Behind Enemy Lines - K. Brekker

Being A Singer Who Is Part Of The Marvel Cast

Pairing: Marvel Cast x reader

Prompt: What it’s like to be a singer who is also a Marvel actress.

Warnings: none! This isn’t really a teen!reader, but it can be!

Side note: I’m using Ari’s music, so just pretend you’re Ari or something😂😂 Should I write imagines about this?

(Ya’ll already know I had to use my bby Ari😌)

(Gif from Pinterest)

Being a singer and joining the MCU was actually quite nerve wracking.

You weren’t sure if anyone would take you seriously and that everyone would just see you as some singer who got casted into the movie because you were well known.

In fact, Kevin Feige casted you because you represented the character you were auditioning for so well.

You remember your first day on set and how nervous you were to be surrounded by so many talented actors. You kept to yourself and sat by the sidelines while everyone reunited with each other.

I feel like Mark or Robert might come up to you first. They would probably approach you and be all like, “Hey! My kids listen to your music and I have to listen to your voice 24/7! It’s nice to finally meet you!”

Anthony would probably join in and be like, “Aye, I know you from the radio. You sing that one song that’s goes like, ‘I want it, I got it’. Right?”

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Imagine having this....forever. 💛

...... take me in your arms pls

set my soul alight

summary: loki finally has you right where he wants you.

warnings: slight dubcon, very very nsfw. knife play, enemies to lovers because if you’ve ever spoken to me you know i’m about that shit. as always, don’t read if you’re under 18. 

A/N: okay this is like… almost pure filth i don’t even know what to say. but in honor of no nut november being over imma share what i finished writing the second i had an orgasm for the first time in a month. title from supermassive black hole (yes the one from twilight!!)

—

You’ve done plenty of stupid things in your life. Chasing whiskey with wine coolers, texting back people you probably should have blocked – deciding that yes, working alongside the Avengers seemed like a perfectly reasonable career path for the rest of your life.

You could deal with the spies, the weapons dealers, the abandoned Hydra bases you’d raided for intel from time to time. You’d made peace with the fact that at any moment, you could be summoned for a mission you wouldn’t return from. And, well, it’s hard to regret your decision when it’s more than just walking the line between life and death. It’s the bonds you make with your teammates, the lifelong friendships you know will last with people that leap into the abyss right alongside you.

Oslo, Norway. It was supposed to be simple. You weren’t supposed to get caught. Taken. The question of how you got here is unnecessary, simply chalking it up to just another ill-advised decision you’d make in your life. If it lasts.

The God of Mischief stands before you, clear blue eyes raking over your bound form as he observes you. Your wrists are tied up above your head by what feels like silk, your ankles tied with the same material, bound to what feels like a post attached to a wooden beam. You’re upright, head lolling around on your shoulders as you rouse into consciousness. You become extremely aware of the fact that you’re still in the jeans and top you were wearing while you were supposed to be undercover earlier. Undetectable. So much for that.

“You’re awake.” Loki remarks, taking a calculated step towards you. No shit, you think. You drink him in, clad in an all black suit with his hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. He’s still disarmingly attractive, which is an in-fucking-convenient thought for you to be having considering he’d kidnapped you about – from what you can assume by the absent sun outside the window to your left – one or two hours ago. “Good. I’ve missed you, darling.”

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Help me find this Fic

I’m going crazy! I read this fic a while ago, it was an Alfie x Tommy x reader and reader and Tommy were in a relationship beforehand and then Alfie sort of entered himself into it as he does. It was the sequel to the first fic and Tommy took reader to a dinner with the Russians and they get split up and she ends up in a sort of sex room and Alfie shows up and stays with her. When tommy goes to get her she’s still with Alfie and then the three of them go back to Tommy and hers place where she wrecks everything and then they have sex. Pls help me find it idk if it got deleted or taken down or if I’m just stupid but pls.

