, Just 6 dudes taking care of their girl after completely and utterly wrecking her A/N: ...This was supposed to be a drabble. No few regrets. My personal take on the aftermath @yeyinde 's "Body electric". Special thank you to @guyfieriii @moondirti @zwiiicnziiix @ladiilokii and many others

Summary:

It’s over.

The world around you feels dense, cryptic, laden with mysteries and vagueness as you still try to process how you ended up here. Your eyes stare up at the creaking, wooden rafters of the safehouse, vision still swimming, dried tears flaking at the corner of your gaze. Every small motion seems to roil with a discomfort that’s heavy with the aftereffects of pleasure, bleached to the bone and dull, cracking at the edges. Splayed over the table where maps and gear had been hastily shoved aside you can’t deny the chafe, the rawness that manages to soak deep into your veins.

The boys are milling around you, speaking in tired, disbelieving tones at the events of the past few hours, at how you had managed to take them, all of them at once.

It had been a blur, your memories drowning in a cacophony of slickened skin and torrid, whispered praises, or grunted pleasures and hissed curses as they all took as much as they gave. You weren’t sure who’s idea it was at first, but in the course of fucking you, of ruining you, you had surrendered completely to them, let their hands and voices guide you as you floated on an endless sea of sensation and desire. Even as they had drunk their fill of you, of your salted moans and whimpered, pleasured cries, they had been ever attentive, listening to the roll and tide of your ebbing lust, knowing exactly when to push and pull you like the ever-changing undercurrent of the ocean itself.

Now, in the aftermath you feel like you’ve been washed ashore, left there by the churning waves as fluid drips across your skin and clings there like salt.

You don’t survive this long with the 141 without your fair share of injuries. Burns, cuts, and blisters are your war medals, decorating your skin with a silent story of pride. Grenades, IEDs, the ground shattering sensation of a missile launch or the back-kick of a rifle. These things were familiar to you. Not this.

When you blink, it’s to wince at the rough chafe between your legs, the tender touch of a love bite sucked into your throat. You ache all over, and while the afterburn of pleasure still roils low in your stomach, sated and simmering with fading euphoria, the dull, insistent stretch and soreness of handling five men at once feels at once too much, too sharp, too severe.

A whimper bubbles up your throat when you try to shift, try to roll over onto your stomach with your back still braced on the harsh metal table braced against your back. Someone had been kind enough to spread a towel under you, but it’s still not enough to ease the bite of discomfort clinging to you like rose thorns.

The chatter around you ceases instantly at the sound that pours from you when you try to move. The world around you seems more like hazy, indiscernible shapes with how overstimulated your senses are, an abstract of shades and shapes that make little sense to your pleasure-addled brain. Yet even so, it’s Rudy’s face that flickers into your vision, brow still slick with sweat but scrunched with concern.

“Shh.” He hushes you, and his hand is petting your hair from your face and your eyes flutter shut under his touch. “Easy, mi Corazón.”

“How is she?”

The voice is gruff, accented, and the question itself seems more like a demand than a question, spoken with an air of unquestioning authority. Price.

“Tired.” You manage, voice tacky and stick in your dry throat as you swallow and taste bitterness there. “Sore.”

Rudy clucks at you, and the sound feels for all the world like a worried mother hen. His thumb smears a drop of flaking cum against your cheek, and the touch is tender, careful with your over exhausted state.

Except then there’s another touch, one that grasps at your hand and raises it between two calloused palms, bitten with years of duty.

“Ya did good, hen.” Soap coos, and you twist your head to see him, his eyes still glazed over but bright, warm as they regard your lidded gaze. “Did so well for us.”

You can only hum, trying and failing to find the wherewithal inside you to summon a proper response. Soap smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

“What do you need, doll?” A different voice asks, and you tilt your head to see Gaz leaning on the table next to you, one hand planted next to your shoulder as he gazes down at you. His head is tilted, eyes tracing over the mess of fluids and grime caked on your skin. There’s something that flickers across his eyes, bitter and almost guilty, and had you not been so spent you would have reached for him, murmured reassurances against the curve of his jaw.

“Water.” You mutter instead, and instantly Gaz is gone from you. Before you can try and follow him with your eyes there’s hands bracing at your shoulders, fingers spreading against your bare skin. The world shifts around you, body bent and raised up to a sitting position.

“Easy, querida.” Alejandro soothes as you let out a little whimper of discomfort when he sits you up. “Con suavidad, mm? Gently now.”

You don’t have the strength to sit up by yourself, choosing to lean heavily on him instead, body slouching and trembling. From what you aren’t sure. You’re bare as the day you were born, and though the safehouse seems a touch chilled by the evening air, the shiver in your limbs runs deeper than that, wear and overspent.

“Soap.” Alejandro speaks, and his voice is muted, quiet so as to not startle you. “A blanket.”

Soap’s footsteps fade just as Gaz draws near once again, wrapping your hands around a canteen even as your grip shakes unsteadily. When he helps you tip the flask, the water soothes mercifully over your chaffed and cracked throat, and you gulp greedily. Yet it’s too much too fast, and it only takes two deep swallows before you cough and splutter, water trickling down the corner of your lips.

“Careful.” Gaz warns, voice low as he hovers in front of you, one hand still engulfing the hand holding the canteen. “Not too fast, doll.”

Yet then you feel him pause, shift and make room for a different figure that presses closer to you, a calloused hand gently gripping your chin and tipping your head back once you’ve caught your breath. When your eyes flutter open once more, it’s to meet the vision of Captain Price, eyes grim as he faces you head on, gaze never wavering.

“How bad?” He asks, and you know that tone, firm and demanding to know what you know, for you to not lie as you convey the depth of your awareness into his.

You swallow.

“I’m fine.” You tell him, and it’s the truth. You feel the ripple of suspense, of apprehension dissipate with a sigh from the men around you, relieved yet still precariously concerned with the sight of you, shivering, exposed, and exhausted from the inside out.

“I’m just…tired.” You emphasize again, incapable of conveying much more. “…and kinda gross.”

Price nods, the motion firm. You can see him digesting the information you’ve given him, letting it simmer and ruminate as he configures his next attack like a battle-hardened soldier.

“Rodolfo.” He states, and you hear the sergeant shift somewhere behind you, standing at attention on instinct at the solid, instructive tone of the captain’s voice. “Is there a bathtub here?”

“Si.”

“Good. Go run a warm bath. Not too hot. Gaz will help.”

“Rog.” Gaz affirms, and when his touch vanishes from you it’s Alejandro who keeps your hands steady, with your shoulder still pressed to his chest and head lolling onto his collarbone. He’s murmuring soft words at you that you hardly hear, fatigue dragging at you insistently like a riptide.

“Soap.” Price summons next, eyes turning to the Scotsman who still hovers close to the three of you with the blanket he’s retrieved. “Think you can find a clean set of clothes and fresh sheets?”

Through your wobbly gaze you see Soap perk up, eyes glinting with the look of a mission driven soldier.

“Aye, cap.” He confirms and takes two large steps before he’s again vanished from your sight.

It’s only once he’s gone that Price turns back to you, his calloused hand cupping your cheek and tilting your head up to face him once again. You whine at that, at the way the motion reminds your body of what’s already there, tender and raw and aching.

“Easy, love.” He gentles you, and his voice rumbles rough in his chest like cigar smoke, smoggy, acrid but warm all the same. “You did so well for us.”

His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, touch firm and insistent despite the little hiss of tenderness you summon in response. Yet then the captain’s eyes soften, drinking in your flushed face and clouded gaze, lips parted under the rough pad of his thumb.

“So well.” He repeats, eyes distant for a moment as they trace over your lips before at last flickering up to your eyes. “Now let us return the favor and take care of you.”

It takes a moment for your hazy thoughts to process his words but when you do, you ease into his touch, breathy exhale spilling across the flat of his palm and eyes rolling shut. With a single, blissful sigh, you surrender once more to these men, let them take care of you in the way only they can, with their soft, firm voices and calloused, tender touches that bouy you as if you're lost at sea.

Then, the soft touch of a fabric as Price helps Alejandro drape the blanket across your form, enveloping you in a soothing warmth. You go limp, more pliant than you already are, leaning into the warm embrace of Alejandro’s form. A single hand comes up to clutch the blanket, velvety and worn under your fingertips.

