Reblog If You’ve Read Fanfictions That Are More Professional, Better Written Than Some Actual Novels.

Touch Starved

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Summary: It’s taken you a while to realise. But Sherlock Holmes is a very touch starved man.

Word Count: 800

Warnings: none, just fluff and soft Sherlock

a/n: It’s been a while since I’ve written for Sherlock and I think it’s about time I go back to my roots :)

You hadn’t noticed it before now.

You hadn’t noticed when his fingers would drag across your palm when you released his hand, almost as if he were hesitant to let you go. You hadn’t noticed when his hold on you tightened and your shirt bunched in his fists each time he had his arms around you. You hadn’t noticed when his eyes softened and slid shut when your hand fondly made its way through his hair.

But now, as you lay together in the quaint living room of 221B it was clear as day. You suddenly couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it before. Sherlock Holmes was touch starved.

Keep reading

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.

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Tony: hey, kiddo, how’ve you been? How’s school?

Peter, a struggling™️ teen: I am a festive piñata and God is a thirteen year old boy whose parents just announced their divorce.

Tony:

Loki walks in the room: same

THE AMOUNT OF TIME I SPENT LOOKING FOR THIS FIC IS INSANE

AND IT NEVER DISAPPOINTS

Honestly I'd die for any alfie x reader x Tommy smut... but I'd love a part 2 of your last wife!reader fic❤❤

Thank you for the request! Sorry this took so long! Kept second guessing my self. I really struggled with this one, but I think it turned out okay.

Hope you enjoy! XO

Warnings: Sex! Anal, vaginal, people in a room having & watching sex, Reader is put in distressing situation, Alfie to the rescue, Reader cries & has a bit of a tantrum.

Part one: https://padfootdaredmetoo.tumblr.com/post/667627654991790080/can-you-write-something-with-possessive-tommy-and

Russians were insane. Really fucking insane. Tommy had dragged you into this madhouse. First they stripped you down naked and looked you over for tattoos.

Your face had never been redder, standing in front of these ladies. The fact that Tommy sat on the desk, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, eyes ravishing your naked form only made it much worse.

Their eyes were cold, and you knew that they were probably trying to find something about your body to be nasty about. But they kept their mouths shut, despite the feeling you got from their gaze.

You redressed quickly, happy to be standing next to your husband. He placed his hand on your low back, to steady you.

Then they dragged you away from him.

They said this was going to be a dinner, meet his wife, then some trip into a special cellar to look at some jewels, easy in and easy out. Home by 9. He warned you that it would be strange, but to stay close to him and it would be alright. But now they are separating you.

But things never went easy with Tommy. Life put him through the worst, and now he was dragging you along at his side. Not that you cared. You wanted to be at his side no matter where he went or how bad things got.

But this. This was bad.

“I will take you through to the party, we can drink while they talk business.” The woman strutted into the room in her undergarments, prouder than anyone you had ever seen before. Your whole body tensed up, you looked up to Tommy. His eyes were dark, but the message was clear as day. Obey.

The room seemed to think it was amusing that I would look to my husband for permission.

You didn’t want to go anywhere without him. Every cell in your body burned with warning, this was very bad.

You let the woman snake her arm in yours and you moved away from Tommy, from any kind of sanity.

The room was dimly lit, and were people engaged in all sorts of sexual acts. The room was heavy with smoke and booze. The inescapable smell of sex, make your throat close up.

What the absolute fuck were you supposed to do.

The tall woman sat you on the couch and handed you a fresh bottle of vodka.

“Thank you” You said absently, still in shock of what your eyes were seeing. You took a sip of the fiery liquid and let it burn your throat, all this to be polite. But how much was going to be asked of you? You scanned the room, men and women looked at you with the eyes of wolves. Suddenly everyone was desperate to squash that innocence and obvious aversion out of you.

A man came over, he didn't speak but sat next to you. You gave him a little nod having another mouthful of the clear liquid, he wasn’t here to drink together though. His thick fingers ran down the side of your face and down your neck. Your body involuntarily started to shake. You were repulsed by this sex, in honesty you’d dreamed up parties like this in your naughty head. But being forced into one with no notice, alone, was enough to almost push your body into shock. Your mind started to race, how the fuck were you going to fight your way out of here?

