Maze Runner ~Cute Things You Do With Gally~

hi! can you write a cutesy blurb with poly!marauders x reader (platonic if you are not comfortable with poly)

where there is beautiful weather and they spend time outdoors, maybe having a picnic and overall with this warm, fuzzy feeling🥺

sorry for my english:(

thank you for this request, lovely! i’ve never written a poly relationship so i hope i did this justice and you like it xx

James Potter x Remus Lupin x Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

cw: polyamory, defiant Remus, like one swear word, bit of kisses, whole lot of fluff

word count: 1.2k

School was out and you finally got to see your boys after weeks without them. It was a warm July day, the perfect day for a picnic. James's mother was kind enough to pack the four of you a picnic basket, filled to the brim with all of your favourite drinks and foods.

The four of you had just left Potter Manor, Sirius with a blanket in hand, James carrying the wicker basket and Remus with a book tucked under his arm, the other linked with yours.

"How much further, Prongs," Sirius whined. "We've been walking for at least an hour."

"Not an hour, Pads. Fifteen minutes. I told you, it's half a mile."

"Yeah? Well, I'm getting tired, and so is y/n. Look at her," he grinned.

"What are you talking about?" You laughed. "I'm fi—" You got interrupted as Sirius scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder and you squealed.

"Take this, Moony." Sirius threw Remus the blanket.

"Padfoot! Put me down!"

You were wearing a sundress and you were sure that the light breeze was going to lift your skirt and flash someone.

"C'mon, pup. Lemme have some fun." Sirius ran as best as he could while holding you. "Where to, James?" He called out.

"Just over that bridge," he yelled back.

Sirius started his trek, running to the bridge.

"Sirius, I swear. If you don't put me down right now I'm gonna puke. You know I have a sensitive stomach," you grumbled.

Sirius didn't answer, instead, he continued walking and then flipped your body back so you were in his arms bridal style. He grinned. "Did'ya enjoy the ride?"

"No," you said defiantly. He pouted. "Okay, maybe a bit."

"Good," he smiled.

He lay you down gently onto the grass and kissed you softly.

"Oi," you pulled back from Sirius and saw James and Remus walking towards the two of you, James's arm around Remus's waist. "Time to eat, babies." James grinned.

Remus set the blanket down and you took the basket from James. The four of you sat around the food, passing it around. You started with cucumber sandwiches and coffee (which Moony insisted was the only drink to bring) and when you were done, you looked into the basket for dessert.

"Moony," you gasped. "Look what we have."

You revealed a container of melted chocolate and strawberries. You took it upon yourself and dipped a strawberry in chocolate and passed it to Remus.

"No thanks, just the chocolate for me," he smiled.

"I'll take it, then." James grinned and snatched the chocolate-covered strawberry out of your hand.

"Just chocolate, then?" you asked, smirking. You dipped a finger in the chocolate and smeared it on Remus's chin. His eyes went wide.

"Don't waste the chocolate!" Remus exclaimed and Sirius laughed.

"I've gotchu, Moony. Don't worry." Sirius pulled Remus in by the collar of his T-shirt and licked the chocolate clean off his skin.

"Delicious," he grinned.

"Off, Padfoot," Remus chuckled sheepishly, putting a hand on Sirius's chest.

"All right, no more eating. Baby," James turned to you. "I told you all about the flowers, right? Let's go see 'em. It's just down the hill." He stood and grabbed your hand, hoisting you up.

"I'm coming too," Sirius announced.

"I have a book," Remus tucked it out of his back pocket. "You guys have fun."

Sirius shook his head. "C'mon, Moony. Come see the flowers with us!" He pleaded.

"In a bit," he said, his nose already buried in his book.

"Fine," Sirius huffed. He turned away and looked at you. "Let's go, then!" He took you and James by the hand and started running towards the flowers.

When you reached the bottom of the hill, your breath hitched. It was beautiful. The grass was filled with wild yellow flowers, there wasn't a spot in the field that wasn't yellow and it seemed to go on like that for miles.

"Oh, it's gorgeous," you said.

"Yep," James said. "Lay down with me."

He lay down, his arms and legs spread open as if he was making snow angels. You and Sirius curled in on either side of him, basking in the sun and looking up at the blue sky.