Annoying (TMR)

Request: I’m requesting for myself. Glader (let’s call him Leo) keeps annoying girl and she snaps and Gally steps in

masterlist

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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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Tony punishing you after a mission

Riding Tony’s thigh

Loki being possessive

Bucky making you squirt for the 1st time

Hair pulling w/ iw!Steve

Daddy!Bucky w/ little!reader & little!Steve

Daddy!Bucky catching little!reader & little!Steve

Bucky + knife kink

Thor & tall!reader + manhandling

Sub!Tony w/ a humiliation kink

Riding Loki’s thigh

Loki w/ a daddy kink

Sub!Tony w/ puppy play

Bucky + kitten play

Tying Tony up

Trying kitten play w/ skinny!Steve

Charles speaking Italian while fucking you

Charles Blackwood + aftercare

Bucky comforts + fucks you after a nightmare

Nerd!Peter & cheerleader!reader 2 3

Thor w/ a king kink

Tony confronts you after hearing you moan his name

Honeymoon sex w/ Tony

Impatient Bucky pounding u into the ground

Humiliation kink w/ Bucky

Pegging sub!Steve for the first time

Stucky hazing Avengers recruit + water sports

Teaching sub!Wanda how to touch

Thundersheild overstimulating you

Rugby player!Thor fucking you while the team watches

SD!Steve edging you

Hc’s of Steve falling for his SB

Fucking Ari (TRSDR)

Dom!Tony x bratty!reader + punishment

Being obsessed with Thor’s abs

Nomad!Steve + punishment

Lance Tucker + breeding kink

Bucky & succubus!reader

Bucky + facefucking + degradation

Bruce + breeding kink

Sam + innocence kink + thigh riding 2

Ragnar + throne sex

Bucky + innocence kink

Steve & escort!reader

Barry using powers during sex + daddy kink

Mommy!peppernat x little!reader

Ivar has a king kink

Pegging Bucky

Daddy!bucky & little!reader

Pegging Steve

hii! i recently saw on tiktok that elizabeth olsen lets chris write on her arm when he's feeling anxious during press so could i please request a chris evans x reader where the reader takes elizabeth's place and chris starts falling in love with the reader thanks to their help??

butterflies ⟶ chris evans

hi!! thank u so much for sending this in, the thought of chris dealing with anxiety IS CONSTANTLY breaking my heart...i mean everyone has it but like our chris 🥺 he doesn’t deserve to feel like that!!

and i saw the video for this, it was so adorable!

i’m just gonna tag @bearbear0923 bc ik how much she loves fluff

pairing: chris evans x reader

summary: chris has got butterflies for you—do you feel the same?

warnings: little bit of angst, mentions of anxiety, age-gap, really bad ending

masterlist

⊱ ────── {⋅. ☽ .⋅} ────── ⊰

sharpie ink is cold and sends a burning sensation over your skin, staining it so dark that even warm water and soap won’t wash it away, but when chris is drawing small butterflies on your forearm, it’s impossible to tell him to stop. his eyes are focused, not on the reporters shoving microphones and questions in his face, but on the small doodles he illustrated. “they could be tattoos,” he’d joke, with his tongue sticking out between his lips.

you would reply with a “maybe, chris” because the idea of a permanent picture on your skin. but unbeknownst to you, chris was serious.

robert, scarlett, and even mark had offered to help soothe his anxiety during nerve-racking moments. a few interviews had gone haywire, he’d even left a premiere in japan early, and no one had the ability to calm him down. except you. something about the way you spoke, the way you embraced him and held him in a tight hug, gently shushing him if a tear managed to escape. at first, no one else could see it.

but chris was in love. there had been countless sketches over your arms, wrists, hands, and any other bare spots that were easily accessible to chris. it had just been a friendly offer when you noticed the anxious look on his face during a press conference, and he had absentmindedly taken a sharpie to your forearm. “uh, chris?” you’d questioned, noticing that his strange actions were gathering the attention of your castmates and the audience in front of you. he’d brushed it off with his much-appreciated charm and people thought nothing of it. chris had later apologized when returning to your hotel rooms, enlightened to hear you say, “honestly, chris, if you ever need anything--including drawing on my arm,” he chuckled. “it’s alright. i’m here.”

it was not in his intentions to ‘catch feelings’. he felt immature, childish, and unprofessional to fall for his younger costar, but you were persistent on the drawings. eventually, it had even turned into holding and squeezing your hands underneath tables, but you seemed so unbothered by it he wondered if feelings were reciprocated. 