Another sip. And your prayers were answered, well sort of…

“Fuck sakes. This just ain't right mate. Nothing sacred about this, fucking feral.” A familiar voice boomed. He surveyed the room and then his eyes landed on you, all the humor left his composure as he took in the situation, and the terrified look on your face.

Fire flashed in his eyes, a dark possessiveness moved across his face like a storm rolling across the sea.

A woman approached him with a bottle, but his face told her where she could stick it, she fluttered past him as if it hadn't happened. The people in the room surveyed him as he made his way across the room towards you. He was huge, by far the biggest person in the room.

“Now what little bird do we have here, eh?” He awkwardly put his bulky frame between you and the man, making him get up and leave. He put his thick arm around your shoulders and you slid into his hulking frame. “You're definitely not what I expected, love” He took the bottle from your slender fingers and placed it on the side table.

One of the men barked something at you in Russian causing you to grab Alfie’s leg. He only barked something back, his voice booming.

“You speak Russian?” You whispered, unable to release your grip on his leg.

“Me mum, because of my mum.” His voice was tense and his eyes stayed focused on the man who had shouted at you.

“What are they saying about me?”

“Things only I should say to you.” He whispered in your ear.

The flush covering your face darkened, a sudden tension making itself known between your legs. You had pressed every bit of yourself against him as humanly possible without climbing into his lap. He could feel the fear radiating off of you, and the other stuff too probably.

“You want to give them a show then? I couldn't give a single fuck about what they want. But I do want you.” His words made you think back to that night in London, a heat spread through your whole body. Without a word you hitched your dress up and straddle his thick thighs.

You loved the way your body pressed up against his. Your back was turned to the room, but you had a deep trust in Alfie. He’d brought you a safety that allowed the vodka to flow in your veins. Everything relaxed as you focused in on his touch. His broad, strong hands ran up your back.

“Missed this, I did.” He murmured, placing kisses up your neck. The room seemed to be consumed with the two of you. You wanted to know why, but the intoxication kept shame and worry far from your body.

He finally kissed your lips, drinking you in. You let out a loud moan as his large hand came up to roughly palm your left breast.

His other hand made its way home between your legs. Slipping under the band of your soaked panties. He worked your clit slowly, driving all thoughts of the horrible place from your mind.

His hand made its way around your throat and you fully let go. He had you now, no reason to keep yourself on this planet. Whatever happened to you that night would be at Alfie’s hand.

Once the tears welled up in your eyes and your breath became ragged, he finally dipped his fingers inside you. He slowly pushed two thick fingers into you, curling to find the right space. You threw your head back and let out a shattering moan.

All the attention was on you, but you didn't care in the slightest. If anything it turned you on more, there was a power that came from this. Whatever they thought about you, one thing was very clear. If it was booze or sex, you could easily beat them at their own game.

Drinking and fucking was something you could do all day.

No one here had pleasure like you did. This wasn’t fake or a show. What Alfie pulled from your body was raw, unhinged, the true timeless feral energy.

They wanted to be savages, but being savage was something your body was built for.

It wasn't long before you cried out in ecstasy. Body spasming around him. You wanted more though, this orgasm only left you hungry and needy. You wanted him to destroy you in front of all these people, show them what sex was supposed to look like. Tommy be damned, the anger towards him just added to the emotions you wanted to burn off using his body.

You didn't even have to explain it to him, he was equally as enraged.

His hand landed a solid blow on your ass, it made a gorgeous sound that anyone would envy.

His fingers brought you over the edge again, your bliss taken further by the growl that escaped him as he sunk his teeth into your neck. You understood that he wanted to fuck you, but wouldn't. This was already over the line for him. He didn't share. Neither did Tommy. How they managed to come apart deep inside you was still a mystery.

Or maybe it wasn't.