After a moment of admiring the sky, you sighed.

"This would be perfect if Remus were here."

Sirius looked over at you, then to James. "D'you want me to bring him?"

"If you can convince him," you smiled.

"All right, up ya get, Prongs. You're helping me." Sirius reached out a hand and hoisted James up.

"How am I gonna help?"

"Just c'mon," Sirius said. He was already hiking up the hill, James in tow.

You waited a few minutes, leaning on your hands, looking up at the clouds.

You were about to get up and check on the boys when you heard Remus, "Oi! What the fuck d'ya you're doing!"

The next thing you knew, Sirius and James were carrying an angry Remus down the hill. James holding him by his legs and Sirius carrying him by his underarms.

"We got 'im for you, y/n!" Sirius yelled.

"Thanks," you yelled back. "And thanks for coming Moony," you grinned.

Sirius and James plopped him down beside you. "Yeah, no problem," he grumbled, shoving James's leg.

"D'ya like the flowers, Rem?" you asked as James sat down cross-legged and Sirius plunked down onto his lap.

Remus seemed to have finally noticed he was sitting in a field of flowers. His eyes lit up and he plucked a flower out of the ground.

"Yeah, actually." He seemed mesmerized by the flower. "They're kinda pretty," he murmured.

You took the flower out of his hand and stuck it behind his ear. You grinned.

"Now, you're an even prettier boy than you were before, Moony." He blushed and laughed lightly. You lay down, the grass tickling your ears. "Lay on me, Remus."

He did. His head on your breast and his hand holding yours above his head.

"You too, ya goofs," you looked over at James and Sirius who were wrestling, trying to put petals in each other's hair. James grinned when he looked at you.

"Would ya like some flowers, m'lady," he teased. All you could do was smile before he and Sirius started sprinkling flowers in your hair.

When they were satisfied with the amount of decoration in your hair, they lay down. James cuddling in beside you, his nose nuzzling into your neck, and Sirius between your legs, his head resting on your stomach.

After some time, you looked over at Remus. His eyes were closed and his face completely relaxed. You couldn't tell if he was sleeping or just enjoying the sun.

You looked down at Sirius who was hugging your leg like a pillow and breathing deeply. You were sure he was sleeping.

Then you looked at James, his eyes were closed but when he sensed your eyes on him, he opened them and turned to you. He smiled softly.

"This is perfect," you whispered. "Thanks for bringing us."

"'Course baby. Anything for you guys," he murmured and kissed your nose.

You smiled and looked back up at the sky.

Today was perfect.

Protective Minho HC  || TMR

(requested by @mystical-crow)

Spoilers for The Scorch Trials

Ever since you first came up into the box, Minho thought you were the most precious thing he’s ever saw

When you two got closer and he realized he had feelings for you, he knew he would protect you at all costs

It didn’t take long for your friendship to evolve into something more serious and when it did, Minho couldn’t have been happier

He did, however, keep his promise on protecting you at all costs

Minho was SO AGAINST you being a runner

He got so many nightmares from the maze and the thought of something happening to you out there killed him 

All Minho wanted was for you to stay in your room all day safe and sound but you both knew it wasn’t realistic 

After a lot of begging and kisses, Minho hesitantly gave in and since then, you two became partners

Since you were the only girl in the glade, he was beyond worried whenever he left you alone since he didn’t trust all these teenage hormonal boys around you 

Minho has two different tones of “protectiveness” 

Half the time he’s either super aggressive towards everyone else and will break noses for you or he’s super sweet and caring protective- there’s no in between sorry 

Gally especially got on Minho’s nerves when it came to you

Gally was just plain rude and talked down to you constantly 

it would take every ounce of Minho to not choke Gally during keeper meetings

But you can bet he gave Gally a piece of his mind

“ Don’t talk about her like that unless you want to end up in the medjack- got it?”

Minho is such a clingy boy 

His hands are either always around your waist or his fingers are intertwined with yours 

One night during a bonfire, Minho left to go get you food and came back to see a drunk glader sitting next to you 

Once the glader grabbed your arm roughly, Minho’s rational side was completely thrown out the window 

He dropped the plate and tackled the boy to the ground

“ Don’t you ever touch her again do you understand? I’d be happy to kick your shucking ass -the medjack hut is right over there buddy!” 

