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Feels So Right (Part One)

Pairing: dadsbestfriend!Sebastian Stan x Reader, Chris Evans x daughter!Reader

Summary: Y/N is the only daughter of Chris Evans, so she’s grown up with her dad’s castmates. Now that she is older, one of his castmates is catching her attention at a marvel premiere.

Word Count: 4k (this ended up being so much longer than I thought it would)

Warnings: heavy age gap(both are over 18), heavy flirting/dirty talk, mentions of sex (no actual smut)

/ Part 2 /

“Come on sweetheart, it’ll be fun” your dad said, trying to persuade you.

You crossed your arms, still not sure about the whole situation.

“You said that I didn’t have to go down the red carpet with you” you argued.

Your dad was Chris Evans. He brought you as his date to the Endgame premiere. You loved spending time with your dad, so the premieres were always fun.

“Just go take some pictures with your old man. Plus, you’re going to be a famous star some day. This will be great practice” he said.

Why did he always have to be so persuasive?

“Okay fine”

You were an aspiring actress. As a kid, you just wanted to be like your dad. You were 22 years old. Your parents met in high school, so it was an understatement to say you were an accident.

Your parents had two defining differences. Your dad stayed; and your mom didn’t.

Your dad protected you and taught you everything you needed to know.

You had a magical childhood. You got to grow up on film sets with your dad. All his Avengers costars became like aunts and uncles to you.

You were surrounded by cinema and acting from a young age. It didn’t surprise anyone when you decided to pursue acting. You had just recently graduated from Juilliard. You were starting to dive headfirst into the acting world.

You had done a few small roles while in school, but you had just recently auditioned for a big movie. It was called Til’ Summer Ends

It was about a man and a woman from opposite ends of the world who meet in Greece, while on separate vacations. They could not be more different from each other. They are quickly attracted to each other, but they both have responsibilities at home at the end of the summer. They decide to make a lifetimes worth of memories jammed into one summer.

Of course, there is the expected twist where they end up together in the end against all odds.

You had auditioned for the lead female character. You had talked to your dad and some of his costars for any tips for an auditions. They were all beyond excited for you.

After you did your audition, you got a text from Sebastian saying that he had gotten the lead male role.

You and Sebastian had a weird complicated relationship. He had been a second dad to you growing up, but you hadn’t seen him since you graduated. You had just been too busy. Recently, you noticed a small crush forming.

Keep reading

Laced Around Your Throat

Summary: Your Mob boyfriend knows that the only thing that looks even better than his hand around your throat is his custom made necklace. You’re his girl and the world needs to know it. 

Pairing: Mafia!Steve x Reader, Mafia!Bucky x Reader

Word count: 2.5K 

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, possessive behavior, exhibitionism, voyeurism,  cockwarming, oral (m receiving), fingering (x 2), choking, very brief daddy kink (mentioned once)

 𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘢’𝘥 by the wonderful @whisperlullaby​, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 (𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵) However no permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post any parts of my stories anywhere (reblogs are great). 

Check out my Masterlist and Taglist! Requests are closed 

A/N: Requested. 

Steve runs New York with an iron fist, sharing his wealth and power with his best friend Bucky. His legitimate businesses are lucrative fronts for the state’s largest criminal organizations. Rumors run rampant through the boroughs about the golden hair CEO and the mysterious brunet known only to the public as the Winter Soldier, however, no one dares to say anything too loud.

No one is brave enough to risk his wrath. Louder than the rumors of the mob boss are the whispers about what happens to his enemies. 

He has the police in his pocket, the governor on speed dial, and senators begging for a meeting. 

While people know of Steve Rogers, very few know the man behind his meticulously crafted façade. 

Steve has worked hard to keep his name away from his more nefarious dealings, content to let others take credit for his handiwork. It’s easier for him to rule when people are unaware of everything that he owns. His privacy is more important to him than the notoriety that comes with his status. 

There is one thing, one person, he does claim. 

You.

Oh, Steve loves you. You belong to him. His feral need to claim you that grows more powerful each day. He’s not happy until he’s fucked you senseless, so thoroughly and deeply, that you feel him long after he’s slipped out of your tight warm pussy, his passionate lovemaking leaves you wearing his marks all over your soft thighs and chest. 

It’s a vicious cycle, seeing you marked up makes him want to mark you even more. Hearing you scream out his name as he fucks you makes him go harder until you’re wrecked, overstimulated and limp on the bed. A vicious cycle that you can’t get enough of. Neither can he. 

But nothing compares to how his hand curves perfectly around your throat, your skin painted with bruises from his thick fingers, lips, and teeth. Steve knows only one thing will look better around your throat. 

His name. 

He had the necklace designed by a French artist and handcrafted by an Italian jeweler. The black diamonds woven throughout the collar enhanced the colorful crimson rubies, his name etched in the braided tassel that could be split apart and attached to the ends of the necklace, hanging in loops over your collarbone. 

Or it can be left down, dropping between your breasts, his name twisting with each sway of the chain. When Steve saw how perfectly it fit on you, he knew it was worth every penny, he would spend millions to have more commissioned for you. His girl. 

The night he put it on you, seeing his name on against your skin changed something in him. His alpha side reaching new heights. You watched in awe and heady anticipation as he swiftly removed his clothes, ordering you to stay still. 

“Sweetheart, now is not the time to tease me, I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do.” He swore, his voice deepening the longer he stared at you. 

Steve’s hands trembled with the urge to choke you, his desire to be inside you overwhelming his senses, all he could see was you splayed on his gigantic bed, naked and ready for him. The necklace glinting under the lights; the sight fraying his barely there control. When you tugged on it, murmuring his name, he snapped. 