Price vanishes somewhere beyond you, and Alejandro tucks you further into his side, nose buried in your hair as you shiver against him. Your bare legs dangle from the edge of the table, feet barely skimming the ground. Price’s voice is somewhere nearby, murmuring to someone you can’t see. You think you hear the sound of running water somewhere, but your thoughts feel clouded, hazy and sated with the knowledge that these men are intent on your care as much as your pleasure. For a moment you feel the riptide of fatigue pull at you, lulling you under as sleep beckons with an insistent, raw promise.

Footsteps. A presence, omnipresent and heavy like the force of gravity itself. You don’t open your eyes, don’t need to, already knowing who’s shadow falls across your form.

“Give her here.” Simon asks, demands from the colonel, voice low like the rumble of distant thunder.

You feel Alejandro stiffen, hesitate at the thought of entrusting you to the hulking soldier, remembering the way you went blank-eyed and completely limp under him, under the weight and pressure and force that is Ghost.

“Let him.” Price encourages, voice careful between the two. “I’ll need your help in here, mate.”

That seems to do it, because Alejandro is pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head before he extricates himself from you, steadying you long enough for Simon to catch you by the crook of your knees and width of your shoulders, hauling you up against him. The blanket bunches around your form, legs dangling and head lolling into the breadth of Simon’s chest.

Yet the motion isn’t without punishment, not as you’re shifted and your body protests valiantly at the abruptness of it all. A choked, pleading moan frees itself from your throat as Simon begins to walk away from the common area, strides large and purposeful.

“S-Simon-“ You try, unsure exactly what you’re pleading for but wanting to be closer, huddled deeper into his massive form.

“Easy, love.” He murmurs in response, accent thick and cloying in your thoughts. You settle at that, at the illusive, strangely sympathetic tenor of his voice. You’re too tired to do much else than recline against him with a shivering sigh, limbs aching and caked in grime.

It’s the sound of his boots against tile that rouses you only moments later, the warm steam of the bathroom curling across your skin and licking against clammy, chilled flesh. Ghost hovers just inside the doorway, hands splayed against you as they cup you to his form. You wish you had the forethought to lift your arms, tangle them around his neck, but the thought is gone as another figure hovers at your side.

“I got it from here, LT.”

Simon gruffs a sound of affirmation, and with surprising care dumps you into Gaz’s waiting arms. The blanket wrapped around you gently pulls away, and when you shudder Gaz’s lips are pressed into your temple.

“It’s alright, pretty girl.” He hushes. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

He’s bare, you realize dimly, exposed flesh pressed against you. The thought is strangely mortifying, considering the man has been balls deep in your ass earlier. Yet you don’t realize why he’s naked until he’s stepping into the tub, lowering you down with him into the warm, soothing water.

It takes a few moments for you both to settle, some of the water sloshing out onto the tile with both your forms inside the tub. Yet Gaz’s chest is pressed against your back, legs on either side of you and arms caging yours as you sink lower into the water with a blissful sigh. You feel it when he rumbles a chuckle, a hand vanishing as he reaches for the supplies Rudy no doubt provided him.

You reach for them as well, but your hand is gently knocked aside by the sergeant you’re pressed against.

“Nuh-uh, love.” He chuckles. “This is all me.”

You find it difficult to protest, instead sinking further into the warm water.

He starts by gently pouring water over you, dunking your sweaty, matted hair and loosening the strands carefully with his fingers. The sergeant works systematically, lifting each limb and scrubbing it free of flaky cum and caked sweat, the soft bubbles of soap grazing across your arms and legs. You relax into him completely limp and utterly euphoric. Everything smells like coconut and aloe, aromatic and perfumed and warm as the water laps at your legs and chest.

Gaz takes careful attention to your face, gently cleansing it free of the tear trails and semen caked against your cheeks and the corners of your mouth. He’s murmuring gentle encouragements to you all the while, voice hushed and soft in your ear, full of “There we go, that'sa girl, sit up for me? Thank you, doll. Almost done, back next, shh, easy.”

When he gets to the apex of your thighs however, you flinch at his touch, just barely too firm against your chaffed, stretched holes.

“Take it easy.” A voice gruffs, and you blink your eyes open, vision adjusting to the dusty brown hues of the bathroom, seeking the cockney laden voice.

He’s there, in the corner, arms crossed and lurking, massive frame hunched into the otherwise too small space. Ghost’s eyes level at the both of you, gaze unblinking, blistering as he observes, watches, intent on observing and seeing through whatever mission he’s been tasked with.

Gaz only nods at him, his voice quiet in your ear as he speaks.

“You want to do this?” He asks, tone low, concerned at your reaction. You manage a nod over your shoulder, delicately taking the washcloth from his grip and letting it sink beneath the murky water.

It takes a moment, but you manage to hiss past the pain and arch up to scrub yourself, cleaning the mess of caked fluids that decorate your inner thighs and ass. You can feel Simon’s gaze on you all the while, the way he’s taking in every wince and jolt that flashes across your face.

“Deep breath.” Gaz encourages softly in your ear, and when you oblige there’s a slosh of water pouring over your head and dampening your locks.

You moan when Gaz works his fingers into your hair, massaging shampoo into your scalp and raking his fingers against the crown of your skull. You melt into the touch, all previous indications of soreness vanishing in the instant it takes him to chuckle warmly at your response.

“That’s nice, yeah?” He asks, and you can hear the touch of smugness in his voice, pleased with the way you grow limp and pliant against him, the way your eyes roll back into your head at the gentle, rolling motion of his fingers into your scalp. You can only hum a sleepy “Mmhmm.” In response, blissed out on the sensation.

He’s surprisingly good at this, you find out, making sure to go so far as to condition from the tips of your hair up, carefully combing your hair through his fingers. You relax fully into him, sink yourself up to your nose in the cooling water and let drowsiness take hold. Yet it’s only when you shift that you feel him, feel the hardening nudge at the small of your back that has you stiffening, sucking in a sharp gasp of air.

“Gaz…” You warn, casting a pleading look across your bare shoulder.

You’re not sure if it’s the warm water, the lingering haze of lust, or the blissful, relaxed sounds that spill past your lips, but you can feel him, can feel the blunt pressure of him against the nudge of your spine. It sends a lingering shower of sparks racing through your veins, but the heat of it is dulled, muted by exhaustion. You can’t, not again, not right now.

Gaz seems to read your mind, sees the way your eyes flicker with wariness. His hands still for a moment as he leans, entering your field of view with warm eyes that dance with a touch of mischief below the caramel surface.

“Don’t you worry about me, doll.” He replies softly, but there’s a sultriness there that isn’t fully extinguished. “This is all about you.”

And when his thumbs dig a dull, heavenly touch into the nape of your neck, you find it hard to complain.

All too soon, you hear the bathtub drain gurgle as Gaz pulls the plug, the water receding like the tide gone out to sea.

“They done?” A voice asks from the doorway, and your gaze blinks up to reveal Soap, present with what looks like two changes of clothes in hand.

“Just about.” Gaz replies, and you feel him shift as he detaches himself from you, scooting so he’s halfway out of the tub and can help you wobble your way to a stand to step out onto the cold tile.

Yet at the first step your legs tremble like an unsteady filly, and it takes both Soap and Gaz to steady you, sit you down on the edge of the tub. When you plop down on the edge, however, a remainder of soreness shoots across your hips and up your spine and you’re unable to bite back the moan that escapes you.

Gaz and Soap shoot each other a look, self-satisfied smirks tugging at the corners of each of their mouths.

“Shut up.” You grumble, feeling warmth threaten to flush across your face once more.

They spare you, thankfully, and as Gaz dries himself off it’s Soap who’s drying your hair, wiping the water from your shoulder and back. You trace the planes of his face as he does, watching the way his brow scrunches with concentration, the way his eyes linger over the swell of your tender, bruised breasts and the curve of your hips. The plumpness of his lip is sucked between his teeth, and you can tell he’s restraining himself, trying not to indulge with his touch on you, letting his fingers wander and press and summon whimpered pleas from your bones. His hands are assertive in the way only soldiers are, resolute with duty and yet still somehow gentle, considerate when he grazes over the soreness of you.

You attempt to help, feeling a trembling strength returning to you now that’s your hydrated and clean. Yet Soap merely grumbles at you, refusing to hand over the towel.