Let’s just say Clint had his hands full that day 

Whenever there’s a greenie staring at you on the first day, Minho makes it a point to kiss you in front of them which basically means,” don’t even think about it Greenie, she’s mine.” 

Going to Minho’s sweeter side, he’s always checking up on you whenever he can 

“ Hey baby, did you eat yet?” is his signature quote since he knows you sometimes forget to eat since you lose track of time working 

It gets worse in the scorch, it seemed like every 5 minutes, Minho would say something along the lines of:

“Y/N, you look dehydrated, luckily I can quench your thirst.” 

“ Babe I’m just kidding but do you need water?” 

When you guys were in one of WCKD’s facilities, Minho refused to leave your side as they ran tests on you 

Minho couldn’t stop yelling at the guards after they separated the two of you

“ Where’s Y/N? What did you do to her!

He wanted to stay by your side because he knew something was weird about that place and didn’t want you to get hurt

Escaping the facility really brought out Minho’s protective side

He made sure you were right next to him and he always told you to step back before he shot the gun

Whenever the group camped out in the scorch, he would always fall asleep holding you 

It makes you sleep faster and makes the two of you feel way safer

Minho would risk his life for you and would always try to protect you but he knew he couldn’t be there to save you all the time

He taught you how to shoot and helped with basic hand to hand combat 

He just wants you to be safe and he wants you to be able to protect yourself if he couldn’t 

You had to practice fight with Thomas and Thomas accidentally swung a bit too hard and he hit you

Minho had smoke coming out of his ears but it all washed away when you landed a hard punch at Thomas’s cheek, causing him to fall backward

“ YES BABY! THAT’S MY GIRL JUST LIKE THAT! HELL YES!”

Fast Forward to the end of Scorch Trials where WCKD had you all lined up and on your knees

Minho was next to you and completely lost it when guards started to pull you away

Janson saw the look of distress on Minho’s face so when he walked over to Minho to taunt him, Minho just glared at him and said through gritted teeth:

“ If you hurt her in any way, I’ll break your shuck neck, right after I’m done with your arms and legs. I swear on my life I’ll kill you if you even lay a finger on her.” 

When the gunfire broke out, you managed to escape and rushed to Minho

It was super bad timing but you two kissed like it was the last one you would ever share

(and it would be the last kiss for almost half a year) 

May you give some tips on how to write about the whole castles, royalty, peasants, knights type of story? Hehe thankies!

How to Write About Medieval Europe

The Medieval times play a huge role in many forms of media today, from TV shows to books to movies. It’s often romanticized and glamorized to make for a good plot, and sifting through what’s real and what’s fake can be a daunting task. 

Not to mention that the way of life in the Medieval times is vastly different from our lifestyles now! There was a lot more rules, a lot more pomp and circumstance, and a lot more death!

In this post, I’ll mostly be covering a time period around the 1400s to 1600s, with all of the classic knights, nobles, and kings and queens that everyone has come to know and love!

So how exactly do you write about medieval times?

1.Know the People

The Medieval times attached a lot more importance to titles and wealth than we do today. The number of names and titles can get a bit confusing at times, so please try to bear with me.

All of these are ordered from lowest rank to highest rank. 

Category One- Lower/Middle Classes (Could be collectively called Peasants)

1. Slave

Slaves are bought and sold, usually owned by nobles but sometimes purchased by some of the wealthier peasants to help out with farm work. 

They are seen as property and nothing more, and their masters can do with them as they please. 

There is rarely a penalty for killing or harming one’s own slave, but one may be punished for destruction of property if they killed or harmed a slave that wasn’t theirs.

2. Serf

Not a slave, but not free, either. 

They live on the property of a noble’s manor and are bound by the feudal system to pay rent in shares of their crops. 

They must ask the nobles permission to marry and to leave, but are overall left to their own devices. 

Their lives were still hard, however, and often they starved or fell to sickness. 

They remained serfs, however, mostly because they needed the protection of the nobles’ knights from barbarian invaders.

 If the manor of the noble was sold, the serfs came along with it.