The way you were observed made you feel as if maybe you were just that desirable. Maybe all those years of being told you were filthy and hell bound were wrong. Perhaps you were the embodiment of something as old as time, you were a larger part of humanity then they were with their silly books and blood thirsty faith. You denied yourself nothing.

Alfie kept you satisfied without properly satisfying you. Winding you up and then letting you crash down.

Eventually your husband came through, catching your eye just as your face contorted in pleasure, eyes screwed tight. That time it was his anger that pulled you over the edge.

__

After an awkward exchange Tommy half carried you out of the place. He struggled to keep his composure, but they didn't seem bothered that you were leaving the party. You stood on the side of the road, between their parked cars. A man that Alfie had brought, probably to look at the jewels, exchanged a few words with them, then got into his own vehicle and drove off into the night.

“I'm not going. Not unless you both go back to mine.” You announced. You were angry beyond belief, and you were going to make them both feel it.

“Fuck.” Tommy was at his breaking point, temper surging through his body.

“Alright, you're a needy little thing.” Alfie called out as he got into his car. You climbed into the passenger seat of the Bentley, but you didn’t relax until you saw Alfie follow behind in the mirror.

“What the fuck happened.”

“Well you said we were going to a dinner party. And I’m a stupid cunt for believing you. I was dragged into that… that.. Fucking mess. Men and women sizing me up. Your fucking lucky he showed up. I had no fucking choice in the matter Thomas.” Your voice broke, which only made you even more angry. You wanted to scream at him, until he was exhausted. You wanted to throw things at him until he understood what he put you through.

“I didn't know.” the set of his jaw made you know he was telling the truth. He was just as angry as you were. People weren't allowed to look at you half the time, but touch you? His blood was boiling. But all you wanted to do was yell. Yell and scream, kick and fight, until there was nothing left of you.

“They would have had to drag me out of that place in a body bag, Thomas. I wasn’t going to - I wouldn't - I don't give a fuck about you either. I wouldn't do that for me.”

The rest of the car ride home was in silence. You cried, body both exhausted from everything and painfully awake with a need that possessed you. Tommy wanted no part in any of this. The whole thing was a mess put on his plate by Churchill, and his own surprising moral compass.

You felt bad about being mad at him, you knew down to your bones that he would be dead, the business burned before he let that happen to you. But there were still waves of wrath sweeping through you.

“Do your worst. Better to get it all out then.” He announced after turning the car off. You leaned across the bench seat and kissed him softly. A moment of forgiveness, to show him that you understood the position he was in. That they had chosen to play him like that, and you didn't break, but still it was a dirty play nonetheless.

You got out of the car and stormed into the house. Throwing the doors open. Kicking off your shoes and throwing them down the hallway viscously.

__

Tommy stood at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to his house. Watches his wife throw a violent tantrum.

He didn't care about her shoes, or the crystal glasses. The stupid painting of Grace should have been thrown out years ago. He didn't care about any of those things though. He cared about her.

And they used that against him. There was a tight coil of fear in his stomach. She was a bit messed up when it came to sex. He’d never hurt her, couldn't stand to think of someone hurting her. However she’d been raised in a house that did different kinds of damage to her.

And she'd be right, if they pushed her into things in that room. He wouldn't blame her for fighting them. He knew she’d be the first one to cause a body to hit the floor. They’d kill her for it. But she wouldn't come back from that room if they left her alive anyway.

And it was all his fault. Her soft kiss was a move to show she didn't blame him, but her tears, the sounds of her sobs. That would keep him awake at night for a very long time.

Alfie squared up next to him, listening to the racket she was making. Tommy was suddenly grateful that he let the maids go home on weekends. Her voice was sharp, as she screamed, her words were the nastiest he’d ever heard. Somehow even more vicious coming from her soft body. He heard her swear, the loud crashes as she got her feelings out.

“I like it, it's a solid plan mate. Let her go up there and destroy the place. Get it all out so we can hopefully keep our cocks. Solid plan.” Tommy turned to him, watching the broad man look at the house with humor in his eyes.

“Alfie.”