“Just sit back, hen.” He tells you, and his voice is firm despite the tenderness there.

You purse your lips at him, feeling a flash of guilt at letting yourself be so completely pampered like this, not allowed to do so much as properly dry yourself. Yet Soap notices, steely blue gaze flickering to yours when he notices your hesitation.

“Lass.” He begins, that cocksure smile tugging at his lips once more. His eyes are sparkling, and you can’t stifle the helpless flop of warmth that pools inside of you at the sight. “You just let us shag you seven ways to Sunday and were bloody perfect for it. Let us spoil you, aye?”

Yet you’re still unsure, and when the Scotsman sees you’re unconvinced he sighs.

“When else are you going to have five burly men at waitin’ on you hand and foot?” He asks almost impatiently, and that thought is intriguing to say the least, enough to make your hand fall limply back to your side.

Soap grins. The warmth thickens.

“That’s a good lass.” He murmurs, and there’s a touch of smugness in his voice, at the way he’s managed to school you into surrendering, letting yourself succumb to his touch once more. Yet that conciliation is enough to get him chattering now, tongue loose as he purrs little praises and encouragements at you all the while.

“So pretty.” He coos as he turns your face up in his palms, towel brushing hair from your brow, as he wrings water from your hair and carefully wipes at your still tender hips and thighs. “Perfect little bonnie for us.”

You’re pliant, docile under his touch, letting him do as he needs to and letting the familiar touch of hebetude pull at your senses. It would be easy to fall asleep right here, to lean against him and let rest take hold of you, drown you as it's meant to. Clean now, warm and undeniably sated, the promise of sleep creeps near with a touch that feels achingly familiar. The temptation is an enticing one, the promise of deep, velvety unconsciousness dragging at you even as Soap reaches for your change of clothes.

“Arms up.” He encourages, and you can’t help the drowsy little grumble that escapes you in protest.

“ ‘m tired, Johnny.” You slur at him, but the sergeant merely tuts at you.

“I know hen. I know. We’re almost done.”

You grumble even as you oblige, lifting your arms up and letting him slide a T-shirt that seems far too large for you over your bare torso. Pants follow, and you have to fumble with the drawstring of the sweatpants to cinch them around your waist so they don’t pool at your hips. Yet it’s the hoodie that Soap slips your arms through that makes you slouch into comfort, hum a note of appreciation at the back of your throat.

“Smells like you.” You mumble, eyes sleepy and warm at your sergeant, and you see Soap melt.

“Only the finest.” He grins back at you, eyes glinting with that tell-tale elation he has whenever he’s got your full attention.

There’s a call from down the hallway that you don’t catch, one that draws Soap’s attention and causes him to turn his head. You follow his gaze at first, but find yourself distracted by the shadowy figure still present in the corner, head tilted as he observes you, watches you watch him. You can see his eyes, see the way they’re slightly narrowed at your slouched form on the edge of the tub. It isn’t clear exactly what Simon is looking for, but he seems to find it nonetheless, gaze darting up from your pebbled nipples to your open, curious expression.

“Think you can stand?” Soap asks you, drawing your attention back to him. You nod, and with his help wobble to your feet, bare soles still sliding across the wet floor.

Yet again, when your legs shake with weakness it’s all you can do to remain standing, hand gripping Soap’s arm with a trembling, unsteady grip. Your gaze flicks upwards, once again finding the skull mask that haunts the edges of the room and the periphery of your thoughts. You don’t make a sound, barely alter your expression, but within moments Ghost is rolling his shoulders to push off from the wall, closing the distance between you both and wrapping an arm around your waist.

He doesn’t say a word as he scoops you up once more, and even Soap seems a bit surprised at the sudden gesture, eyebrows arched as the mammoth soldier cradles you into his broad chest.

“I-“ You try, but when Ghost’s eyes peer down at you your throat feels dry, tongue heavy, and the words are lost.

Soap trails you both as Ghost escorts you back in the direction of Price and the others. As you round the corner your nose instantly fills with the thick, scented spice of garlic and onions, and soon you find Rudy and Alejandro in the kitchen, turned to each other with smirking, tell-tale smiles as they bend over a pan of something that you think smells like heaven.

“Here.”

You turn at the sound of Price’s voice. He’s seated at the head of the table, and the chair creaks as he scoots away from the table, widening an arm in Simon’s direction. Simon follows the order without protest, gently depositing you into Price’s lap even as you whimper at the tender flesh of your ass coming into contact with him.

You should be embarrassed, you think. You should be a little bashful at this circumstance, perched in the lap of your captain who smells like cigar smoke and gun oil, at the way his arm closes around you and keeps you braced against his chest. Yet Price is warm, solid, his grip on you firm and reassuring, so you struggle to find yourself to care.

Price reaches for something on the table, a tube of what looks like ointment. You blink at it for a moment, brow furrowing even as he deposits a liberal smear on his calloused fingertips. When he catches your wary expression he merely huffs, the mutton chops of his beard twitching upward with his smile.

“Ointment.” He explains. “It’ll help with the tenderness.”

You arch an eyebrow at him, surprised but also a touch curious.

“You say that like you’ve been in this situation before, captain.” You remark carefully, but Price merely huffs at you, warm, smoky breath ghosting across the planes of your face.

“Years of experience, love.” Is all he gives you before his hand is snaking under the hem of your shirt, up to the tender, suckled flesh of your breasts. It’s a shock, you flinch under the cold touch of his slickened fingertips. Yet Price’s opposite hand digs into your thigh, steadying, guiding in the way only he is. You arch into him with a little protest as he smears the ointment across the rise of your chest, whimper caught in your throat.

“Easy.” Price gentles when you squirm, and the tickle of his beard whispers over the nape of your neck when he presses a kiss there. “I got you.”

You only nod, eyes scrunched shut and breath stuttering in your chest, hands gripping his arms and head tucked back against his shoulder. Your heart thrums louder, skin burning, yearning for the grip of him but knowing it’s too much, too soon, that you can only sit there and take it as his war-worn hands smooth the cream against your battered flesh.

Yet it’s when his touch vanishes from you, when you sigh that you hear him huff, chest jolting with the motion as you brace against it. Except then he’s shifting, and you feel a hand pull at the hem of the sweatpants you’re wearing -black, you notice- as his fingers descend past them, along your belly and towards the core of you.

“C-captain-!” You shudder when Price smoothes lotion across your folds, and suddenly the world is too hot, too bright, and you’re shivering under his touch, body growing taut. Yet Price’s touch is purely medicinal, purposeful and clinical even as you gasp and writhe weakly against him.

“You can take it.” He encourages, voice grumbling and firm, ever the leader, anchoring you from the discomfort and the rapid, uncertain flutter of your heartbeat.

You try to stay still, you do, but Price’s and feel like a warming brand against your skin, reigniting a coiling flame there, one that you can’t indulge in despite the wish that you could. It’s all you can do to tuck your head back against him, shiver under his hand cupping the core of you, your hands digging into him as you seek gravity. When you whimper, Price’s touch softens, soothing circles into your hips, your thighs, your ribs.

“There we go, love.” He rasps when you sink against him, caressed into docility as you perch on his lap. “That’s a good girl.”

You whimper, and the sound is enough to summon a grumbling groan, caught like the grind of gravel deep in his chest.

“So fuckin’ beautiful.” And it’s Soap’s voice nearby, lilted low with desire as he watches you writhe and whimper on the lap of his captain, eyes scrunched shut and hands clutching at him to ground yourself from Price’s perseverant hand slid under the waistband of your pants. You look at him, gaze half-lidded and hazy, and when you do his eyes flash darkly at you, a curse bitten off in a language you wish you understood. It summons a weak, distant burst of arousal in you, one that has you squirm back against Price, seeking ground on which to retreat.

Yet all you find there is a grunt, a hand digging into your thigh with a warning as you recognize the bulge that presses up against the swell of your ass.

“Careful now.” Price mutters darkly, and you shiver at the desire there, even with his hand flat against the front of you, his beard tickling the nape of your neck as he at last withdraws his hand. “I don’t think you're quite ready for us again, sweetheart.”

For a brief, dizzying moment, you wish you were.