“she’s totally hot for you,” robert had joked in a hotel room one night. he had a glass of water in his hand while chris held a beer bottle, but he’d been so busy thinking about if you loved him back, he’d hardly taken a sip. yet somehow, both men were slurring their words. “but remember, man, if you go for her, people are gonna talk about it. she’s, at least, what...ten years younger than you? at least.” 

chris wasn’t being his normally chipper and talkative self. instead, he leaned back quietly on his bed and attempted to joke, “thanks for making me feel young again.”

the next day, he tried to restrain himself from anymore drawings or hand-squeezes. no more contact with you--it’d only have his heart shaking in his rib cage and he’d be falling head over heels for your all over again. unfortunately, and much to his dismay, he’d failed. all it took was one glance at you, and chris felt woozy in his stomach. your hair had been styled so perfectly, the color of your dress complimented your complexion so sweetly, and when your eyes met his, he only then noticed the smallest flecks of gold in them.

after countless interviews spent with either extremely rude or boring journalists, whose questions harshly peered into the privacy of you, chris, and your castmates, you noticed a sadly familiar look in chris’ eye. you popped open the lid from a permanent ink marker and watched as chris snatched it from your hand to scribble tiny doodles on your skin.

chris drew exactly what he was feeling. a small birdcage containing large butterflies too big to fit through the cracks to escape. they rattled around the metal, a clanking noise echoing through his rib cage with every beat of his heart. his tongue peeked through his lips, and with every stroke of the sharpie, a masterpiece was created on your skin. but, despite his adorable gaze that you noticed in the corner of your eye, you continued to speak with interviewers and answer their questions, almost disregarding chris’ presence.

little did he know, however, you’d given him permanent ink so that when you went to sleep that night, wishing he was in bed with you, you could look down at the drawing he’d made for you and imagine chris was yours.

cupid screwed up

Summary: Three times Kaz indirectly tells Y/N he loves her and one time she almost dies and he actually confessed his feelings just in a very Kaz like way.

Kaz was an enigma. A painful, irritating enigma.

And Y/N wanted to murder him. Well, she would be murdering him if there wasn't currently a knife sticking out her left thigh.

"Jesper, Jesper, Jesper, don't you dare pull it," Y/N demanded, looking up at her friend with wide eyes.

"I wasn't going to pull it out!" Jesper exclaimed, throwing his hands up and jumping back a step.

"Yes, you were!"

"No, I wasn't!"

"Jesper, I have known you for long enough to recognize that look in your eye."

"I am insulted, Y/N!"

"Will you two be quiet," Kaz snapped, slamming his cane into the ground to get them both to shut up. Kaz let out a long, drawn out sigh and closed his eyes. "Y/N, you cannot walk back to the Slat with a knife sticking out your leg."

"Who says I can't?" Y/N challenged, looking up at Kaz.

"Me," Kaz shot back. "Jesper, pull it out."

"Jesper, do not pull it out," Y/N snapped, her head turning to look at Jesper threateningly, narrowing her eyes.

"Jesper, do not listen to her -"

"Jesper, do listen to me otherwise I will melt down those precious revolvers of yours and turn them into jewellery."

"Jesper, ignore Y/N."

"Kaz!"

"Y/N!"

Y/N let out a screech of pain as the knife was suddenly pulled out her leg and then someone's hand pressed down, hard, on to the wound.

"What the fuck, Jesper!" Y/N yelled, whacking him on the shoulder as she resisted the urge to actually punch him.

"Sorry, gorgeous, but quite frankly, Kaz scares me more than you do," Jesper replied, shrugging and giving her his iconic Jesper smile in an attempt to make things better.

Y/N wanted to slap him but was in too much pain to actually commit. Her leg was throbbing and burning and she really wanted someone to knock her out. Jesper pulled Y/N's scarf from around her neck and wrapped it around her thigh.

"You're going to regret this, Jesper," Y/N complained, dropping her head back against the wall she was leaning on and closing her eyes. "Say goodbye to those revolvers."

"Y/N, stop threatening Jesper," Kaz drawled. He glanced around the alleyway they were hiding in. "We should go before someone finds us."

"How are we getting Y/N back?" Jesper asked, tying the scarf in a knot.

"Just because Y/N's eyes are closed, doesn't mean she can't hear you," Y/N said, opening her eyes and glaring at Jesper. "Y/N, will walk."

Kaz stared. "You can't walk."

"Then I will hop," Y/N replied.

Using her good leg, Y/N began to awkwardly push herself up. She wobbled to the side and Jesper caught her, wrapping an arm around her waist and letting Y/N push herself up using his other hand.