“Wot”

“You're a good friend.” His voice was steady. The words weren't enough, but he hoped that he wouldn't have to say more. Alfie turned to him and met his eyes, he understood.

“You're a right bastard. Leaving her with the wolves like that. The only reason I’m not beating the absolute - shit, out of you, is because she’d have my head for it.” He took a deep breath. “But our best plan here is to team up. I’ve never seen anyone in that state before.” He shook his head, out of respect? Awe? Both?

The screaming stopped and they gave each other a nod. The idea made him uneasy, but in all truth he should be grateful to Alfie, not just for what he did earlier but also for staying to wrangle the messy aftermath.

He flicked his cigarette, and they climbed the front steps quickly.

____

Being destructive was so nice.

That fucking painting should have been thrown out the second you entered his life. The moment he saw you his life started again, reborn and blessed to have an era of his life defined by you.

You’d always hated Grace. You chucked her painting over the railing with enough force to ensure the canvas broke. Crystal glasses, drink trays, very few things had ever felt so pleasant, so freeing. You were born wound up tight, it was beaten into you, there was no escaping it in your life aside for a few precious moments.

This was almost as good as subspace.

You raged, ripping your clothes off and climbed into the shower. You only just got into the hot spray when Tommy blew the door open.

He was scared, you could see it in his eyes. You took a long swig of whiskey before handing him the bottle. He looked over your body, trying to see if you’d hurt yourself, he looked unsteady.

Alfie wasted no time, he climbed into the shower, his clothes already discarded somewhere in the mess you had created.

He steadied you, against his body and the smallest bit of relief from the disaster inside you started to spread.

“Eh, don’t get shy on us now, mate” Alfie said, how he was enjoying your chaos was beyond you. Tommy followed into the tub.

You were pressed in between their wet bodies, suddenly you had no understanding of why everyone didn't solve their problems this way. This was true bliss. Their hands fought over your curves washing you down.

Surely this was how Queens of the past lived. You felt it in your blood that this was only natural, all women should be cared for this way.

They were soft with you, which was strange but appreciated. Slowly brought you down from whatever high you’d reached. They bickered, because they couldn't help themselves, it made it easier for them.

“Can’t wash her hair like that. Washing her like she’s a dog.”

“Oi mind your bloody business.” Tommy told him off pointing a soapy finger at him.

“My business.” Alfie's hands traveled down your torso between your legs. “Suppose that’s mine now, love. You heard the man” You let out a laugh at Tommy’s sigh.

They got out of there eventually, Alfie strutting out of the bathroom in a towel yelling about something you didn’t quite understand.

“We don't have to.” You whispered to your husband as he took care to dry you down with a fluffy towel.

“We don't have to, but I have an outstanding debt to you, might as well make a dent in it tonight, eh” You grabbed his arm, about to tell that was bullshit. But he continued before you could start. “Don’t make me fucking say it, eh?” His voice was stern but his eyes were soft. He placed a kiss on your forehead and picked you up.

He tossed you on to the bed and the night’s events fully caught up with you. Alfie pulled you up onto his lap and you leaned into his warm chest. His fingers traveled between your legs and you felt him relax against the headboard. You could feel his hard length pushing in to your back,

His fingers traveled lower, your body tensed up just like last time at the strange feeling. You felt embarrassed but determined to give him what he wanted after everything that night.

This wasn't like the last time you had them both. This was slow, Alfie worked you open while Tommy laid close by stroking your clit. All the orgasms and tantrum had worn you down, the pleasure that radiated through you met no resistance in your body. You had no tension to oppose it, like floating in water. You would willingly let them bend you anyway they pleased. Your breathing started to get heavy, your legs tensing slightly, when Alfie stopped. You had lost count of how many fingers, only just that you felt full. He adjusted your position on his lap, leaning back further to bring you up his chest a bit. Then he lined himself up and you felt the wetness of his tip slowly push in past the tight ring of muscle.

Tommy’s fingers left your clit, to dive into your soppy opening. You could feel his pressure pushing your flesh into Alfie’s cock as it was slowly making its way further inside you. They reached a certain spot that caused your whole body to tense but they easily held you open.