Footsteps, and when you turn your head Alejandro is approaching from the all too distant realm of the kitchen with a plate that has steam curling into delicious, mouth-watering whisps. When you catch his eyes you see him grin, and it feels for all the world like a promise of things to come, blooming like cumulus clouds against a far-off horizon.

“Arroz rojo.” He announces as he sets the plate in front of you, the red rice blooming with the scent of cumin at the back of your throat. “Rudy said you might appreciate something easy on your stomach.”

You twist in Price’s lap towards the direction of the kitchen, catching Rudy’s dark head of hair as he turns to meet your gaze. Contentedness blossoms across his expression, deeply satisfied and almost glowing with the hazy aftereffects of a man completely and utterly sated.

“Let me know if you like it, mi Corazón.” He replies, and his voice is almost shy, a touch bashful despite the fact that he’s the same man who spilled down your throat earlier.

Price’s fingers tap on your thigh, drawing your attention back to him. You crane your head to look at him, and then shiver at the darkness there, restrained but still ominously present.

“You’re going to have to move, love.” He gruffs at you. “Unless you want me to spoil your appetite.”

You gulp.

“Here.” Alejandro offers, arms open. You don’t have a chance to protest before you’re being moved between them, transferred from one set of arms to the other, adjusted until you balance on Alejandro’s lap.

“I-I can feed myself.” You try, feeling the ripe blister of embarrassment creep up your face as Alejandro reaches for the plate before you.

Yet the colonel ignores you, fork clinking as an arm keeps you braced against him, even as you try to appeal to him with half-lidded, weary eyes.

“Can you?” He asks, and that damned smugness that’s present in all of them is there in him too, as his eyes gleam down at you, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.

Still, you nod valiantly, grappling the fork away from his hand even as your own grip shakes lightly, spilling grains back onto the plate. When Alejandro chuckles the sound is warm, like the blaze of sun-kissed skin and spices curling on your tongue. His hand engulfs yours, steadies it as you raise the fork to your lips, letting the warm, cloying spices curl across your tongue.

When you give a little hum of enjoyment Alejandro practically purrs in your ear, and you realize that this must be doing something to him. With your tender and sore figure perched in his lap, the object of his desires smelling like musk and aloe and just a touch of him-

“Me estás volviendo loco con esos ruidos.” Alejandro murmurs, and the sound is more of a groan than anything else, spoken into your damp hair, arms hauling you tighter against him as you savor the food, a happy little noise hummed high in your throat. “The sounds you’re making are almost as pretty as you, bonita.”

“I take it that means you like it?” Rudy asks as he sets down a glass of water in front of you beside the plate, and you grin up at him, pleased.

“Mm.” Is all you manage around a mouthful of rice, and you see Rudy’s eyes melt, glaze over at the sight of you, fed and happy and satisfied. His hand flicks out, and you still as he brushes a stray grain from the corner of your mouth, drawing his thumb back to let his tongue run across the tip of his thumb. You still, tracing the motion with your eyes as a different heat flicker within you.

“Agua.” Alejandro encourages, reaching for the glass and tipping it up towards your waiting lips. You follow the command, the motion is easier now than it was before, when you were fresh out of a warzone that left you blistered and bruised but sated.

The two men before you seem entranced by you, damp and warm and docile in Alejandro’s arms. There’s a sense of pride there, you know, something about keeping you warm and fed and clean and protected that makes something primal pace against the confines of their thoughts. It’s the thought that they’ve rendered you to this much, carved gasping, lecherous words into your flesh and pushed you over into the abyss, time and time again, only to haul you back into their waiting arms.

It's not just them. When you cast a glance about there’s chairs pulled up to the table you were defiled upon, the men around you quiet but observant, gazes looking over your slouched, cuddled form with your drowsy, pleased expression and damp hair sticking to the corners of your face. Price, with his smoldering stare like the glowing burn of tobacco; Soap with his bright, keen gaze that glints at you from the distance between; Gaz with his softer, warmer eyes that still hold the hazy dying dusk of desire.

Ghost, who lingers against the wall just beyond. His eyes haven’t left you this entire time. It feels almost wolfish, the way he doesn’t shift, doesn’t blink when you look at him, arms crossed and gaze still dark, hungry for you in a way he doesn’t bother to conceal. You can still feel him, feel the way he split you open and left a piece of himself there, branding you with the heat of him nestled against your womb and his teeth grazing possessively over the underside of your jaw.

Alejandro’s fingers trace there instead, drawing you back to him, and your lips part around another forkful of arroz as he’s murmuring words into your skin that taste like cloves and paprika, aromatic and piquant.

“Wish we could keep you here, carina.” He mutters as you swallow, as his thumb smoothes over the still-trembling hand in his grasp. “We could keep you happy here.”

You are happy. Blissfully so. Despite the tenderness and fatigue, you’re undeniably comfortable, clean, fed, warm, satiated from the attention of the men around you. These men, who you’ve fought beside, who you’ve entrusted your life and body to, the ones who took their own pleasure from you as much as they gave you yours.

Maybe it’s the simmering coolness of your nerves, the way you’re so exposed and vulnerable like this, or the way Rudy’s hand pets your hair, the way Alejandro is murmuring to you, or the way Gaz looks at you with something that feels suddenly like longing-

You feel tears swell against the corner of your eyes, fat and heavy and too hot for your blistered skin. There’s a tightness that clogs your throat when you tilt your head back, trying to keep them from spilling like a cup over filled.

“Hey, hey, hey-“ Rudy coos, and his finger smears the growing wetness from your gaze, clearing it so you see his face flicker into view, brown-eyed gaze tenderly soft and worried at this sudden change in you. “Mi vida, what’s wrong?”

You swallow, and the capsicum taste of cumin lingers there. It does nothing to quell the tightness there, something skin to a sob threatening to bubble up when you speak. It dissolves as a sigh instead, one that falls across Rudy’s fingers cupping your face as you gently shake your head.

“Nothing.” You say, but your voice cracks in betrayal as you try to find the words needed to explain this strangeness in you, overwhelmed and burning at the edges but undeniably happy in a way you’re unfamiliar with. You feel like you’ve been dragged from hypothermia and into a sauna, body and mind reeling at the adjustment but grateful all the same, trying and failing to express the rawness of the sensations that threaten the crux of you.

“I’m just…happy.” You tell him at last-

And begin to cry.

Now they crowd around you, hush you with gentle words even as mortification and contempt flood your veins. When you try and wipe your tears, hide your face as you sniffle, there's a hand that pulls it away, wipes your face. Hands smooth along your shoulders and sides, rubbing gentle reassurances there that echo into the air around you.

“I’m sorry.” You manage between stifled hiccups. “I-it was good, really good, I-I don’t know why-“

“You’re exhausted, love.” And it’s Price who’s talking now. You think it’s his hand that cups your chin, over your quivering lip as you try to contain yourself. “You’re overwhelmed and tired. ‘s not your fault.”

“ ‘M sorry.” You try again, but he merely tuts at you, and there’s hands in your hair and Alejandro’s voice against your shoulders and someone’s holding your hand and rubbing circles into your hips and-

“Don’t you worry about that now.” The captain tells you, and his voice is softer now, almost ginger in the way he’s regarding you, you who’s taken bullet wounds and shrapnel and yet have become undone by the simple, irreplaceable act of being cared for.

You nod, feeling your shuddering gasps begin to wane, the shiver in your limbs subside as they once again drag you ashore, out from the blazing sun and into the cool shade of their embraces.

“Think you can handle a few more bites, Querida?” Alejandro asks, and you nod, let him lift the fork to your mouth even as salt obscures the taste.

“Next time I’ll have you come to the ranch and make you elote e carne asada.” Alejandro rumbles, and you feel the smile of him against your shoulder.

“ ‘Next time’?” Soap chuffs, and that’s enough to draw the attention away from you and to the sergeant, who crosses his arms in Alejandro’s direction. “What makes you think there will be a next time, mate?”

“Yeah.” Gaz chimes in, and he’s leaning forward so one arm rests against the table. “Besides, your ranch? Next time will be back at Beacon base in the UK.”

“You’re both wrong.” Price grumbles, fingers tapping on the width of his arm. “We’re staying in Lancashire at my place.”