Keep reading

Detention

Marauders. Wolfstar mainly. 

Warnings: smoking, fighting 

Pure fluff

A/N I have been seriously lacking for ideas for these one shots so please please if you have ideas let me know cause I would love to write them. I'm trying to post some one shots  for many different fandoms such as Marauders, Harry Potter, Marvel, Six of Crows and Merlin so if you have ideas or requests for any one shots with characters in those fandoms I would be happy to write them! And I am happy to write x Reader as well! :)

"I hate you all," Remus grumbled, buried in one of his jumpers, leaning back in his uncomfortable and far too small chair.

"How were we supposed to know Professor Binns was going to be just around the corner!" Sirius defended, just as grouchy as the Lycanthrope.

"Come on guys, don't fight," Peter budged in, still half asleep.

"Yeah, none of us are happy to be here and arguing isn't going to help," James agreed.

The four teenage boys had been dragged out of bed and into an empty, old, small classroom for a Saturday Detention.

"Surely you should be more upset Prongs, you're missing the Quidditch game," Remus pointed out.

James groaned in response. "I know, this sucks,"

Sirius grumbled something to himself and turned away from them all.

"Something to say, Padfoot?" Remus asked condescendingly.

"Shut up, Remus, this was your idea as well it's not all my fault that we're stuck in here!"

"You're the one who didn't check the map when he was supposed to!" Remus stood up, the lack of sleep and the upcoming full moon doing nothing to keep in his temper. "If you had done your job none of us would be in here!"

"If you had used your stupid werewolf senses for any good you could have heard Professor Binns!"

"Alright!" James bellowed louder than the two. "That's enough! You're frightening poor Pete," indeed Peter was in the corner with his hands over his ears. "Now if you can't talk to each other with any compassion then be quiet and talk after you've both calmed down,"

James left no room for negotiation so Remus and Sirius turned away from each other, Remus reading and Sirius quietly muttering to himself.

The hours dragged by and the boys all cursed Professor Binns for making them stay in detention for three hours. At the end Peter was braiding Sirius' hair for practise, James was lying upside-down on his desk and Remus was still reading, curling himself up and ignoring all of them.

————————————

When the third hour struck on the clock all the boys silently got up and walked out. James went to find the Quidditch team and ask them about the game, Sirius couldn't care less and went to the courtyard to smoke, Peter went after James and Remus went back to his dorm, curling up in his bed and reading again.

"James Potter where the hell were you?!" Marlene bellowed, upset with the Seeker.

"Detention," James replied sheepishly, not wanting to make her any madder. "How'd the game go?"

"Barter is not a good fill in Seeker, we lost by a long run," Marlene hit him up the head and kept walking with him, ruffling Peter's hair.

"Why'd you get a detention this time?"

"Got caught in a prank by Professor Binns," Peter sighed, all students knowing how strict Binns was. "Detention was horrible, three hours of Sirius and Remus sending each other harsh glares and arguing,"

Marlene gave him her sympathies, asking where both young lovers were now.

"Sirius is probably somewhere smoking, Remus is probably reading in the dorm or library,"

"Probably the dorm," James added. "He thinks the library is too crowded on weekends,"

———————————

Sirius stepped on his finished cigarette, extinguishing the sparks. He sighed, running his hands over his face, feeling bad for the argument with Remus.

Remus heard the door open but didn't bother to look up to see who it is, assuming it was Peter.

He felt his bed sink down and started to turn his head. Before he saw who was on his bed, he felt two arms wrapping around him and soft kisses being pressed into his shoulder blades. He turned around and wrapped his arms around Sirius in turn.

"'M sorry, know the full moons making you antsy, should've been nicer," Sirius mumbled into his chest, pulling himself as close to Sirius as possible.

"It's okay, I shouldn't have snapped," Remus kissed Sirius' head.

They silently lazed there in each others arms, Sirius pressing kisses to Remus' chest and Remus kissing Sirius' head.

"What book are you reading?" Sirius asked quietly.

So Remus started off about his new book, talking about the characters and plot with deep thought and analysation. Sirius listened to every word, paying extra attention so he could discuss the book with him on another day closer to the full moon to distract him from the pain.

Remus slowly fell asleep, words about his new book turning into quiet mumbles.

Sirius smiled softly at his sleeping form, brushing his hair away from his face - which needed a cut - and kissing his cheek, laying there in his sleeping arms.

And when Peter and James walked in to check on Remus, they both knew to silently walk out and leave the two to their lazy afternoon, wrapped in each other.

bloody hands | k.b

A/N: this is my first time writing for ye old kazzle dazzle and i'm terrified, lol (i'm also shit at summaries)

Summary: Kaz never feels the need to explain his entire plan. He knows that, whatever happens, it will inevitably go according to plan. But when his plan goes wrong and Y/N is injured, Kaz is suddenly forced to comprehend with the skeletally hand of death once again.

"So, was the gunfire part of the original plan?"

Kaz shoot Y/N a withering look - one that would have anyone in their right mind turning around and running. Y/N just beamed at him.

"No, it wasn't," Kaz replied, glowering at her. "Jesper shouldn't have started so early."

"He's on time," Y/N reminded him.

"For Jesper that's early."

"True."

Y/N and Kaz ducked back behind the wall as bullets whizzed past them smashing into the houses behind them.

"So, we are being fired at because you couldn't be bothered to explain the full plan," Y/N said, trying not to glare at Kaz.

"No, we're being fired at because Jesper's timing is horrendous," Kaz snapped.

Jesper, as if summoned, suddenly appeared at Y/N's side, sliding to a stop on the slippery cobbles. "Right, that's that, then."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "What -"

She was cut off being a tremendous explosion from inside the warehouse they'd all just being chased out off. Smoke billowed into the air and flames rolled up into the sky. The men who had been firing at them all exclaimed and ran off to the warehouse, leaving the alley empty.