“Be good.” Tommy said under his breath. It was incredibly hard to be well behaved in this situation. Alfie pushed himself the rest of the way in, but Tommy’s fingers stayed right on that spot slowly moving in circles. You whimpered and the tears started, these tears come from somewhere different inside you. They created an opening in your chest, like you could breathe properly for the first time in so long.

You tested the waters and wiggled a bit, raising up ever so slightly only to skink back down on him.

“That’s it love” Alfie placed a kiss to the side of your neck and you took things a bit further. Last time things were so deliciously rough. But this time every brush of skin sent electricity to your core. Your body became unbearably taught, Tommy took his fingers from you. You were in disbelief that he sat up and moved towards you, no way he would take you like this. This was a much more intimate position than last time.

But there was a dark fire in his eyes, something that prevented him from letting you take any pleasure from another man without him. He would ensure you knew that there wasn't a place on this earth or after it, where he wouldn't be there with you and he was going to make sure you felt it too. He came up on top of you, lining up with your tight hole.

He pushed inside slowly, both of them doing their best to hold back. You could see the veins pulsing in their arms as they held you inplace, the white tips of their fingers gripping your flesh. The flush across Tommy’s face contrasted with the hard look in his eyes.

Eventually they were both deep inside you, that final push left your walls fluttering. A loud moan escaped you. Tommy held you still for a long while. Eyes searching yours to make sure you were okay. You were grateful he gave you a moment to adjust, but that soon passed into desperation for more. You tried to wiggle and nudge him on, but their combined grip was too much.

“Thomas” Alfie growled. He started to move and eventually they fell into that blissful rhythm. You were hot and sweaty trapped between the two of them, but you felt so safe. Your body was falling apart in the most wonderful way.

“Fuck, darling.” Alfie tightened his grip on you. Someone's fingers made their way down your torso, circled your clit and you let out a shout. Your body was taking its own place in the delicate system, hips involuntarily moving in sync with them.

“Please” You whimpered, the pressure was becoming overwhelming and impossible to hold in.

“No” Tommy said through gritted teeth. Alfie let out a groan at his response.

“Are we really going to play dirty with her like this?” He barked. Tommy let out a sound that was almost a laugh.

“Alright baby, you think you can cum for us?” The tone of his voice was like honey.

“Yes- yes -yes” The words kept tumbling from your mouth.

“Good girl, that’s it, just like last time” Alfie whispered and your body was unhinged, muscles pulled impossibly taught.

“Cum”

Your whole body snapped, if they didn't have such a tight grip on you, you're sure that they would have been pushed out by the force of your orgasm. They fucked you through it till you were spasming and contracting, full of their seed. Both of them were breathing hard but they let you have your moment. Trapped there impossibly full.

You closed your eyes and relaxed, air finally filling your lungs at a reasonable pace.

“Come here, love” They got you untangled and Tommy pulled you up into his chest. He took you into the bathroom to help clean up. He had to do most of the work but he didn't seem bothered by it.

Just like last time you fell into a deep sleep pinned by their large bodies.

Tag list: @tommydoesntpayforsuits @misselsbells06 @kpopgirlbtssvt

---

congrats on 1.5K! can i request a threesome with dadsbestfriend!bucky and dadsbestfriend!steve 🥵

JOIN MY 1.5k SLEEPOVER!🧚‍♀️

[dadsbestfriend!bucky x fem!reader x dadsbestfriend!steve]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* word count; 381 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[a/n; YOUR MIND!!! this will be 1940s AU, and i'm giving the dad a random name lol]

warnings; SMUT! MINORS DNI, +18, age gap (reader is in her 20s), dirty talk, insinuations to threesome, if uncomfortable please don't read. press keep reading for smut :)

fridays were your favorites.

and not because you'd have dessert with your girlfriends, or landed a date with a nice boy to drive up to the drive-in theater.

butterflies swarmed in your belly the second you stepped foot into your house, grinning at the sight of your father hosting a cook-out for all his buddies from the war.