3. Peasant

Peasants may be poor, but they are completely free. 

They often live in villages together and made their livings as masons, blacksmiths, tailors, shoemakers, farriers, carpenters, and much more. 

If they were particularly good at their craft, they may just earn enough money to be considered a noble; social mobility is not as rigid for peasants as it is for serfs and slaves.

Category 2- Knights

Knights are  in an entirely different category from the peasants and the nobility, though they are more closely associated with the nobles and garner just as much/if not more respect as them.

1. Squire

Essentially a knight in training. 

They accompany a knight on their travels and serve as their attendant, learning from the knight’s ways while polishing their armor and being their cupbearer.

2. Knight

Addressed as “Sir (Firstname)” for a man or “Dame(Firstame)” for a woman. 

Knights were hired to protect and are sworn to the code of chivalry, which is a set of rules that dictates behavior on and off the battlefield. 

For instance, knights weren’t permitted to fight an unarmed man or to kill someone whose back was turned. If an enemy was disarmed during a fight, the knight is supposed to wait for them to retrieve their weapon before resuming.

 Knights were required to be expert swordsman and bowman, as well as good riders. They also needed to be good at supporting their super-heavy armor

Category 3- Nobility

All of the nobility classes can have overlapping jobs; their titles vary on account of how much land they own. 

These nobles are given a fief, or a plot of land, by the King/Queen. They are then expected to pay taxes to the ruler and provide soldiers when needed.

1. Lord/Lady

Addressed as “My Lord/My Lady.”

2. Baron/Baroness

Addressed as “My Lord/My Lady.” 

Usually the spouse of a baron/baroness does not share the title and is simply referred to “My Lord/My Lady” unless they’re a baron/baroness in their own right.

3. Viscount/Viscountess

Addressed as “My Lord/My Lady”

4. Earl(Also known as Count)/Countess

Addressed as “Earl of (Place name)/Countess of (Place name)”

5. Marquis/Marquise

Addressed as “Marquis/Marquise of (Place name).

6. Duke/Duchess

Addressed as “Your Grace.”

Owns the most land out of any of the other nobles

Princes and Princesses can be granted titles of Duke and Duchess.

Category 4- Royalty

1. Princes/Princesses

Addressed as “Your Highness.” 

In traditional medieval Europe, the heir to the crown was usually the firstborn son. In the absence of a son, the crown will be given to the firstborn daughter.

They can also be granted other titles such as Duke and Duchess if their parents/siblings who come into power offer them land

A lot of squabbles/dramas caused by heirs; some killed by siblings in order to assume the throne

2. King/Queen

Addressed as “Your Majesty” or “Your Grace.” 

These rulers own all of the land in the kingdom and simply “rent out” property to the nobles, which can be revoked at any time. 

They levy taxes and have their own personal army to protect and wage war against other kingdoms. 

The nomenclature of Kings and Queens can be quite difficult, especially when marriage becomes involved, so I’m going to try my best to help:

When a King inherits the throne: If he marries a woman, she becomes Queen. If he marries a man, that man becomes a Prince.

When a Queen inherits the throne: If she marries a man, he becomes Prince. If she marries a woman, that woman becomes Princess.

2. Do Some Research If You’re Unsure

If you need help figuring out all of the dynamics and certain duties of all of these people, it can help to surf the web! Researching kingdoms such as England, France, and the Holy Roman Empire might help, though be careful; France had emperors and empresses at one point! 

There are very specific differences between different kingdoms, and you have to make sure you take those into account, especially if you’re writing historical fiction!

 3. Some Recommendations that May Be Helpful

Lucky for you, there are a TON of other books, movies, and TV shows that you’ll be able to draw inspiration from! Here are some things that I recommend!

Just a note, many of these aren’t necessarily medieval or focus a lot on fantasy, too, so I’m sorry if some of them aren’t exactly what you’re looking for!