"Well, you could have done that sooner, Jes," Y/N muttered stepping out from behind the wall.

"Well, of course, but then what's the point, love?" Jesper asked, winking at her,

Y/N began to laugh but was cut off as a more gunshots echoed through the street. She ducked and Jesper pulled her behind a barrel as he fired back at the lone gunman, hitting him in the shoulder as he ran off.

"You alright?" Jesper asked, panting. He glanced at Y/N who was nodding, albeit shakily.

"I'm fine," she said, peeking her head over the top of the barrel and slowly standing up. "Nearly died, but I'm fine."

"You didn't nearly die," Kaz drawled, walking over to them.

"We all nearly died, Kaz, all because you can't explain any plan in full detail!" Y/N yelled. "Inej almost got stabbed!"

"But she didn't," Kaz replied, glancing up at the roofs where Inej was inevitably haunting.

Y/N glanced over at Kaz and let out an exasperated sigh. "Would it kill you to actually explain a plan in whole? It would make our lives so - ah."

She cut herself off with a gasp of pain. Y/N lost her footing as she stumbled forward. and Jesper grabbed her, wrapping one hand around her waist, the other snaking around to rest on her back.

"Hey, you ok?" Jesper asked, his dark eyes full of concern as he supported almost the full weight of Y/N.

Y/N glanced down at her side and noticed a dark patch spreading from just under her right breast, staining her waistcoat. She raised a shaking hand to the blood stain and let out a surprised gasp as her hand came away wet with blood.

"Oh."

The sight of the blood on her hand seemed to push her over the edge and Jesper exclaimed as her legs buckled. His grip tightened as he caught her and gently lowered her to the cobbled street, kneeling down with Y/N and putting her head in his lap.

"Inej!" Jesper yelled, unable to see where the Suli girl had vanished too.

Kaz stared as blood dripped onto the cobble stones. His mind was still watching Y/N yell at him for being him. It wasn't meant to happen like this. His grip on the crow's head of his cane was almost crushing and he could feel the tiny, delicate beak cutting into his hand through his gloves.

Y/N was dying because of him.

If he'd told them what his actual plan was or if he'd just told her.

Y/N's hand was pressing against her right side, Jesper's hand covering hers as he helped put pressure on her side. The blood was seeping over both of their hands, staining them red.

Inej suddenly appeared out of the shadows, hurrying over to Y/N's side in silence. She unwrapped her scarf from around her head and began wapping it around Y/N's side as Jesper moved Y/N's shaking hand away from the wound. Jesper carefully lifted Y/N up as Inej meticulously wrapped it around, trying to slow the bleeding.

"We need Nina," Inej said aloud as she tied her scarf in a knot, securing it around Y/N's side. She looked expectantly over at Kaz.

Kaz was clenching his jaw tightly. He forced himself to swallow the fear and the mental image of Y/N lying next to Jordie on the Reaper's barge. "She's at the White Rose. Bring her to the Slat."

Inej nodded. She cast Y/N a worried glance before she climbed up a drainpipe and vanished into the clouds, leaving no sign she'd ever been there except the now bloody scarf around Y/N's side.

"Jesper, your face looks weird without a smile on it," Y/N said softly, her left hand finding his, their fingers entwining.

Jesper forced himself to smile down at her. He smoothed back her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Sorry, love."

Y/N's eyes fluttered shut and Jesper moved his bloody hands to either side of her pale face, shaking her as gently as he could.

"Hey, hey, stay with me, love," Jesper said, not so gently, as he tried to keep her conscious.

Y/N blinked her eyes open and looked up at Jesper, the world spinning around her, the buildings around them looking even drunker than usual. "Hey."

"Hey, beautiful," Jesper replied, stroking her cheek with his thumb, both of them choosing to ignore the fact that Y/N's blood was all over Jesper's hands and was now on her face.

Kaz felt a pang of jealously rush through him. Jesper could comfort her and carry her to safety. Inej could hold her hand and hug her. Nina could heal her and touch her without feeling like she was about to pass out.

Kaz wanted to run to Y/N. He wanted to kneel down next to her and hold her hand. But he couldn't. He physically could not force himself to.

As he stared at her, at the woman he'd taken for granted for so long, he just saw her dead, lying on the street like Jordie had. The nightmare spiralled from there as he remembered the Reaper's Barge, the cold, bloated body of his brother. The hands. Drowning in a sea of rotten bodies.

No.

Y/N wasn't dead. She was still alive. She was still awake and wasn't dead.

A small voice inside him added the word yet to the end of his sentence but he refused to listen to it.

"Jesper," Kaz said, his voice rougher and croakier then usual. "We need to move her to the Slat."

Jesper recognised the pain and unfiltered emotion on Kaz's face. It wasn't normal to see his boss so openly show emotion but when Y/N was involved, Kaz was an unknown entity.

The man would never admit to himself that he had feelings for her. Kaz was in denial. He refused to acknowledge the emotions inside him. But he'd taken Y/N for granted. He just assumed she would always be on his left side, walking just behind him.

"Ready?"

Jesper's voice snapped Kaz back to the street and he looked at Y/N, her skin pale and sweaty, her hands shaking. Kaz nodded, gripping his cane tightly.

"Right, love, your knight in shining armour has arrived," Jesper said, a teasing tone to his words that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Y/N chuckled softly as Jesper moved to her side, his arms going under her legs and then around her back. Y/N let out a groan of pain and squeezed her eyes tightly shut as he lifted her up. She dropped her head onto his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the soft material of his coat rubbing against her face.