"[y/n], come 'ere!"

you giggled at his calling, rushing over as he embraced you, introducing you to everyone, but your eyes were glued to a pair of ocean blue ones.

"that's the pretty little doll i prayed to come home to, steve, a fuckin' gem," bucky took a swig of his cold beer as his best friend chuckled, scanning you shamelessly, noticing the mischievious glint in your [e/c] orbs.

"gorgeous, but john wouldn't think twice to kill ya', that's his angel," the brunette scoffed with a following smirk as he saw you disappear back inside your home before nodding to him discretly.

"come on, punk, let me show you something,"

"sweetheart!" you squealed the moment bucky sneaked into your room, wrapping his thick arms around you as he inhaled your rose-scented locks.

"i missed you so much, jamie," you whimpered as he began nipping at your neck but you jolted away the second you caught a glimpse of another man in your room.

"baby, you know steve, right?" nodding shyly, your heart hammered against your chest as the masculine cologne invaded your sweet room tempestuously.

"you're gonna be a good girl for us, right? gonna show stevie how wet you get, how pretty you look stuffed with my cock," his lustful whispers were drowned out with his hand reaching beneath your modest dress, rubbing your slit through your panties, smearing your wetness.

"tell stevie to touch your pussy, doll," your eyes met with the blonde's wild ones, mesmerized by the way bucky shedded you of your clothing, shuddering at the sudden breeze rushing through your window.

"please, touch me, stevie," he stepped forward, gasping as you yanked his hand towards your slit and coated his fingers with your leaking juices, dragging whimpers from your gaping lips as steve instinctively toyed with your swelling clit.

"don't make a sound, kitten, we're not leavin' til we fill this pretty pussy with our cum.

these porn ads really make my daily tumblr scrolls difficult & traumatizing asf

kaz brekker shares his clothes with you

request: ok but hear me out,,, kaz letting his s/o wear his clothes as a form on intimacy over touching and the crows start picking up on it-

a/n: ANON U ABSOLUTE GENIUS this is relatively short because i couldn’t expand it but here

you realized early on that kaz really loved his clothes 

of course he did 

they say more about him than he says about himself sometimes 

but you also realized that he liked you in his clothes more 

you’d been sitting on his bed, reading a book 

you had looked at the time and realized it was probably time for you to head back to your own room

it was part of your routine 

though you and kaz worked together to help him overcome his fear of skin on skin contact 

you hadn’t been able to sleep in his bed yet

kaz looked up from his place at his desk 

he looked 

disappointed 

that you were leaving 

you had given him a small smile, making your way to the door 

“wait” he said, as your hand turned the knob 

“yeah kaz?”

“um i was wondering if you wanted this”

you looked back at him 

and he was holding a way too large black t-shirt 

with a white little crow embroidered in the corner 

“it was a gift and now it’s too big and i don’t want to throw it away because someone could take it so i was thinking maybe you-”

“yeah kaz i’d love to have your t-shirt”

his whole face had been red as he handed you the t-shirt 

it quickly became your favorite sleeping t-shirt 

one t-shirt turned into two and then a pair of boxers 

and suddenly you had more of kaz’s clothes than your own 

nina was the first to notice your new wardrobe 

the heatrender and you were eating waffles together, catching up 

“is that kaz’s jacket?” she gasped randomly 

you looked down at the black leather jacket you’d taken from kaz last week 

you blushed profusely before slowly nodding you head 

“y/n! this is important information! kaz brekker does not share clothes, he must really love you.”