“Now hold on, captain-“ Rudy objects. “Do you know how expensive it is across the Atlantic? Tickets these days are-“

They’re bickering, the previous, united camaraderie of soldiers evaporating as they discuss the group’s future endeavors like mapping out battle plans, pinpointing targets and 0600’s and supplies. You don’t bother to listen, not even as Alejandro’s tumbling voice echoes over your head and his arm wraps around your middle in a gesture that seems more possessive than it does stabilizing, the warmth of his hand burrowing against your ribs with nothing but the cotton of your too-large shirt to separate him from your skin.

Full now, belly warm and senses cloudy with contentment, you lean your head back against Alejandro’s shoulder, body slumping as you feel the familiar drag of fatigue wind around you, pulling you downwards. There’s nothing left. You don’t think you could walk even if you wanted to, limbs heavy and immobile. There’s fuzz between your ears, like cotton balls soft to the touch, obscuring sound and sight as the heavy weight of drowsiness washes over you.

“A few more bites, carino.” Rudy encourages, and you whine at him, too far gone to summon a real protest. The sound is enough to make Alejandro brace his head into your shoulder and groan at the little pleading whimper in your voice, too full and tired to bother with much else.

“Chica bonita.” Rudy purrs at you. “Are you tired? Need to sleep?”

You nod up at him, feeling a small flush of self-awareness at how you must look right now, bedraggled and tired and damp, draped in clothes far too big for you, eyes lidded and heavy with the promise of sleep. Yet Rudy’s eyes are affectionate when they catch yours, and you can taste the melted chocolate that oozes from them, dark and sweet.

“Let’s get you tucked in then.” He murmurs, looking over your shoulder at Alejandro. They exchange in Spanish you don’t understand, and it gives you the opportunity you need to let your head drop, eyes fluttering shut even as you’re lifted, moved. The world tilts around you, yet this time it feels less like the daring free fall of a skydive and more like the gentle, reminiscent swing of a hammock on a sunny afternoon, dappled sunlight streaming through a forest canopy. The world is warm, cloaked in color and birdsong, the air around you like a salted ocean breeze that licks at the folds on your clothes and tangles in your hair.

“Shh, shh, gently now.” Soap murmurs, and you can smell him as he helps you down into the bed he’s helped make, military corners tucked in with precision. You sink into it, knowing it’s nothing more than a cot but thankful to the gods to at last be horizontal, laying on your side as a hand lifts your skull to slide a pillow there. You curl in on yourself even as a blanket falls across your form, shivering.

Yet when Soap tries to leave you catch him, fingers tugging on his pants even as he tries to step away.

“It’s cold.” You manage, voice small despite your bold, unspoken request. Little do you know that when you ask like that, when you blink your pretty lashes up at him, nose hidden under the sheets and fingers hooked on his pants leg, that there’s no way he can refuse.

“Steamin’ fuckin’ Jesus.” He breathes, voice thick with wonder. Yet then he’s moving, tugging off his boots with a curse. The cot shakes as he braces on it, shudders when he manages to slip into the sheets next to you. A thick, brawny hand comes up to cup your skull, dragging you into his chest and pressing you there, and when you breathe in it’s him, cedarwood and ashes of the fire, thick and musky across your senses.

When you think it’s finally, blissfully over, however, there’s a hand petting your hair, and a younger, British voice on your other side.

“Room for three?” Gaz asks, and you manage to free a hand enough to wordlessly reach for him, wanting, needing him at your back. It’s not long before he’s settled in as well, spooning you from behind on the bed that is almost definitely too small for three people, two of them being built, sinewy soldiers.

You don’t care. You’re warm on all sides, warm from pleasure and affection and treatment from all of them. It feels like you’re suspended, floating on something beyond yourself, spirit lifting from your corporeal form and into the darkening sky above yet anchored by the touches of the men beside you. You’re too far gone to notice Rudy come, place a kiss atop your hair; to notice Alejandro drape another blanket over you, of Price and Ghost discussing in low tones by the doorway. The others stay, linger, on chairs or nearby. You think you see Rudy and Alejandro on the cot beside yours when your eyes flutter open.

Your vision shifts, gazing over the slope of Soap’s neck to the lit doorway. Ghost mutters something, a goodbye perhaps, and turns.

It’s to be expected. The man is a lone wolf, he works alone. For him to even be here is a miracle, and to have even participated at all a divine sign from the gods themselves. Now, however, he retreats to where he belongs, to the shadows that engulf the breadth of him, the kingdom where he was born and where he shall remain.

“Simon.”

The name escapes before you can stop it, and Ghost freezes, his head jerking upwards as he hesitates, turning to you, hidden within the embraces of his comrades.

You swallow, trying to conjure the spell to keep him here, within arm’s reach, forever now and always.

“Don’t get lost.” You mutter at last, and you think maybe your vision wavers when his shoulders droop, when his eyes blink at you, reflecting light.

His shadow falls across you on his approach, the width of him bulked by the tac gear he still hasn’t entirely gotten rid of. Ghost- Simon- blots light from the doorway like the shadow he is, absorbing brightness and drowning it in the essence of him. A hand reaches, smoothes the hair from your face.

“Never.” He mutters enigmatically, and even so you feel the edges of him splinter, crack like obsidian.

Your eyes flutter shut under his touch, cloak the world in mystic darkness as you surrender to him, to these men, to at last the inexorable, inescapable comfort of them, of sleep.

Baby Sparrow

Summary: The reader is on the run from the police because she is the daughter of a pirate.  What happens when she hides on the Black Pearl.

Warnings: Mention of character death, and maybe some blood, and kidnapping, that’s it…..I think

A/n: AT the begging of the story you are 15 or 16 years old. Might make this into a series  