Kaz's cane clicking against the cobbles was the sound Y/N focused on as Jesper carried her towards the Slat. She wanted to fall asleep, to just close her eyes and burrow into Jesper's jacket for warmth. But Kaz's cane kept clicking and Y/N focused on it, the sound alone reassuring her of his presence.

"Hey, don't doze off on me," Jesper said, glancing down at Y/N as her eyes shut.

"I"m not," Y/N said softly, her eyes opening sluggishly and looking up at Jesper as she re-wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm not."

Jesper squeezed her leg as he noticed her eyes droop slightly, her head dropping back against his shoulder. "No sleeping on the job, Y/N, Kaz will have your head."

Y/N's laugh was weaker and Kaz felt a pang of pain in his chest as he looked over at her. She was dying. She couldn't be dying. But she was dying.

Kaz forced himself to reply, playing along in an attempt to keep Y/N awake. "You fell asleep on a job once, Jesper, and yet you're still here. Unfortunately."

Jesper let out a bark of laughter and Kaz caught Y/N smiling, albeit small. Good.

"We're nearly there, love," Jesper said quietly, spotting the towering, drunkenly slumped shack that was the Slat.

Y/N hummed a response but the blood loss was beginning to hit her. Her sight was speckled by black dots and her ears were filled with a high pitched ringing.

Jesper glanced down at her, noticing her silence ."Y/N, hey, stay with me, darling, we're almost there."

Y/N wanted to reply. She wanted to reassure Jesper, because she could hear the thinly disguised panic in his voice, that she was still with him but she was so tired and her eyes weren't letting her stay awake.

The urge to sleep won over her need to reassure Jesper and her eyes rolled backwards. Jesper felt Y/N's arms slip from around his neck, limply hanging to the sides, as she lost consciousness and felt panic grip his entire being.

Kaz slammed open the door to the Slat and the Dregs loitering around looked up, hands flying to weapons.

"Nina!" Kaz yelled, his voice doing a fairly good job at hiding his fear, his worry, the panic that Y/N was dying.

Nina rushed out the side room and met them halfway across the room, eyes running over Y/N, the blood seeping through Inej's scarf, the blood on Jesper's hands, on Y/N's hands.

"Quickly," she said, ushering Jesper into the room.

There was a table set in the middle of the room and dozens of candles had been lit to provide enough light in the dark room. A large, heavy oak chest of drawers was shoved up against the window and Inej was hovering against the far wall, her eyes locking onto Y/N's body as soon as Jesper carried her into the room.

"On the table, Jesper," Nina ordered, opening a drawer, numerous bottles clinking as she rummaged around.

Jesper gently set Y/N down on the table, carefully laying her down and moving her arms to rest on the wood. He took his jacket off and bundled it up, lifting Y/N's head up and setting the material underneath her head.

Kaz stood in the doorway, hands tightly wrapped around his cane, the metal beginning to cut through his gloves and into his hands. In any of building, in any other city in the world, he would've looked like an omen of death.

He forced himself to stare at Y/N as Jesper helped Nina unwrap Inej's scarf from around Y/N's side.

Kaz shuddered as his mind shoved Jordie to the front, the feeling of his brother's cold, bloated skin against his, drowning him. He was drowning in Jordie; in Y/N dying on the table in front of him.

Nina was muttering to herself as she worked, one hand around Y/N's wrist, the other holding a pile of gauze to her side. Kaz watched her intently and could see her counting Y/N's heartbeat as she tried to stop the bleeding.

Which is why, because Kaz was watching Nina with such intensity, that when Nina paused her muttering and looked down at Y/N, her eyes slowly widening, did Kaz feel his own heart shudder and almost stop.

Nina let go of Y/N's wrist, dropping her hand onto the table. She brought her hands together, her first two fingers overlapping each other, and then brought them down onto Y/N's chest.

It was as if Kaz could hear Y/N's heart slowing down and not speeding up. He watched as Nina repeated her movements, determination and panic and fear written on her face as her eyes welled up.

Kaz swallowed and felt the ocean overwhelming him again. He saw Y/N staring back at him, lifeless and dead just like Jordie. Her beautiful eyes staring emptily back at him, void of life. He'd failed her like he'd failed Jordie. The most important thing in his life was dead.

Inej was frantically praying, clutching her knife, Sankt Alina, tightly. Jesper was still for the first time since he'd carried Y/N in, his eyes red with tears as he stared at Y/N's limp, bloody body.

Kaz took one look at Nina and saw the dwindling hope in her eyes, the tears streaming down her face and turned around, walking out the room, his cane clacking loudly against the floor.

Nina sobbed and repeated her movements one more time, desperately trying to get Y/N's heart to start beating again. She'd saved Matthias in the middle of the ocean, during a hurricane, she could save Y/N.

Nina brought her hands down on to Y/N's chest once more with, perhaps, more force than needed. She kept them there and willed the organ inside her friend to not give up.

To keep going.

Second by second, Nina felt it slowly begin to beat again. Nina kept her hands on Y/N's chest, scared that if she moved even an inch it might stop beating again. Second by second, the colour began to slowly come back into Y/N's skin and Nina sighed, dropping her head in relief.

Inej let out a happy sob and closed her eyes, praying to her Saints once again and thanking them.

"Jesper, come here and wrap her wound, stop making that face, it's a bullet wound, you'll be fine," Nina snapped, glaring at Jesper when he balked at the thought, all thoughts of death and misery gone, their usual banter slowly returning.

Jesper walked around to stand next to Nina and took a clean wad of gauze and drenched it in alcohol. He pulled Y/N's bloody shirt up and gently pressed it to her side. His other hand reached up to Y/N's face and with a clean, damp cloth, he began wiping the dried blood off her skin.