nina has happily teased you the rest of your breakfast date 

jesper and wylan were next to notice 

but for fairy obvious reasons 

the four of you were sitting in kaz’s office

brainstorming out the next job for the dregs 

you made a move to grab kaz’s hand 

just for the comfort of it 

like you did sometimes

but it seemed that day was particularly difficult for kaz 

because he pulled his hand away, flinching 

you tried to hide your disappointment by quickly going back to looking at the papers in front of you 

you didn’t want to make kaz feel bad for setting his boundaries 

after a few seconds you felt a tap on your shoulder 

you turned and saw kaz holding out the hoodie he was just wearing 

for you 

his eyes said something like ‘here, a sign of peace’

you put it on and kaz looked pleased, going back to his work as well

you looked at wylan and jesper then, having forgotten they were there

the two of them stared in utter disbelief between you and kaz 

“that was weirdly cute” wylan had smiled 

“merchling, that was fucking adorable why lie.” jesper responded, holding a hand over his heart 

you snickered and stole a glance at kaz 

who was already looking at you 

the next was inej 

you were alone in your room 

reading a novel 

when the suli girl made her way through your window silently 

you only realized she was there when she was right in front of you 

“hey inej, what’s up?”

you expected an update on a mission or her asking to hang out in your room 

instead she held out her hand, holding one of kaz’s beanies 

that he almost never wore but always smelled like him 

“kaz told me to give this to you”

she had a knowing smile on her face

you blushed and grabbed the hat from her hand 

“thank you inej” you whispered 

before she left her room she turned to you 

“kaz has his own way of demonstrating his love, im glad this time it isn’t violent gestures” she laughed and slipped out of the room 

matthias was the last to notice the advancement in your relationship with kaz 

you and the crows were sitting playing a board game 

you were wearing not only kaz’s t-shirt but his jacket 

matthias had been starting at you for a while, his eyes narrowed 

you let out a sigh

“matthias why are you staring at me, you can’t kill me with a glance you know?” you teased the druskelle 

he looked at your eyes and then at the other crows who were now paying attention 

“kaz wore that shirt yesterday”

you nodded and bit your lip 

“so you wear kaz’s clothes now?” he asked 

everyone else said “yeah” in unison, not even letting you answer 

matthias looked around shocked 

“so everyone knew but me?”

nina put a comforting hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder 

“yes you big beautiful idiot”

all of you laughed 

everyone went back to playing the game 

but you looked for kaz’s eyes

and he was already looking for yours 

you shared a knowing glance 

you liked wearing his clothes too 

Tipsy

(Gally x Reader)

Fluff, fluff, come and get your fluff! I’ve always had a soft spot for unplanned confessions, so here’s my take on it. Enjoy!

Bonfire night. You always loved those. Those rare yet precious moments where all the gladers, including yourself, had a chance to unwind, have fun, and forget about the horrors that lurked beyond the maze walls. For just a few hours, you could let your worries trickle away and divert your focus to the few things that brought you genuine happiness. The crackling of the fire, the soft rhythmic beat of the makeshift drums, your friends and their laughter as they cracked stupid jokes and stumbled around after having a few too many sips of Gally’s secret recipe.

You chuckled under your breath as your gaze trailed down to the jar in your hands. The taste wasn’t something your particularly enjoyed, but the drink served its purpose well enough. It helped you relax, elevated your mood, gave you a light yet plentiful buzz that made you feel all warm inside. A part of you was positively curious what was in it, but even after being close friends with Gally for months, the tough Keeper of the Builders still kept it under lock and key, and not even you could pick it open. Maybe one day he would tell you…

“Come on, Y/N, it’s a serious question!”

Keep reading

Idiot - Stiles Stilinski x gn!reader

Warnings: kissing, play fighting, major cliché coming-of-age teen movie vibes

Summary: You and Stiles have been best friends your entire lives, and you two having plans to study just so happened to be the turning point in that relationship.

A/N: I kind of hate this, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it when I found this gif.

Stiles had a tendency to blow out the speakers in his jeep whenever he had the chance, and you being his best friend, knew that more than anyone.

One of those times was happening at this exact moment, the both of you flying down the road after school, screaming to the music playing from his iPod and having the time of your lives. It took a few bumps from the bass for the speakers to go out, and Stiles was slamming his palms against the wheel and swearing under his breath.

“Stiles, it’s fine. You can just tweak them a bit like you usually do, and they’ll be fine again.” You said as you shut off his iPod, Stiles grumbling some more as he pulled into his driveway. “I know you’re right, but I don’t like it.” He replied, you laughing and opening the door to step out. “You’re so dramatic; come on, the econ exam is tomorrow and I haven’t the slightest clue what Coach has been spouting off in class.”