"Are you really going to hop back to the Slat?" Jesper asked, raising his eyebrows as Y/N wobbled again, her right leg barely supporting her own weight.

"Hop, crawl, slide, glide and pivot - either way I'll make it back," Y/N replied, although as she spoke her grip on Jesper's hand tightened and she wobbled again.

Kaz watched Y/N, his eyes narrowing a fraction. He flexed the hand that was wrapped around his cane and exhaled slowly.

"Use this," Kaz said gruffly, holding out his cane.

Jesper and Y/N turned to stare at him with wide eyes. Kaz rolled his eyes at their reaction and grabbed Y/N's right hand by her wrist, physically placing the cane into it.

"Come along," Kaz called, limping off down the alley with remarkable speed.

Jesper and Y/N stared after him.

"Ok, what the fuck," Y/N whispered, looking at Jesper with wide eyes. She could feel the golden crows head of the cane in her hand, her index finger resting along its beak.

"I told you he liked you," Jesper said, winking.

Y/N whacked Jesper's knees with Kaz's cane and Jesper yelped. "As if. Kaz doesn't like anyone - he barely likes himself, Jesper."

"Of course, darling," Jesper said placatingly. "Come along, hop along, Kaz is probably back by now at the speed he went off at."

"We scared him off," Y/N replied as they slowly walked back to the Slat, Y/N relying heavily on Kaz's cane and Jesper as she did a weird, hop, shuffle, slide.

"You weren't actually going to melt my revolvers down, were you?" Jesper asked, pausing suddenly.

Y/N stumbled at Jesper's sudden stop. She looked up at him. "No, of course not. I'm not that mean," she replied, smiling. Jesper smiled back and nodded, reassured of his revolvers fate. "Yet," Y/N added quietly.

"I look ridiculous."

"You look wonderful."

"You look gorgeous."

Y/N gave Inej and Jesper an unconvinced look and sighed, slumping into a chair. "Why do I have to wear this? Why can't Inej wear it?"

Kaz barely looked up from the map he was studiously studying. "I need Inej on the roofs. I need Jesper in the crowds and I need you attracting the crowds with your beautiful dancing."

Y/N snorted. She picked up the hem of her long, draping sleeve and picked at the white fabric with her nails.

"Why can't I dress up as literally any other character, why does it have to be this one?" Y/N asked, tilting her head back to look at Kaz.

"Because this one attracts more people and means there are less people watching when we break in to the house," Kaz explained slowly. And because you look beautiful in white. He stood up from his desk and fold the map up into a square small enough to fit into his coat pocket.

The rest of them took that as their sign to go and Y/N stood up, smoothing the white silk of her dress down as she stood. Compared to the dark, muted colours of the rest of the crows, Y/N looked like a ghost. Or a Saint.

Y/N followed Inej out the door but was stopped suddenly when a gloved hand wrapped around her wrist, yanking her to a stop.

"What now?" Y/N asked, turning around to look at Kaz with a despairing frown.

Kaz responded by throwing a coat at her. Y/N caught it with a flail of her arms as it landed on her head. She stumbled back into Inej and Y/N could have sworn she heard the Suli girl giggle.

"Put that on, you'll look less conspicuous," Kaz explained, barging past her and Jesper and walking down the corridor, his cane clicking loudly on the wooden floor. Inej pressed herself against the wall as Kaz passed, a smile on her face as she looked at Y/N.

Y/N pulled the coat on, flicking the collar up and untucking her hair from underneath it. She pulled the sleeves of her dress down and adjusted the coat until it was comfortable.

"Y/N."

"Mmm?" Y/N looked up at Inej. "What?"

"That's Kaz's coat."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"He's wearing his coat, Inej," Y/N said, leaning over the bannister to double check. "Yeah, he's wearing his coat."

"Y/N, Kaz has more than one coat, love," Jesper reminded. He picked up her arm and sniffed the coat. "Smells like him."

"I don't even want to know how you know what Kaz smells like," Y/N said, staring at Jesper.

"Are you three coming or not?!" Kaz yelled from the foot of the stairs. "Hurry up!"

The three of them quickly moved and Y/N jogged down the stairs, holding up the hem of her dress and Kaz's coat.

Kaz was waiting in the back door of the Slat, his hands around the crow's head of his cane, looking bored and unimpressed.