"Oh, Saints, Kaz!" Inej exclaimed suddenly, making Jesper and Nina jump. She flew out the room like a breeze and dashed up the stairs to Kaz's office where he'd inevitably retreated.

Kaz was stood hunched in front of his mirror, his gloves off, his head hung. Inej walked in slowly, making sure to announce her presence by stepping on the creaky floorboard by the door.

"Don't," Kaz said, his voice croaking and Inej realised that he was crying. "Don't say it."

"Kaz," Inej said softly, slowly approaching him.

"No, Inej!" Kaz snapped, whirling around to stare at her. His eyes were red and his hair was a mess and his hands were shaking. "I took her for granted. I never," Kaz took a deep, shaky breath in, "I never told her or even showed her just how much..."

Even now, even when she was dead, he couldn't bring life to the words. They sat dead on his tongue, poisoning him. He hated his brother for making him this way. Hated Ketterdam for being the way it was. He even hated Y/N for being so fucking perfect that he had to fall in love with her. He was a fool so desperately in love that it scared him endlessly.

"Kaz," Inej repeated, slowly, gently, laying a hand on his arm.

The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up but Inej made sure to place her hand on the part that was still covered. Kaz flinched but didn't tell her to remove her hand or move back.

"Kaz," Inej said again. "Y/N isn't dead. She's alive. Nina brought her back."

Kaz turned his head and locked eyes with Inej. He didn't say anything but Inej understood. She nodded, reassuring him that she was being honest.

Perhaps, if Y/N hadn't been around, they would have fallen in love. Maybe it would be Inej he was crying over. Maybe it would have been Inej lying there, injured. Maybe Kaz would have torn the city apart to find the man who had injured her.

But he had Y/N. She was alive, three flights of stairs below, with Nina and Jesper at her side.

"I'll find him," Inej promised, dropping her hand from Kaz's arm and pulling her hood up.

"Leave some for me," Kaz said lowly, his eyes following Inej to the window. "I feel like ripping an eyeball or two out."

Kaz slowly limped down the stairs to Y/N's bedroom. He could hear numerous voices from inside and hesitated outside the door. Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, heistated.

"Kaz, just come in already!" Nina yelled from within.

Kaz rolled his eyes and opened the door. "Stop spying on me, Zenik."

"It's difficult not to when your heartbeat is so loud," Nina replied, raising her eyebrows knowingly.

Y/N snorted and Kaz looked at her. She was sat on her bed with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Jesper sat next to her, his arm around her shoulders. Y/N was half leaning on Jesper and half on the wall and looked so alive.

Inej had found the man who'd shot her and, together, they'd ripped the man's eyes out, slit his throat and thrown his body onto the Reaper's Barge. It had helped quell the ghosts threatening to haunt him once again but they hadn't truly abated until Kaz had gotten to look at Y/N and see her talk.

Y/N gave him a smile and Kaz nodded back at her, trying to hide his relief at how alive she looked.

She was alive. She wasn't dead. She wasn't Jordie. She wasn't going anywhere. She was still here, with him, in Ketterdam. And he wasn't going to let her go.

"There's blood on your shoes, Kaz," Y/N said, gesturing to his black shoes with her head, her voice almost startling him.

Kaz looked down and eyed the single drop with distaste. So there was. A single drop. All that was left of the man who'd shot her.

Y/N laughed at the look on Kaz's face. "He looks like he just sucked a lemon," she said to Jesper, albeit loud enough for Kaz to hear too.

"No, that's his normal face," Jesper replied, smirking as he winked at Kaz.

Y/N laughed, throwing her head back. Her hair fell over her shoulder and her eyes sparkled in the dim, orange light of her room. Her laugh was like music to him.

And Kaz Brekker realised with a sudden, painful thud that he was completely and utterly besotted with her.

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.

Not What It Looks Like ii

jesper fahey x reader - not what it looks like ii

summary/request: part two of not what it looks like - i don’t know what else to say lol

warnings: profanity, shamelessly fluffy

word count: 2k

READ PART ONE HERE

Once again, months after that first night, Y/N found herself trailing up a staircase behind Jesper. This certainly wasn’t the staircase at the Slat, but rather one at a Ravkan inn.

They’d been traveling across western Ravka for weeks, attempting to track someone they’d been paid to kill. They weren’t necessarily assassins, more like thieves, but that didn’t stop Kaz from accepting the incredibly high paying job. So now their crew had been spending their days roaming across the country, hitching rides in stolen carriages and sleeping in barns. Certainly a far cry from the life they had lived in Ketterdam.

As Y/N drug herself up the stairs, her body ached for a good night’s sleep. The past week they’d been riding in a carriage all through the day and night. She could still almost feel the rolling and sharp jerking of the carriage rattling deep in her bones. The thought of a soft, warm bed felt like heaven, regardless of whether Jesper was even in the room.

Their relationship since that night had been utterly confusing. She had initially assumed that Jesper too, shared feelings for her. But as the weeks flew by, she began to doubt that assumption. They were purely professional, two crew mates, and Y/N tried to keep her thoughts as professional as possible too. But dreaming of waking up in Jesper’s arms didn’t exactly fit that definition. So she pushed the feelings aside, tactfully burying them into the deepest corner of her mind. The words, “he’s a crew mate”, were constantly repeated in her mind, echoing over and over again like a mantra.

But people who were just crew mates didn’t allow their gazes to linger for a dangerous amount of time on the other. They didn’t allow their head to roll over onto the other’s shoulder during a long, exhausting ride as they gave into the temptation of sleep. They didn’t allow the magnetic gravity-like pull to overtake them.