The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer

Game of Thrones on HBO

The Crown on Netflix

The Witcher on Netflix

Reign on Netflix

Victoria on Amazon Prime

The Other Boleyn Girl (2008)

Elizabeth (1998) and Elizabeth: The Golden Age (2007)

Mary Queen of Scots (2018)

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

hi gorgeous

I was wondering if you could write a poly marauders imagine where the reader feels insecure about her body, her stretch marks etc and the boys comfort her (can lead to smut but idk)

If you are comfortable with that off

I would be so so so grateful, thank you so much 🥺

+ Can i please request an imagine where the reader struggles with her body image? with marauders (can be platonic or poly relationship)

Includes: mentions of stretchmarks and insecurities, poly relationship.

The mirror reflected the thins stripes of white and purple that spread like lightning over your legs. After pushing around your flesh for the minutes you’ve been staring at them the area had become sensitive and worsened your insecurity.

You didn’t notice the tears until they fell off your chin and you stomped your foot almost childishly when pity was replaced with anger.

Why did I have to get these?

Why don’t they go away?

How do the boys even love me?

The boys!

You quickly realized that your boyfriends were gonna come barging into the room and you picked up a pair of sweatpants that laid on the bed. From the size of them you’d guess they were Remus’ and you rolled up the ends so you wouldn’t trip. You also changed your smaller t-shirt you’d been wearing during the day into one of James’ huge ones, all and all dwarfing you. But clothes too big was better than clothes too tight.

Sitting down by the desk in the corner of the room to make it look like you’d been studying. A pitter patter of footsteps neared the room and three laughing boys entered the room.

“Hello sweetheart” Sirius called out and put his bag by his dresser, placing a kiss on your head as he walked by you.

“Look at you, all cozied up”James said as he came up behind you and laid a hand on your shoulder, “look so pretty in my clothes”.

He leaned down and put his cheek by yours, looking over the paper you’d been trying to write, and pressed a couple of kisses on your shoulder. The comment stinged because you knew he was lying. He couldn’t think that.

“Think it’s time for bed” Remus said through a yawn as he pulled his shirt off.

You realized that you hadn’t said anything to them so you patted James’s hand and turned around.

“How did it go? With the map and all” you mumbled and looked over at Sirius who was standing in only his boxers next to a shirtless Remus.

Their bodies were glorious, Sirius on the slimmer side with dark tattoos decorating it. Remus had a little more muscle on him and delicate scars running through his skin. The ringing thought of not being enough only got louder as you looked at them.

“Went well, found a new passway that leads from the great hall to the garden” Remus gave you a soft smile as he saw your eyes glaze over slightly, thinking it’s an indication that you’re getting tired, “c’mere doll, ‘s bedtime”.

You stood up and let James hand fall off your shoulder and laid down on the bed as the boys finished up their bedtime routines. Sirius got into the bed on your left side, instinctively wrapping an arm around your waist. The feeling almost burned that he wanted to touch you. James got in on Sirius’ left side, an old rule that the strongest gotta sleep closest to the door, and Remus laid down on your right side. He maneuvered his body so you rested your head on his chest.

“Don’t you wanna take off the sweats darling? Gonna get pretty warm” Sirius mumbled as he felt the thick material of your trousers.

You just shook your head and moved his hand and shut your eyes in an attempt to fall asleep before you got any more questions. But a shaky breath and a tear that hadn’t escaped from your waterline earlier fell onto Remus’ chest when you closed your eyes.

”Hey, what’s wrong love?” Remus whispered and inspected your face, wet lashes and a slight irritation in your eyes gave away that you had been crying, ”wanna tell us?”

As you realized your facade was breaking down a couple more tears fell down your cheeks and you sniffled into the comforter.

”Just feel.. ugly” you mumbled, speach slightly muffled by the fabric in front of your mouth, ”looked in the mirror and didn’t like it.. don’t deserve all of you”.

Sirius’ arm that was wrapped around you tightened and

“Darling, why would you ever think that? You are loved and beautiful, our everything” he muttered into your neck, placing a few kisses to try and prove his point.

“Is that why you’re wearing so much clothing to bed, to hide?” James whispered out, voice almost breaking as he tried to say it as gently as possible.

You let your head fall into another nod and Remus’ hands came up to your face to turn it toward him.

“You don’t have to hide, my love, I understand if it’ll make you more comfortable but we want to see as much of you as we can”.

You broke out into a small smile at Remus’ gentle and soft eyes and you turned your head so you could place a kiss onto his palm.