Word Count: 3,608 words

~~~~~~

“GET BACK HERE!!”

Redcoats were chasing after you for a very good reason.  You were the daughter of a pirate.  Your mother had a one night stand with some drunk at a bar, nine months later in the middle of the ocean you were born.  Recently your mother was caught and hung and you were crying internally, but you had to run to escape the same fate. 

You ran past coaches and climbed ladders but you couldn’t shake them.  Now salty air began to fill your nose.  ‘The Docks!’  Developing a plan to hide in a ship could either go amazing or get you in worse trouble.  It was that or swim out to see.  Ships it was.

As you ran on the wooden planks, your eyes scanned the area.  Mostly trade ships and military boats.  That's when a massive ship falls into your line of sight.  It was black as the night sky and no one was on deck. “BINGO!" 

Urging your legs to carry you faster caused you to bump into sailors, one of them caught your attention.  His black hair was in dreads, a red cloth tied above his forehead, at his side was a sword and a pistol, to top it of a hat of a captain.  'Pirate’ ran through your head as you realized why he dressed like that.  As you rushed past him, you kicked a table of spices over which sent powder into the air making a colorful cloud of exotic smells and colors.

The threat falling behind only edged you on.  As you approached the ship you leaped over objects and skipped onto the plank of wood that let you on.  Once on board, you hid in a bushel of barrels which smelled of rum.  Now you needed to wait.

An hour had passed before you dozed off.  You dreamt of adventures you had gone on with your mother.  Looting from trade ships, pillaging small towns, and one time robbing a governor.  Each left a smile on your face. Until you were awoken.  

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behind enemy lines - k. brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x reader.

genre/warning: just fluff!

words: 1.3k.

summary: in which to anyone else, you are supposed to be enemies. however, behind closed doors, it is with you that he feels the safest.

“Fraternizing with the enemy, Brekker?” Per Haskell’s voice ran through the office as he stared down at Kaz. Somehow word had gotten out about the little visit he had paid you, and if there was one thing that moved quickly through Ketterdam, it was rumors. Well, that and stray bullets.

To be honest, Kaz hadn’t exactly been trying to hide, and he didn’t feel like he owed anyone an explanation, especially Per Haskell. However, the old man liked to feel like he could still control Kaz and he figured he could grant him one lecture to make him feel better about himself. He knew there wouldn’t be consequences for him, anyway.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but want to laugh every time someone referred to you as the enemy, or a target, or -his personal favorite- dangerous. Don’t get him wrong, he was well aware of the fact that you were one of the deadliest criminals currently roaming the city, but you weren’t a lost cause. Not like he was, anyway.

He hated it when people compared you to him, you weren't unhinged, you weren’t evil, you were just… self-serving. Yeah, he decided, that was the best way to describe you. You didn’t really follow a moral code, you just did what benefited you the most, and while sometimes you had to do things that most people would consider amoral, no one could blame you for trying to make a living in the hell hole that was Ketterdam.

“I wouldn’t call it fraternizing, I was just conversing.” he wasn't. He was definitely not just conversing.

“I don’t give a shit what you were doing, I want the threat gone.” Kaz almost snorted at that.

Sure, you could kill a man in less than five seconds using no more than just your bare hands, but he wouldn’t consider you a threat, not to his gang anyway. You were more of an annoyance, a rock stuck in one’s shoe that you couldn’t really shake and remained there the whole time you walked, but never a threat. You actually were the person he felt the safest around, and while that did make you a threat, it didn’t make you the kind of threat everyone thought you were.

Kaz didn’t say all this, for obvious reasons, and instead settled for a simple: “Of course, sir.”

The old man waves a hand at that, and Kaz took it as a sign of dismissal. Without wasting a single second, Kaz was out of there as quickly as his leg allowed him to, and as he slammed the door, he used a bit more force than he usually would.

The only person who had noticed he wasn’t spending as much time in his office anymore was Inej, and if anyone else had, they didn’t dare ask him why.

It hadn’t been that difficult to convince him to stay with you, the office held nothing but bad memories and it was rarely quiet. Kaz used to think he liked the noise, he liked hearing the screaming from downstairs and feeling like the city never slept, he thought it granted him a sense of comfort - until he met you. With you, he realized he didn’t need outside noise to distract him from the mess inside his head, he just needed your laugh and a smart comment that forced him to suppress a smile of his own right after. He didn’t need to keep up an act to make him feel like he was in control, he could let his guard down and he could share the control of the situation, knowing you wouldn’t take advantage of his vulnerability.

Most importantly, he felt like he could actually be himself around you, never on edge and actually relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever.

He quickly came to realize he didn’t just like your apartment because of its location, it’s height or it’s view, he didn’t care about the building or where it was located, he liked it because he liked you, and he was sure any room you set foot in would immediately become his favorite room in the city.

As he stepped into the apartment, he couldn’t smell the scent of freshly baked cookies, he couldn’t hear the sound of music coming from any room, and he couldn’t find you reading on the couch like he had heard most people found their significant others when they stepped into their homes. Instead, Kaz could see dirty knives on top of the kitchen table, previously blood stained clothes that had been recently washed hanging from the closest window, and an old ripped vest of his disregarded on top of the couch.

The only light shining on the apartment was the soft glow of the moon that painted shadows on the walls, and the only sound that resonated through the house were his own words once he spoke them. “Honey, I'm home.” His words were laced with sarcasm and they received no response from you. At this, he checked the main room and there he found you, asleep with one of his old shirts on, sleeping on his side of his bed like you always did when he hadn’t been home in a while. Looking at you, he couldn’t believe anyone would ever consider you a threat. The thought almost made him laugh: the most dangerous criminal in Ketterdam, wearing his shirt to bed and hugging his pillow.

He went to the closet first and opened the drawer in which you had told him to put his clothes, and changed into something more comfortable than his armor before slipping into the bed beside you, still keeping a distance.

You felt the bed sink beside you, and spoke to him without opening your eyes. “You’re late.” you said.

“Sorry ma’am.” he replied and you smiled, opening only one eye to take a look at his handsome face framed by messy hair.

“Was it the visit you paid me at work last week?” you said knowingly, he nodded. “I warned you.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” he shrugged. “Missed you too much.” you actually opened your eyes fully at the sound of that

“You big softie. What would the city say if they knew the bastard of the barrel had such a soft side?” you smiled.

“Thankfully, they won’t find out.” he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Maybe I'll tell them.” you teased.

“I won’t let you.”

“You can’t beat me in a fight.” you challenged, knowing that would get a rise out of him.

“Wanna bet?” He raised his eyebrows, almost smiling at you.

“I would, but you have nothing to offer me, I already have all I want.” you shrugged, as if what you said carried no real meaning behind it, but he knew better.

“Now who’s the one going soft" he said, as one of the corners of his mouth quirked upwards.

“Oh, shut up.” you say with a smile, closing your eyes and missing his own smile just by a second.

Moments later, he felt your pinky finger wrap around his own. Kaz’s aversion to touch hadn’t completely healed, for it was not something that would just go away overnight, no matter how much you meant to him. You didn’t mind, and you both had come up with ways of feeling close to each other without actually having to show physical affection.

However, one thing he found he was okay with, was you hooking one of your fingers around one of his own. In his mind, it was a child-like action, it made him feel like a little boy again and he hated that he couldn’t do more, but you loved the little tradition you had created, and you planned to carry on doing it until he was ready for more, not caring when that would be.

You had time, and you had each other. Everything else could wait.

a/n: requests are open for any soc character (and some s&b characters)!

Can you ease do a hc where sebastian calls you a good girl for the first time (kind of in like an innocent or joking way) and finds out you have a praise kink?? 🙈 thank you!

Oh dear...

But imagine you and him are playfully arguing over something

And it's been going on for a while so you decide to just let him win

You roll your eyes at him, "Fine. Okay, I lose. You win."

He laughs and leans in to give you an innocent kiss on your cheek. "Good girl."

And immediately, a pleasant tingle danced down your spine, making you clench your thighs together

You get over it in a few seconds, but Seb knows your body too well. And he caught the way you shivered at the praise

Just so he wouldn't embarrass you, he didn't say anything right away. He waited a day or two, then brought it up in bed

Naked under the covers, his damp body pressed against yours as he pounded into you from behind

His hand wrapped around your throat and he squeezed just a little, "Come on, be my good girl and cum for me."

He didn't miss the way you moaned and clenched around him hard the moment he called you his good girl

He chuckled in your ear, making a mental note of that.

I bet once he finds out you have a praise kink, he would be totally shameless

Especially in public, imagine you and him in an elevator and Seb decides to mess with you. He doesn't think twice before slipping his hand under your dress

You gasp and whimper as quietly as you can while he pushes your underwear aside and pushes his two fingers inside of you

He smirks when he feels how wet he made you. "Is my baby's pretty little cunt wet for me already?"

And he'd watched you squirm and try your hardest to hold back from moaning

You would melt anytime he called you his 'good girl.'

Especially when he growled it in your ear while spreading your legs apart and fucking you harder and deeper.

Or when he mumbled it, in a daze, against your lips while you rode his cock, "Such a good girl... riding my cock like you were made for it."