"Done gossiping?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

He turned around and headed out the door, expecting them to follow. Y/N scoffed and shook her head and followed after him, stepping out into the street and shivering slightly at the cold Ketterdam night

The four of them moved into their usual positions as they headed down to West Stave. Kaz in the centre, Jesper on his right, Y/N on his left and Inej hovering behind Jesper like a wraith.

As they turned the corner to the main street, the crowds growing in size as the neared the pleasure houses, Kaz slowed down a bit and turned to look at Inej.

"No mourners," he said.

Inej pulled her hood up and nodded. "No funerals."

She climbed up onto a barrel, swung herself onto a balcony and then onto a roof and she disappeared into the fog.

Y/N hated walking down West Stave as much as Inej did. Neither one of them wanted to be reminded of their past. As they neared the house Y/N had been indebted to, Y/N heistated slightly, her confident stride faltering.

Kaz stopped suddenly, Jesper dodging to the side to avoid walking into him. He frowned but Kaz whacked his leg with his cane and nodded his head to Y/N.

Jesper understood instantly and moved to stand on Y/N's left, his hands settling onto the pearl handles of his revolvers. Kaz moved to stand on Y/N's right and they resumed walking.

Y/N smiled slightly as both boys moved closer to her as they walked past the house, Jesper's hand moving from his revolver and brushing Y/N's fingers reassuringly.

The three of them marched down West Stave until they were at the bridge that went over the canal, connecting either side.

"Alright, it's time," Kaz said, stopping outside a butcher's shop and leaning against the wall.

Y/N shrugged out of the coat and handed it to Kaz. The wind sent ripples through the light fabric of her white dress and Y/N shivered with excitement.

"Jesper, watch her back the entire time," Kaz said, his eyes boring into Jesper's. "The entire time."

"Yeah, yeah, alright," Jesper muttered, rolling his eyes.

Y/N looked over to the bridge and spotted a large group of people clamouring over the street performers who were just finishing. Among them was the Merchant they had targeted and his family. She'd found her target.

"Got them," she said softly, turning back to face Kaz. "Ready, Jes?"

Jesper nodded. "No mourners."

"No funer -"

"Hold on."

Y/N frowned as Kaz cut her off. "What?"

Kaz limped over to a stall near the butcher's shop that was selling flower crowns. He handed over some kruge and picked up a dark purple one.

Y/N watched Kaz carefully as he came back over. He walked up to her, standing so close to her that his coat brushed her stomach. Kaz reached up and placed the flower crown on Y/N's head with surprising gentleness.

Kaz tilted his head back, his eyes narrowing slightly. He reached forward and his fingers brushed Y/N's cheek as he moved a strand of hair to the side.

Y/N didn't breathe as Kaz touched her hair, adjusting her flower crown. This was the closest Kaz had ever been to her and the most he'd touched her - even if it was just a brush of a gloved hand against her cold face.

"Now we're ready," Kaz said, his gravelly voice quiet. "No mourners," he said, raising his voice as he turned and limped off towards the house.

"No funerals," Y/N and Jesper called after him.

As soon as Kaz was gone Y/N turned to Jesper, grabbing his hands tightly.

"What the fuck was that?!" She exclaimed.

"Not a clue," Jesper replied, thoroughly perplexed by Kaz's actions. "You look cute, however." He reached up and moved her flower crown slightly.

"I always look cute," Y/N said, smirking.

Jesper laughed, throwing his arm around her shoulders. "Aw, look, I'm rubbing off on you!"

Y/N jumped over a barrel and skidded around the corner as she ran from the Stadwatch She turned into an alley, falling into Inej and Jesper as they ran out the same alley and into her.

Jesper grabbed Y/N's arm as she wobbled backwards and yanked her back into the alley, pushing her against the wall.

"They saw me," Y/N panted, bracing herself on her legs as she tried to catch her breath. "They know what I look like."

A cloak was thrown at her face and Y/N made a sound of surprise, spluttered and flailed her arms around trying to catch the cloak.

"Put that on," Kaz said, his voice emerging from the darkness.

Y/N untangled herself from the cloak and wrapped the dark red material around her shoulders. She linked the clasps together and organised the cape on her shoulders.

Kaz walked forward and stood before her. "Pull the hood up."