But Y/N allowed all those things, allowed her mind to be completely consumed by everything Jesper. And every inch of her prayed that a Saints was listening when she hoped that Jesper felt the same way.

Y/N leant heavily against the wood paneled wall as Jesper pulled a silver key out of his pocket, the key Kaz had given him. For some Saints forsaken reason, the boy had thought it was a smart money decision to make the two room together.

She could still hear his irritatingly smug voice, “Inej and I both need private rooms. You two have stayed together before - why not again?”

Inej had practically been forced to lay a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, silently urging the girl to not attempt to wipe the shit-eating grin off of Kaz’s face. Kaz wasn’t nearly as slick or as clever as he assumed he was - Y/N knew what he was doing. She wasn’t blind to how Kaz went out of his way to pair her with his friend.

As Jesper swung the door open, Y/N was pulled from her thoughts and a sharp sense of deja vu washed over her. In so many ways, the cozy inn room reminded her of Jesper’s back at the Slat - a window facing the sea, a dresser with a mirror, and a bed, admittedly far larger. And of course, the room was clean - no dirty clothing or discarded items in sight.

With a deep thud, Jesper dropped their bags to the floor, rolling his sore shoulders and stretching his arms wide like an eagle. “I would kill for a hot bath.”

“I think all of us would,” Y/N stated, kicking off her muddy boots and flexing her incredibly sore feet. “We’ve been traveling for ages, I think anyone would feel grimy.”

She collapsed on the bed and rubbed at her sore muscles, willing them to relax. Jesper chaotically flitted around the room like an anxious mother hen, putting their things away and shrugging off his brown jacket. Tension hung heavily overhead like a dark cloud, but neither acknowledged it, keeping to themselves.

The sound of trickling water filled the air as Jesper poured a pitcher into a large stone basin bowl. He then rolled up his sleeves, revealing the dirt caked skin beneath. Y/N didn’t envy Jesper’s job of caring for the horses. Being the only one with equine experience, he had been assigned the job of picking dung out of hooves and harnessing the horses every morning.

Occasionally, Y/N had joined Jesper in the stable, offering assistance when she could, mostly as an escape from Kaz’s angry morning rants. She’d pet the horses a few times, running her fingers over their velvety muzzles. But everytime she withdrew her hand, her skin was covered in dirt, even packed under her nails. It amazed her how the seemingly clean horses always tended to have dirt caked into the coat.

But most of all, she admired how Jesper treated them. In his eyes they weren’t tools, only used for pulling the Crows across Ravka. She knew he saw them as pets, even big dogs perhaps. Jesper always had a certain twinkle in his eye and a grin upon his lips when he spent time with the animals. Y/N always noticed when he slipped an extra apple or carrot into his pocket, a treat to share later with his friends.

“How’d you get so good with horses?” Y/N blurted out suddenly, ruining the peaceful silence that had filled the room.

Jesper paused scrubbing at his arms and dropped the washcloth back into the basin, “Grew up with them.”

“Really?”

“Hard to believe a pretty face like this once mucked out stalls?” Jesper glanced over at her as a smug smirk graced his face.

Y/N scoffed, shaking her head softly as she gazed at him with nothing other than adoration. “You turn everything into a compliment.”

Jesper’s rolling laugh filled the room as he dried off his wet arms. Y/N had grown to love that sound, happiness quite literally bouncing off of the walls. It always made her grin like a fool as her heart flipped violently in her chest.

“Come here, doll.”

The pet name knocked the wind from Y/N’s lungs, leaving her breathless as she stared at Jesper with shock. He motioned her over to the basin, a goofy grin playing upon his lips. Slowly, she shakily rose to her feet and crossed the room, cursing her heart that behaved like a bird, beating its wings in her chest in a bid to break free.

Jesper’s steady hands gently gripped her left arm and rolled up her sleeve, then repeated the process with her other arm. Each touch was gentle, but laced with the confidence that Jesper always exuded. Despite her heart leaping into her throat, Y/N remained still, shamelessly allowing her gaze to follow Jesper’s hands.

Picking up the cloth, he ran it over her forearm, washing away the dirt and grime, washing away the trials of their travel through Ravka. The numbing chill of the water was sharp, nipping at her skin, yet still a welcome relief. After completing one arm, he dunked the cloth back into the basin, gently repeating the process. It felt splendid to have the filth washed from her arms, but she could hardly focus on that feeling. Instead, her mind was wholly distracted by Jesper; how close he was to her, how his gaze always fluttered to meet hers, how his fingers grazed her skin. Each sensation was all so overwhelming, reminding her sharply of how she felt trying to fall asleep with Jesper’s arm around her.

“Better?” Jesper questioned, passing her a dry towel and dropping the cloth back in the basin.

“Much,” she replied with a smile, trying to redirect her focus away from the intimacy of the moment.

A mischievous grin darted across Jesper’s face, a meager warning, before he quickly splashed water at her. The cold droplets sprayed across her torso, soaking through her shirt.

Gasping, Y/N jumped back, playfully glaring at Jesper. “How dare you!”

Laughter escaped both of them as she slapped the water, sending a wave flying towards Jesper. His eyes glittered like jewels as he sent a fresh batch of water spraying in Y/N’s direction in return.

“Jesper Llewellyn Fahey!”

“Can’t handle a bit of water?” Jesper jeered, reaching out for her.

Y/N danced away, just beyond Jesper’s reach and giggled, “No!”

Together they flew around the room like two birds, dancing and fluttering in circles around one another. The entire time, they foolishly grinned at one another and laughter filled the air.

It all came to a crashing halt when Jesper’s long fingers finally wrapped around her wrist, pulling her to a stop. Before Y/N could even react, he pulled her into his chest and held on tightly.