Can you imagine him calling you his good girl and asking you to kneel in front of him and show him just how good you've been all day? eye-

"Come here baby, show me how good you've been today"

"Have you been a good girl? Or do you need to be punished?"

"You look so beautiful on your knees, baby."

"Fuck..." he'd moan, "You feel so good."

Or imagine him tell you how good you taste while he's eating you out like there's no tomorrow.

"Such a sweet girl."

"Now be good, and be quiet for me"

Imagine him pressing his palm against your mouth, shutting you up while he speeds up into you and leans in to tell you just how good you feel

"Fuck... Babygirl, you feel incredible."

MORNINGS LIKE THIS

SUMMARY: You and Chris finally get to spend a morning together

WARNINGS: Smut and Chris being clingy

PAIRING: Dad/husband!Chris Evans x Reader

Please reblog if you enjoyed ❤︎

Mornings like these were rare, with Chris gone most of the time due to him filming his new movie, you were often left in the mornings all alone in your massive king sized bed. But that was of course before the twins woke up and joined you, however as much as you loved having your kids around, something about waking up to your husband snuggled up to your side would alway hit different. You simply craved it.

Thankfully though, today that craving had been satisfied. Chris was snuggled up close to you, his breath hot against your bare back and his cheek smushed into his pillow. He had a day off and like any other day offs he has, you two spent most of the night making love under those very silk sheets that covered you as your kids slept peacefully in their own rooms, for the first time in a while sleeping throughout the whole night.

Turning around, you fixated your gaze on your husband. His hair sticking out all over the place, probably from you tugging it and from the fact that he moved around a lot whilst he slept, his eyelashes rested gently on his flushed cheeks. It was a sight straight out of your dreams.

Looking at him, scenes from last night flash through your mind.

“Harder Chris” you moan, eyes rolling back as your nails made crescent shaped marks on his broad shoulders. Chris’ head was buried into your shoulders whilst he thrusted into you repeatedly, picking up his pace once he heard what you said.

He lifted his head up, now putting his weight on his arms rather than you, allowing you to manoeuvre your leg so that it was now resting up over his shoulder, the shoulder that you previously had a deadly grip on. His hand landed on your thigh and he changed his angle of thrusts making a pornographic moan to leave your lips.

“This the spot baby?” He asked, voice deep as he focused on hitting that spot over and over again, the pleasure was overwhelming and all you could do was nod, encouraging Chris on.

“Love having you like this love” Chris moaned, looking at your face retort with every single thrust he aimed at you. His cock was reaching places inside you, you never knew existed and hitting spots you never knew could cause so much pleasure. Even after two kids, Chris always brought something new to the bed, completely blowing your mind.

“I’m- im going to cum” you groan, eyes rolling back as your hands go to cling onto the pillow underneath your head, trying to somewhat ground yourself but you were far past that stage by now. Your hips were thrusting upwards, meeting Chris’ and soon you’re both cumming together. Chris growling as the last of his cum paints your walls. It was truly a good night and a well deserved one too.

But your thoughts were soon interrupted by a cough, “you do know it’s rude to stare love?” The raspy morning voice of your husband says and you quickly look away, trying to divert your attention from his sturdy chest and onto the sheets that rested over you instead.

“I wasn’t staring” you state, but of course you knew Chris wasn’t dumb. The man caught you looking at him like he was some five star meal.

“Ok, sure” he chuckles making you giggle and roll your eyes before coming down to place a soft kiss to his plump and still swollen lips. The action making him smile into the kiss. His arms come to pull you closer to him and you huff.

“Morning” he mumbles against your lips, not giving you a chance to respond as he went in for another kiss and then another.

“Chris I think I should go get breakfast ready. The kids will be up any minute now” you say, stopping him from pulling you even closer to him as you turn around to look at the clock, which now stated 10am. You’ve already had a lie in and knew it was time to get ready.

“They won’t be up just yet, show your husband some love now would you?” He groaned, pulling away and then closing his eyes as you got off the bed and opened up the curtains before pulling your robe on.

“Was the love I showed you last night not enough?” You chuckle, going to your walk in closet to pick out an outfit for the day. Your legs were still a bit sore aswell so you really didn’t want to add to that because of your clingy husband.

“Oh it was more than enough, trust me” he says, referring to how you made him cum like 3 times. Something you haven’t done since the twins were born as children did require care like 24/7.

“Then let me go downstairs and get ready for the day” you say, taking the outfit you have picked to Chris so you could get his approval.

He was now sat up against the headboard, sheets only covering his lower half as he looked at you with the biggest smile and cutest twinkle in his eye.

“What do you think?” You ask, holding the top against you.

“I love it. You know that’s my favourite top of yours, look fucking insatiable in it” he growls, sending butterflies to your stomach. Even after knowing him for over a decade, he still had the same effects on you and you honestly hoped and prayed that it’d never fade away.

“Ok thanks, now get out of bed lazy bum. We’ve got a busy day” you smile, disregarding your robe to pull on the clothes that were in your hands.

“But I want cuddles, come back to bed for one second please. Just one second” he groans making you finally give in and get into bed, fully dressed.

“You’re worse than the kids you are” you say, but resting your head against his chest anyways making him bend down and kiss your temple gently as a soft chuckle leaves his mouth.

“Well someone’s gotta set them an example” he jokes making you chuckle and snuggle closer into his side, thankful that you could spend this morning together, even if you didn’t get what you needed to get done.

talk ur shit

Can you make a headcanon with pan and felix and how they would show that they have an interest in reader?

Of course :) I’ve never been asked anything or made headcannons before but here goes

Hope you like it! 

Peter:

Okay so we all know he likes to play games 

He would never simply say that he likes you, being straightforward has never been how he does things

So he starts flirting by playfully teasing you 

Peter never ever gets deterred when you don’t flirt back (you don’t actually reject him after all)

He never calls you by your real name, only by a nickname that he’s made up 

If it seems that any of the Lost Boys are even slightly upsetting you Peter puts an end to it by pulling their focus to something else

He doesn’t want them to upset you, but at the same time he doesn’t want anyone to know that he cares for you

He always finds an excuse to touch you

Whether that be putting his hand on your shoulder if he has to move around you or bushing his fingers against yours if you hand him something

He almost always sits next to you, close enough that your bodies are touching, even if it’s just your knees

Sometimes, when you’re talking alone, he’ll reach out and twirl loose strands of your hair between his fingers

You don’t think much of it though, because Peter Pan is constantly playing games 

Not to mention its impossible for you to understand his motivations for anything

Felix tells him he needs to be more direct 

So Peter starts actively trying to spend time with you

He’s constantly seeking you out to talk to you, following you around while you go about your day 

Sometimes even when you’re alone, he’ll secretly check in on you to make sure you’re safe 

He starts to give you gifts, little things like wood carvings or flowers he’ll pick from the side of a path you’re both walking on

But he’ll do it at complete random 

You never expect it and are unsure of what exactly it means 

He also begins takes you on walks around the island, just the two of you 

Neverland is constantly changing so there’s always something new he wants to show you, whether it be a hidden waterfall or the night sky from one of the many peaks on the island 

You will both just sit together and admire what he brought you to see, sometimes in comfortable silence and other times you will talk

By talk I mean Peter mostly just flirts with you 

It’s in these moments when you think that he might have feelings for you because he never does this for anyone else

You can never be sure though, because he never says anything and you never ask

So you both just continue dancing around each other 

Felix 

He’s usually a typical, wild Lost Boy but turns into a soft boi™ when he’s  around you 

Always tries to be close to you

Does this by sitting next to you during meals or accompanying you whenever you go outside of camp 

He doesn’t really talk much though, he prefers to stay quiet and let you lead the conversation while he listens

Of course, he initially doesn’t realise that he’s caught feelings for you and does all of this without thinking anything of it

But when he starts to stare down any Lost Boy that torments you, even sometimes going as far as to get up and almost start a fight with them, the Lost Boys realise that he likes you

They start to hassle him about it, teasing him about his feelings

At first, he denies it but then slowly realises that the boys are right and he has feelings for you

He’s not good with emotions and doesn’t know how to deal with this realisation, so to your disappointment, he shuts himself off from you 

However, after a few days of not being around you, he realises he misses your company and starts spending time with you again 

He laughs more when he’s around you, and always has a small smile on his lips when he looks at you

Despite his rough exterior, he does tend to get shy with you, especially when you two are alone

He’ll often break eye contact and look at the ground nervously when it’s just the two of you talking 

He’ll go out of his way to help you with little domestic things

You need to cart more than one load of firewood? Something’s gotten caught high in a tree where you can’t reach? He’s immediately there to help

He’s afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way about him if he told you he liked you, so he tries to hide his feelings and be really aloof 

But he fails miserably because he can’t stop himself from staring at you when he thinks you’re not looking

Especially when he sits next to you around the fire 

He keeps glancing at you from under his hood (he can’t help it, he thinks you look beautiful in the firelight)

Sometimes you’ll look over at him before he has a chance to turn away

He gets nervous because he’s worried you’ll think he’s being strange 