As you breathed in a breath of reassurance your hands went to the waistband of your sweatpants and pulled them down slowly, throwing them to the end of the bed. Sirius hand went down to your hip and he placed a few kisses along your side before letting a finger trace your stretchmarks.

“Looks like lightning” he whispered, mostly to himself, “‘s like on nights with thunderstorms when we watch movies”.

And you felt yourself relax a little more, albeit you didn’t suddenly think you’re the most gorgeous being on this planet, you felt calm to listen to your boy finding fascination in your body.

Reblog if you’ve ever imagined yourself being interviewed with the avengers cast as if you were apart of the movie

I feel like this will get no reblogs because I’ve always felt like I’m the only person who does this haha :)

Visible Mark - Part 2

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Steve Rogers x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers Summary: Being Bucky and Steve’s best girl feels too good to be true. Word Count: Over 4k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), feels, slight angst, tattooed Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers (they’re warnings, okay?) A/N: Welcome to the next part of my tattoo AU! This is follow up to Visible Mark. Beta read by the wonderful @whisperlullaby​, but any and all mistakes are my own. Thank you, lovely! Banner created by yours truly, but Bucky and Steve photos were provided by the talented @nix-akimbo! This AU wouldn’t exist without them. And divider by the beautiful @firefly-graphics!

I have discontinued my tag list. Please follow my sideblog @navybrat817-sideblog​​ and turn on notifications to see new fics! I will only post fics, writing schedule and updates there.

I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here or archiveofourown under my same username, it has been reposted without my permission. 18+ Please!!! By reading this, you agree that you are at least 18 years old. Enjoy, lovelies!

A part of yourself shut down as your eyes went to the floor. You felt your walls quickly build inside you, trying to shield and protect you from the inevitable blow. Of course, something wasn’t right. Things that felt too good to be true were too good to be true. 

Keep reading

Imagine dancing up on your boys - Maze runner

Reactions 

Minho: Damn i know girls are attractive but this Greenie is something else. I’d definitely take a bite out of that, but i’m pretty sure i would rather want this one all to myself. 

Headcannons - How it went down 

- Your having fun your ass jiggle, raking your finger’s through your hair and making your hips sway 

- Minho would have a front row seat with Gally. 

- Minho’s eyes wouldn’t break away from you for a second. 

- His eyes would be running all over you. 

- Minho would be man spreading whilst smirking at you. 

- He’d occasionally lick and bite his lips

- This boy wants you! 

- Don’t be surprised if Minho gets up and tries to start interacting with you

- Minho would defiantly get all up in your grill trying to sexually intimidate you 

- Your nose’s would be touching. 

- Minho would be staring at your lips 

- You would be able to feel his breath on your neck 

Be careful Greenie you got a real thirsty boy here. 

Newt: (At first) *Blushes looking away not wanting to disrespect you in any way shape or form. (later on) *Smirk and laughing ass off at how easily you’ve gotten power over the shanks. “You know what i think it’s time i put a little Greenie back in their place.” 

Headcannons

(the bomb fire has finished and your walking over to the homestead just you an Minho) 

- Minho would be trying so hard to convince you to sleep by him tonight. “You really don’t want to be sleeping with a buff handsome guy like me?” 

- Newt would march over telling Minho to back off and get back to the homestead. 

- Newt would glare straight at you.

- “You can get your ass up into my room, thats where you’ll be staying from now on.” 

- “No..” you never really liked being told what to do 

- “I think you forget the real one with the power here.” He whispers in your ear.

- Newt would drag you by your wrist all the way up the two-story building and into his room 

- Newt would shove you in and lock the door. 

- “Lets get one think straight from here on out you are mine and only mine. The only person you will answer to that isn’t me is Alby.” 

- “Your only gonna shake that ass for me Greenie” 

- Newt would force you to give him lap dances, strip, toy with him and much more. 

- Newt knows that he would never get this opportunity again 

- You admit you like this side of Newt through he can be with rough with you. 

Looks like you got yourself in a real tight situation Greenie. 

Thomas: “Woah….” *Chokes on drink, blushes like crazy and starts fantasising about you.*

Headcannons 

- Thomas wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off you. 

- Thomas would bite and lick his lips whilst watching you. 