The two of you headed into Stiles’ house, Stiles pouting like a kicked puppy the entire way up the stairs and into his room. “Hey, is everything okay with Scott? He’s been acting really strange lately,” you ask, Stiles dropping his bag on the ground and sitting at his desk chair. “Yeah, just your typical teenage werewolf things. Derek isn’t helping anything either.” You hum, sitting on his bed and unzipping your bag to pull out your econ notes.

“Makes sense,” you reply, staring down at your notebook and trying your hardest to understand the gibberish sprawled across it. You groan, flopping backwards on his bad and pressing a pillow into your face. “Do me a favor,” you mumble through the fabric. You hear Stiles’s chuckle, one of the few sounds that can make your stomach erupt in butterflies. “What would that be?” He asked. “Smother me so I don’t have to endure another moment of economics.”

Stiles laughed, standing from his desk chair and plopping down on the bed next to you. You tried to ignore the way your heart raced at the feel of his leg brushing against yours. “Well considering my dad has caught me at multiple crime scenes the last few weeks, I don’t think I’m going to give him a reason to actually suspect me.” The pillow was pulled from your face and you were met with a light whack with it. You gasped playfully, sitting up and grabbing another pillow to hit him back.

“Hey now!” He laughed, holding his empty hand out in defense, your attack still going strong as he attempted to evade each whack. Suddenly, the pillow is ripped from your hands and both are dropped to the floor. You laugh loudly, gripping his wrists and shoving at him, Stiles’ smile radiating pure joy as he lightly pushed back.

He pulled back, your grip loosening enough for him to escape and grab your wrists in return. “Stiles, this isn’t fair!” You cackled as you pushed against his grip, Stiles scrunching his face and pushing back. You really should have known it was a bad idea, but you tried taking a step back to balance yourself, but your knee buckled and the both of you toppled onto the bed.

Of course, Stiles landed on top of you, and the both of your laughing ceased immediately. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you stared into his eyes, both of your breathing labored from the laughing and play-fighting that had occurred before. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” You whispered, worried because Stiles still hadn’t said anything. “D-Don’t be,” he whispered back, his eyes not leaving yours.

He wasn’t moving from his position on top of you, his hands still gripped around your wrists and pinning them lightly to the bed. He started to move, and your brain was in panic mode because this had never happened before, and you didn’t want him to move. Instead of moving off of you, he adjusted himself and rested his knee in between your legs.

“Stiles,” you whispered, noticing the way his eyes never left your face. “Y/N,” he whispered back, his eyes flickering to your lips for a split second. You couldn’t believe this was happening, the boy you’ve had the biggest crush on for your entire lives was hovering over you, breathing as heavily as you were, and stealing glimpses of your lips. “Kiss me,” you breathed, your voice almost completely inaudible.

He stared back down at you, his breath stuttering for just a moment before he leaned down and kissed you, his lips barely grazing yours in the process. When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “What?” He asked, a small smile forming on his face. “You call that a kiss?” You teased, Stiles biting his lip before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours firmly.

It was at this exact moment, you knew you were screwed. The way your body felt as if it were immediately bursting into flames wasn’t even the half of it. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and if you had any chance of getting your hands out of his tightening grip, you’d be gripping his hair so tight it’d probably hurt.

Finally, he pulled his hands from your wrists and placed one on your waist and the other on the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. You immediately gripped the back of his flannel and pulled him down. At this point, the two of you were pressed against each other, your lips never ceasing their movements. You gripped his shoulders and pushed, successfully flipping him onto his back and causing him to pull away from you as you straddled him.

He stared up at you, his eyes wide and lips swollen and slightly parted. “Truce?” he whispered, your laugh enveloping you in pure joy. “For being as smart as you are, Stilinksi, you’re kind of an idiot.” You said, Stiles grinning back up at you before sitting up and resting his hands on your hips. “Just shut up and kiss me, Y/N.” He replied, your heart beating the slightest bit faster as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his once more.