“I’ve caught you,” he teased, warm breath fanning over Y/N’s face in waves.

Y/N stared up into his eyes, allowing her breath to catch. They were like tantalizing pools of swirling liquid gold, pulling her in deeper.

Raising one eyebrow, trying to regain her composure, she questioned, “Is this how you woo everyone? Terrorizing them with your antics?”

For a second, Y/N swore his gaze flickered down to her lips before roaming the rest of her face. “No, only you - you’re special, my love.”

Those few simple words sent her heart and mind racing in tandem, lurching towards the outcome she so desperately wanted - that Jesper liked her back. But she stood there, gaping like a fish, fumbling for the words to say. Jesper didn’t seem to mind her shocked silence and instead, swooped down to capture her lips with his own.

It felt ridiculous to think about, but giving into the feelings she had so desperately held back felt like heaven. An invisible weight upon her shoulders lifted as she kissed back, pouring her heart and soul into that moment.

Kaz had lectured them seemingly a million times about how love was a weakness, the thing that would eventually lead to your downfall. But right now, Y/N thought love was the farthest thing from a weakness. Drowning in the feeling of Jesper, she felt it was a strength, a motivator even, urging her to be the best possible her. To be someone worthy of Jesper’s affection.

Jesper was the first to pull away, his face seemingly alight with pure sunlight even though their room was dark. He practically glowed with that flawless smile that glinted at her.

“So I’m assuming we feel the same way?” He finally questioned after catching his breath.

Y/N, still breathless and reeling from their moment, simply nodded, a wide smile gracing her face.

Softly, Jesper’s hands migrated up to her face, framing it between his large hands. “I always thought we’d end up like this.” His voice was heavily laced with arrogance as he smugly smiled.

“Oh really?” Without a second thought, she leaned into Jesper’s warm touch, relishing in how his callused hands felt against her face.

“Who wouldn’t fall for my handsome face, brilliant mind, extraordinary gun slinging skills?” He raised his head just a bit higher with pride.

Y/N lightly slapped one hand against his chest, “Oh don’t start in with your gloating. It’s annoying!”

Jesper only devilishly grinned at her and offered, “Annoyingly charming?”

“Stop it! The last thing your ego needs is compliments!” Y/N complained, feigning displeasure in her voice, but that task was nearly difficult. Everything about Jesper made her want to grin from ear to ear, to laugh and never stop.

“Oh really?”

“Yes!”

Jesper huffed and pressed little kisses to her cheek, slowly sliding his lips down until they met her jawline and then her neck. In between each featherlight kiss, he murmured, “I don’t know about my ego, but I know what I need.”

“What?” Y/N prompted, slightly tilting her head back as she completely surrendered.

“You.”

Y/N gasped for air as the kisses peppered across her skin felt like electric shocks, sending shivers through her body. Her mind immediately began to wander towards what their companions would think in the morning. Kaz and Inej weren’t stupid - they’d see that the fleeting glances filled with pining had suddenly transformed into something far more complicated.

At that moment, Y/N wasn’t sure what the future would hold but she knew one thing for certain - it was now exactly what it looked like.

———

Jesper taglist (comment “tag me” to be added)

@ocean-calls-me @sagewrites111 @darlinggbrekker @subjecta13-thefangirl @thehighladyofday @crying-shame @dreamer-writer-fangirl @awritingtree @alone19-24 @sankta-skyqueen @black-kitten-imagines @thegirlwiththeimpala @goldengoddess @vintagebitc @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @sixofshadowandbone @wanderlustingreader @cameronsails @itisroe @lawsandother

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) 

Hiiii, how are you? 💙 Can I request something fluffy with the marauders? Maybe a sleepover party at Y/n's house? And they also meet her parents and they love the boys 😊 I chose these prompts: “Do you want food?” “It’s 3 am.” and “Tea or hot chocolate?” “Why not both?”. Also congrats, you deserve much more! Your fanfics are amazing and you seem a very nice and friendly person! 💕💕

“I hope you like back rubs then"

Summary: Remus, Sirius, and James show up at your door for a sleepover

A/N: This request was really cute, I kinda wrote it as they were all together and I genuinely love the concept! Thanks for sending it in! Also we were having one of those moments where we just weren’t feeling the love for the rat over here… aka I did not include peter <3

Word Count: 1057

Masterlist + Characters and ships I write for

Requests are always open <3

Fluff Dialogue Prompt List

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Reminder that I do not support jkr. Do not interact if you do.

“What is all this?”

You questioned James, Sirius, and Remus standing at your doorstep, holding pillows and blankets and bags slung across their shoulders.

It had only been a couple hours since you got back to your parents house, bidding your goodbyes to the boys off the Hogwarts Express, leaving behind a great seventh year.

You were going to stay with your parents for a little bit until you could find a little place of your own, maybe even with the people at your front door.

“A surprise sleepover,” James phrased more like a question, still looking for you to say it was okay.

You outstretched your arms, wrapping them all up in a hug just before your mother appeared behind you.

“Who’s at the door, y/n?”

“These are my favorite people,” you said in a daze, glancing between the boys.

While introducing themselves to your mother, you could see it in her eyes that she clearly loved them already. “Oh, why are we standing out here? Come on in,” your mom urged.

She led all of you into the living room where your dad was messing with a deck of playing cards. “Hello there,” he sat up awkwardly in chair.

After a mere ten minutes, your dad was aboard the train of absolutely loving them.

“Um, I was wondering if it’s alright if they sleepover,” you spoke quickly, wanting to get out of the room.

“You boys are welcome anytime,” your dad said.

“We trust you all completely,” your mother added.

“On one condition,” your dad eased. “Your mother and I need a hug as payment.”