- Later he would start to hiss and pant and his pants start getting tight. 

- Thomas would beg you to help him out. 

- You would be able to see his eyes pleading with you. He looked beautiful in such a vulnerable state. 

- Thomas would treat you like his queen. 

- He would just about anything you say. 

- He’s addicted to you and he will always want more. 

Good job Greenie you turned Thomas into a simp. 

Gally: “You better bring that ass back over here baby girl or im gonna have to punish you.”

Headcannons 

- Gally definitely wants you all to himself 

- This Shank very protective and possessive

-  You wouldn’t have a choice Gally would force you to stay by his side the rest of the night. 

- He would want you sitting in his lap. 

- He would keep his hand around your waist 

- Would definitely glare at other gladers especially Thomas.

- Would give you kisses on the check

- Gally would also kiss your neck regardless of if your in public or not. 

- Gally isn’t the one for public displays of affection but he wants you and he wants everyone else to know that. He enjoys looking at there pissed of expressions know that the can’t do anything. 

- At the end of the night Gally wants you sleep with him, your head on his chest and curled up close 

- Your so unpredictable and thats what he loves the most. 

Not bad Greenie 

god tier dramione fanfics

Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love by isthisselfcare {https://archiveofourown.org/works/34500952/chapters/85870804}

Isolation by bexchan {https://archiveofourown.org/works/23461513?view_full_work=true}

Rights and Wrongs series by LovesBitca8 {https://archiveofourown.org/series/1007625}

Remain Nameless by HeyJude19 {https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875939/chapters/57393508}

Breath Mints / Battle Scars by Onyx_and_Elm {https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/35668776?show_comments=true}

Wait and Hope by mightbewriting {https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818646/chapters/54531817}

Bring Him to His Knees by Musyc {https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481312/chapters/59089624}

Dragon’s Heartstrings by pinkinku {https://archiveofourown.org/works/46585585/chapters/117313114}

Cherry Mint by dirtymudblood {https://archiveofourown.org/works/21053894/chapters/50081633}

Love In A Time Of The Zombie Apocalypse by rizzlewrites {https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137807/chapters/68944698}

All You Want by senlinyu {https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153092/chapters/35140268}

Apple Pies and Other Amends by ToEatAPeach {https://archiveofourown.org/works/8156101/chapters/18691246}

The Gloriana Set by ThebeMoon {https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821571/chapters/39485710}

Love and Other Misfortunes by senlinyu {https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380728/chapters/33204618}

This World or Any Other series by olivieblake {https://archiveofourown.org/series/502333}

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.

Barrel's Goddess

{Kaz Brekker x reader}

Summary: You are an old friend of Kaz Brekker and pay him a visit after seven months. You're also a legend in the Barrel.

Warnings: Threat through a dagger.

Part 2: https://alcottsangel.tumblr.com/post/652174516567572480/barrels-goddess-2

People either feared or adored her. There was barely any in between. She was the closest thing to a god the Barrel had.

She could kill, she could save and nobody wanted to be on her bad side.

Nobody but Kaz.

But he would never be on Y/n's bad side.

They were close since they arrived in the barrel. Both victims of the plague, both orphaned and all alone. They suddenly only had each other. So while Kaz worked his way up through the Dregs, Y/n took every job she could get. Everything, but never one that required her to stay. She would never again give up the freedom to go wherever she wanted to. Not after the plague freed her from her parents.

Kaz and Y/n were a team, wether they would ever admit it or not.

She would sneek into his attic in the night, when everyone, even Inej, was out. Nobody knew that Dirtyhands associated with the Goddess. They'd talk and laugh and Kaz would let down his mask for a few hours. For a brief moment they were just kids. But Kaz Brekker wasn't a kid.

Kaz Brekker was the Bastard of the Barrel, Kaz Brekker was Dirtyhands, most respected member of the Dregs, feared in the entire Barrel. Y/n wasn't a kid either, Y/n was a shadow, never seen and never heard, yet everyone knew her name. Some claimed her to be a god. She wasn't. Neither a god, nor a saint. Just a Heartrender with a talent for daggers and a big knowledge about venom.

But she liked the title she held.

It kept her save and her work going. Barrel Bosses liked to pay for pretty girls that were feared.