But you just smile

(His heart may or may not stop when you smile at him like that)

One night while sitting around a bonfire he gets the courage to put his hand on yours

Felix doesn’t dare look at you when he does this, he just stares into the fire, waiting for your reaction 

(Is he blushing?)

He starts to breathe normally again when he feels you thread your fingers through his and move closer to lean on his shoulder 

Resources For Writing Sketchy Topics

Medicine

A Study In Physical Injury

Comas

Medical Facts And Tips For Your Writing Needs

Broken Bones

Burns

Unconsciousness & Head Trauma

Blood Loss

Stab Wounds

Pain & Shock

All About Mechanical Injuries (Injuries Caused By Violence)

Writing Specific Characters

Portraying a kleptomaniac.

Playing a character with cancer.

How to portray a power driven character.

Playing the manipulative character.

Portraying a character with borderline personality disorder.

Playing a character with Orthorexia Nervosa.

Writing a character who lost someone important.

Playing the bullies.

Portraying the drug dealer.

Playing a rebellious character.

How to portray a sociopath.

How to write characters with PTSD.

Playing characters with memory loss.

Playing a pyromaniac.

How to write a mute character.

How to write a character with an OCD.

How to play a stoner.

Playing a character with an eating disorder.

Portraying a character who is anti-social.

Portraying a character who is depressed.

How to portray someone with dyslexia.

How to portray a character with bipolar disorder.

Portraying a character with severe depression.

How to play a serial killer.

Writing insane characters.

Playing a character under the influence of marijuana.

Tips on writing a drug addict.

How to write a character with HPD.

Writing a character with Nymphomania.

Writing a character with schizophrenia.

Writing a character with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Writing a character with depression.

Writing a character who suffers from night terrors.

Writing a character with paranoid personality disorder.

How to play a victim of rape.

How to play a mentally ill/insane character.

Writing a character who self-harms.

Writing a character who is high on amphetamines.

How to play the stalker.

How to portray a character high on cocaine.

Playing a character with ADHD.

How to play a sexual assault victim.

Writing a compulsive gambler.

Playing a character who is faking a disorder.

Playing a prisoner.

Portraying an emotionally detached character.

How to play a character with social anxiety.

Portraying a character who is high.

Portraying characters who have secrets.

Portraying a recovering alcoholic.

Portraying a sex addict.

How to play someone creepy.

Portraying sexually/emotionally abused characters.

Playing a character under the influence of drugs.

Playing a character who struggles with Bulimia.

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Jess Mariano x reader

Summary: R gets overwhelmed and goes to her favourite boy for comfort

Contents: fluff

Warnings: none

Jess was at the diner, doing his usual half argue half joke with Luke.

“It’s not my fault you’re clinically insane”

“Oh I’m the insane one? Really mr i sleep with banging music on at full blast every damn night”

Lorelei shared an amused look with Rory as they sat in the almost empty diner - just being inhabited with Bébete, Morey and Kirk.

Just as Jess was about to pipe in with another witty comment, the bell on the diner door started ringing. Jess was about to look over his shoulder when he felt a smaller body nuzzle into his side. Shocked, he moved abruptly and was about to shove whoever it was. A whine sounded out and he looked down and saw Y/N. She was clearly distressed, face scrunched up and arms wrapped around her own body tightly. Everybody else in the diner was in shock, waiting for Jess’ next move, including whichever townsfolk had walked in after Y/N had. Much to everyone’s - even Luke’s - surprise, Jess wrapped his arms around her tightly, letting her bury into his chest without moving her arms from their tight position.

“What happened? Hm?” Jess spoke gently and quietly into her ear.

Another small whine came out of her mouth. Jess glanced over his shoulder to Luke before gently steering her to the stairs.

“C’mon,” he guided her up and into his bedroom (otherwise known as the left side of the open apartment) and stood with her in the middle of his section.

All she did was bury back into his chest, standing as close as possible without causing one of them to loose their balance.

“You wanna lay down?”

She nodded.

He gently led her to the bed and laid her down underneath the blanket, taking two extra pillows and slotting them behind her to help her feel comfortable. He pulled - with some struggle - the weighted blanket out from under his bed. He always kept it there ever since he first dealt with her feeling like this. He laid it atop her before laying on the other side of her. He didn’t get all the hoopla about weighted blankets or why she liked them so much, but she did and who was he to deprive her? He let her decide if she wanted cuddles and she made a prompt decision by whining the second he got in until he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her side/front against him while her back was against the pillow wall he built. Pushed against by pillows at her back whilst under a weighted blanket on a relatively cold day all the while behind held by Jess was quick to calm her down. That is before she had a thought she didn’t like and took a big, sudden, jarring breath in and sat up abruptly. Jess however was unfazed as he waited for the moment to pass before he eased her back down and traced circles on her forehead and wrapping one arm around her to keep her close while humming a tune to a song he couldn’t pin.

They stayed like that, wrapped in each others arms as Jess traced circles on Y/N’s forehead for a significant chunk of time. Y/N couldn’t seem to get close enough to Jess, burying her head further into his chest every few minutes before finally calming down and settling in the nook she had made for herself out of his body.

Luke stayed downstairs the entire time, not having a great grasp on whatever was going on in the apartment above but knowing well enough to leave them alone until he knows for certain Jess calmed Y/N down. The entire town by that point was bubbling with gossip about what had happened mere moments ago, all huddled up in Luke’s diner as he rolled his eyes in the corner.

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Panic Attack

Summary: Your best friends hadn't noticed your anxiety all day, but what happens when your enemies do?

Platonic!Marauders x reader, platonic!Lucius Malfoy x reader, platonic!Evan Rosier x reader, platonic!Rabastan Lestrange x reader

Implied Gryffindor!reader

Warnings: Anxiety, panic attack, angst, please let me know if I missed anything

Themes: Fluff, some angst 

Disclaimer: I do not know if it is cannon that Lucius, Evan and Rabastan went to school with the marauders but I am using it in this fic. If you do not like Slytherins please do not read this fic.

Sorry it's short.

You had been on the edge of a panic attack all day. You weren't sure what happened but from the moment you woke up anxiety followed you like a dark cloud. Your friends had failed to notice but you didn't want to bother them.

You were in your last class of the day, Gryffindors and Slytherins. The inevitable panic attack was getting closer, fear rising in your chest making it hard to breathe. Your leg was bouncing under your desk and your hands were shaking and fiddling on your desk. But the friends that were surrounding you failed to notice anything was wrong.

But your laboured breathing and panicked eyes seemed to have caught the attention of a blonde haired boy and his friends. Lucius Malfoy caught your eye before nudging his friends. Evan Rosier and Rabastan Lestrange both looked over to you, sensing your panic from across the room.

This worried you more, afraid that they would call it out or bully you when the class ended. You glanced at James on your right, but like usual he was oblivious to everything around him other than Lily Evans who was in the seat in front of him. You then glanced at Remus to your left but he was too focused on taking notes and making Sirius pay attention to notice the desperate glance.You could feel the anxiety rise up your chest and wrap around your lungs and neck. Your breathing became quicker and tears threatened to fall down your face.

After what felt like an eternity, Professor Flitwick called class to an end and you grabbed your book bag and rushed out of class, not waiting for your friends or for any extra work to do over the weekend. You were so focused on breathing and not crying until you got to an empty bathroom that you didn't hear the quick footsteps behind you.

 A gentle hand grabbed your arm and pulled you sideways into the Prefects bathroom. You let out a small yelp of surprise. Warm, strong arms wrapped around you and you didn't have the energy to check who it was. The panic attack finally took over you. Your whole body was shaking and tears were running down your face. Muted voices whispered sweet comforts in your ear, hands rubbing your back and arms.

Once the panic started to die down, the voices became more clear.

"Shhh, it's alright, we've got you," Evan Rosier's voice came through first.

"Just breathe, it will stop soon," Lucius Malfoy's voice next.

"Easy, you're alright," Rabastan Lestrange's last.

Realising you were being comforted and held by three Slytherins you panicked again, pushing yourself out of the warm arms that turned out to be Lucius'.

"Easy now," Rabastan said.

"Are you alright?" Lucius asked.

"What- what are you doing?" You asked, head still foggy and chest still tight.

"You had a panic attack you needed someone to help calm you down," Evan explained, voice gentle and worried.

Why would Slytherins be worried about a simple Gryffindor? Someone who was friends with the boys that pranked them endlessly?

The confusion shone out on your face and all three of them took notice.

"Just because you're a Gryffindor doesn't mean we can't help you," Lucius assured.

You only just took notice of your hands still shaking.

"Can we help?" Evan checked.

Anxiety covering any thoughts or worry you nodded. Warm arms embraced you again. The scent of cologne, pine trees and musk welcomed you as the three boys continued to whisper sweet comforts in your ear.

After you had calmed down, the boys asked if you wanted to go back to your friends, to which you shook your head, not ready to face them again just yet. So they took you to the Slytherin common room. 

Despite your worry they told you everything would be fine, and to your surprise they were right. As much as you had been coaxed to think Slytherins were mean and heartless, they all welcomed you with open arms and the three boys stayed by your side the whole time. While some Slytherins were bitter a Gryffindor was in their common room, they never outright bullied you or made fun of you and a lot gave you tips for anxiety and helped you calm down with horrible jokes and bad impressions. 

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