“Payment?” you asked, laughing. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Your parents held their arms open wide, posing to be completely serious. “You’re always going to be our little kid.”

James and Sirius were biting back laughs. “Yeah, you’re always going to be their little kid, y/n,” Remus teased.

“Oh I think Remus should join the hug too,” your mother insisted. “And I didn’t forget about you two either, James and Sirius.”

The boys wasted no time in all bear hugging you and your parents, letting go laughing.

You went down to your room, shutting your door softly and bracing your back against it.

“I don’t know how you did it, but they literally love you already.”

“Well that makes the whole y/l/n family then, huh?”

“Oh shut up,” you said, collapsing on the bed next to Remus.

He absentmindedly started playing with your hair while the four of you talked about what you wanted to do.

“Can I play music?” Sirius asked, dragging his fingers along the vinyl sleeves.

“Mhm, pick whatever you’d like.”

James helped him pick out a Beatles song before laying down across the foot of your bed.

“Can I paint your nails, Remus?” you asked, sitting up with excitement.

And that’s how you all ended up, hours later, with your nails painted.

“Do you want food?” Sirius asked abruptly.

“It’s three am,” James stated, rubbing his eyes.

Remus yawned, passing it onto you.

You wiped the inevitable water in your eyes, speaking. “I could go snag some food— Oh! Tea or hot chocolate?”

Sirius giggled, something he only did around the four of you. “Why not both?”

Remus groaned, rolling over on his side, his fingers spread apart as he waited for them to dry. “Oh, poor Rem,” you fake sympathized with him, thumbing the side of his face playfully. He shook you off, squirming and laughing.

You and Sirius left the room, walking quietly through the hallway and downstairs, careful not to wake your sleeping parents.

Sirius looped his forefinger around your pinky as you led him to the kitchen. He flipped the light on, and started his search for a teapot. You started on the hot chocolate, pulling out eight mugs.

You sat up on the counter, tilting your head back against the cupboard. Sirius pressed himself next to you, shoulder to shoulder. “You couldn’t just choose, could you?” you asked, gesturing to the absurd amount of glasses on the other side of the kitchen.

“Shh,” he shushed you, holding a finger over his lips, laughing a little. “I obviously could not. Plus- it’s more fun,” he said mumbling against your hair, pulling you closer.

He kissed the top of your head, the both of you enjoying the quiet.

Remus and James appeared from the dark, handing in hand, looking to be clinging on for their lives. “Merlin, y/n, this house is ridiculously scary at night.”

“Don’t worry, the ghosts usually go away by now.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Remus humored you as they picked up where you and Sirius left off.

Twenty minutes later after having helped the boys bring snacks and drinks back to your room, you walked in for the final time, finding them all squished on top of your bed. “Y’know, we all don’t have to be smashed on the bed,” you started to drag an extra comforter on the carpet, laying it out.

You threw pillows on one end as Remus crawled off the bed, soon followed by James, and of course, who was followed by Sirius. “You guys,” you laughed.

They sat up, sipping from their cups when they pleased, admiring the beautifully painted nails now all present in this room.

You laid down first, resting your head against the first pillow you threw down and without a doubt, after finishing their drinks, they did the same. “Are we seriously all going to sleep on the floor when there’s an empty bed right there?”

“It’s more interesting down here,” Remus said playfully.

“Oh yes, because I love waking up with a sore back.”

“Don't worry, I’ll wake you up with a back rub.”

“Remus, I swear— Do not wake me up,”

James and Sirius made themselves comfortable next to each other, absentmindedly playing with one another’s hands as they watched you and Remus.

“What if I do?”

“I-” you stammered over your words, trying to come up with a lighthearted threat. “I’d kiss you angrily,” the four of you laughed as you laid down in defeat.

He leaned over you, grabbing your hands, pressing them into the side of your pillow. He connected his lips to yours before lying down with the rest of you..

“I hope you like back rubs then.”

Marauders Era Taglist(send me an ask to be removed): @violetrainbow412-blog @scorpiobaby22 @harrypotter0addict @siriusbarnesslut @talksoprettyjjx

Pressure Due to Age (Tony Stark X Fem!Reader)

Characters: Tony Stark X Fem!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers, Iron Man

Warnings: Age difference

Request: Hey could i request a tony stark x younger reader? Not like underage younger but like mid 20s younger, as he’s in his 40s I believe. The press think he’s using her for sex or looks or smth but he actually just loves her for who she is. Thanks for all your amazing work lazydoodles!

It was mid afternoon, which meant for you, that work was over. You didn’t need to work, but you loved it. It was your dream job, even if you didn’t realise it going in. You loved your job, and despite the fact that a part of you wanted to stay and finish some things off, a bigger part of you wanted to go home to your boyfriend. Tony Stark. 

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Stubborn | Minho

Pairing: Minho x Female Reader

Warnings: blood, near death, cursing??

WC; 2.5K

synopsis: yes, it does take a near death experience to finally admit your feelings

a/n: probably my last imagine before 2021 SO HAPPY NEW YEAR BYE 2020

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

“I’m just saying,” Newt said, arms crossed. “It would save everyone a lot of pain and headaches if one of you just said it.”

“I’m not a liar,” You replied.

“You’re lying to yourself right now,” Newt smirked, watching as your gaze hardened and you smacked his arm.

Thomas jogs up to the two of you, taking one glance at Newt rubbing his arm and you pursing your lips and looking the other way.

“Newt’s right.”

You spin around, mouth open, “How did you?—”

Thomas shrugs, “Call it a third sense, but whatever he said about Minho, you should listen.”

You scoff at the two boys, thoughts running around in your head.

You were in love with your best friend, it was plain as day.

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