Here's the thing. It's been seven months since she has last seen Kaz. She had a job, something that took a bit longer but was payed well.

It wasn't something very dangerous, she just had to bring a bankers kid out of Ketterdam.

She hasn't told Kaz that she took the job. She never did. But she also never had a job before, that took more than a month.

So she did what she was used to.

She sneaked into his attic late at night. It was dark and smelled like parchment and wood oil.

Kaz wasn't there, but Y/n stayed anyways.

She was still in her work clothes, mask up.

But it was boring and Kaz was nowhere to be seen. The shelves caught her attention. Y/n took out the recent books to check the numbers of the Crow Club. They added up nicely, she noticed. Business was going well. Good for Kaz.

She sighed and placed it back where she took it from. Then she walked over to the writing desk. It was messy, there was a cup of coffee and the papers were scattered all over the place. So she did what she was good at. Sorting things out. Doing the work Kaz had left unmoved.

When she finished the papers from the Crow Club, Y/n walked over to the shelve again to put them where they belonged.

Out of nowhere, someone pressed her against the wall, dagger at her throat.

The person was smaller than her, clearly female. Must be Inej.

Y/n held up her arms in defence, chuckling softly. Right at the door stood Kaz, crow cane in his hand, wearing hat and coat and, of course, a suit. Handsome as always. Next to him stood a certain sharpshooter Y/n had seen every now and then. Jesper.

"Who are you and what are you looking for?" Inej asked, moving the dagger closer to Y/n.

She looked over to Kaz again, right into his eyes. That Bastard knew it was her and didn't say a word. "I'm an old friend." She finally confessed. Inej took down her masked, looking into the soft face of a women that wasn't a day older than they were. The Suli girl looked back to Kaz, who obviously had no intention in clearing the situation, so she turned back to

Y/n. "Who are you?" She asked again, slowly.

"They tell me I'm a god." Y/n smiled sweetly.

Inej understood immediately. Only one person in the entire barrel would answer to the question with that. Inej wasn't sure if she actually existed or if it was just a rumour, but now she stood in front of her.

"Let her go, Wraith. She's on our side."

"I'm on no side, Kaz." Y/n said, finally being freed from Inej's dagger.

"Well who would've thought Kaz actually has friends we don't know about." Jesper laughed, packing away the gun he held towards her. "She's not my friend." Kaz assured. Y/n laughed.

"Hell I am. He just can't get rid of me."

"I did, for seven months." Kaz smirked slightly.

"Oh come on, Brekker. I had a job, you don't get to take the credit for my absence."

While Kaz sat down at his table, Jesper held up his hand for her to shake. "Nice to meet someone who can get Mister Hardfeelings to smirk. My name is-" She took his hand. "Jesper Fahey. I know. And you're Inej Ghafa. I'm Y/n. That's it, nothing more to me."

Inej looked at her in amazement.

"The entire Barrel talks about you. They say you're a saint." She said respectfully.

She turned to Kaz, who still smirked, and laughed loudly.

"I'm not a saint. I don't even believe in them. I don't need saints as long as I'm considered a god. You can't get more respect than that."

Y/n sat down on a small couch, making herself comfortable. "I've looked through the books. Did a bit of your paperwork. Things are going good, Brekker."

Kaz started going through the things Y/n had done. He nodded in agreement. "They are."

"So, are you gonna tell us why you're just casully chatting while we never even knew that the Barrels Goddess even existed, or are you just gonna leave this unaddressed?" Jesper asked, pointing between Kaz and Y/n.

"Get out Jesper." Kaz said, without looking up.

"No further questions asked." Jesper answered, nodding towards the door so Inej followed him.

She did, smiling towards Y/n.

Y/n smiled back. She liked the Wraith. She liked Jesper too. Kaz always trusted the right people.

After the door was closed, Kaz finally looked up again. "You enjoyed me pinned against the wall, huh?" Y/n chuckled. "No, I just had to get back at you for the timeout. You could've at least said something." He turned back to the papers. "Ah damn, don't act all worried now."

Kaz looked up again, holding eye contact to her for a moment. "So Darling, tell me what you've done the last seven months?"

@corpsebasil @renataligorio <3