Y/N scooped her hair to the side and pulled the hood up to sit just above her forehead.

"It'll do," Kaz grumbled. "Let's go."

He walked off first and the other three fell into step beside him. They walked out into the street, walking along the canal, heading back to the Slat.

"Stadwatch," Jesper muttered.

Kaz glanced up and saw three members of the Stadwatch marching over the bridge and in their direction. He glanced at Y/N.

"Jesper, put your arm around Y/N's shoulders," Kaz muttered, keeping his head down.

Jesper did as Kaz said and Y/N could feel her heartbeat increasing as the Stadwatch got closer.

A hat landed on her head over the top of the cloak hood and Y/N tried not to show her startled surprise. The Stadwatch walked past them and Y/N turned her head into Jesper, wrapping her arm around his waist.

"All clear," Inej said softly and Jesper and Y/N relaxed.

Jesper kept his arm around her shoulders and knocked on the rim of the hat that sat on her head with his knuckles.

"Nice hat," Jesper teased.

Y/N reached up and pulled the hat off her head, eyes widening with surprise as she realised it was Kaz's hat.

"Wait, Kaz -" Y/N looked over her shoulder for Kaz but the man had vanished, taking Inej with him. "What the -"

Jesper let out an over-exaggerated sigh. "It suits you, you should keep it."

Y/N elbowed Jesper in the ribs and he let out a bark of laughter as he dodged to the side, avoiding her following punch.

For once, their usual pairings had changed. Inej was with Jesper on the opposite side of the building whilst Kaz and Y/N were hovering outside the front of the building, waiting for Inej and Jesper to return.

They'd narrowly escaped a run in with the Dime Lions, escaping with only a few bullets being fired and punches being thrown.

And apparently, it was Y/N's fault.

"You were the only one who knew, Y/N," Kaz growled, glaring at her as he leant against a wall.

Y/N scoffed. She pushed herself up off the wall and paced up and down the street. "Of course. It hasn't occurred to you that it might have been someone eavesdropping or someone who told someone else - we went to three different locksmiths asking for heavy duty lockpicks, any of them could have been paid of by Pekka Rollins."

"It's far more likely that you accidentally let something slip -"

"Do you truly think so little of me, Kaz?" Y/N asked, pausing and looking at Kaz.

I think the world of you, Kaz wanted to say. But he kept quiet.

"Gee, thanks," Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes.

The adrenaline was beginning to fade now and her entire body ached. She'd climbed across a roof, been punched and shot at and thrown into a wall in the past hour and all she really wanted was to go to her bed in the Slat and sleep.

Instead she had to cope with Kaz being Kaz.

"I didn't say anything to anyone, Kaz," Y/N said softly, looking at him from the shadows. "And I only knew the bare minimum. I would never betray you, Kaz. Why can't you see that?"

"Because the last time I trusted someone," a muscle in Kaz's jaw jumped and his hands clenched around the head of his cane, "I lost everything." His dark eyes looked up from the ground and locked on to Y/N's. "I will not make that mistake again."

"And so you blame me," Y/N finished. She scoffed and shook her head. "Fine."

Y/N walked back up the street, returning to her spot in the dark opposite Kaz. Her left side was throbbing and she absent-mindedly brushed her fingers against it.

Red stained her fingertips.

Y/N paused in front of Kaz, her eyes locked onto the blood.

It was as if the sight of red on her fingers sparked a reaction inside her brain. Y/N became aware of the burning feeling in her side and the unbearable pain that washed over her. Dark, black spots dotted her vision and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

Her knees buckled and Y/N fell backwards, losing her balance entirely. The cobbled streets rushed up to meet her and Y/N vaguely realised that her head was about to smash against the stones and that no one was there to catch her.

Someone grasped her arm, their grip painfully hard. They stumbled down to the ground with Y/N, trying to slow her descent on to the stones. Y/N felt her right shoulder and her side collide with the ground and the impact vibrated through her entire body.

Y/N felt someone pull her against their knees, supporting her awkwardly on the ground. Her eyes focused again and she managed to look up.

Kaz was kneeling beside her, his knees supporting her back, his gloved hand still wrapped around her arm. The two of them were in the middle of the street and Y/N barely hid her surprise at the fact Kaz had saved her from smashing her head into the cobbles.

Kaz was struggling. His brain was screaming at him to let go and he could feel the waters rising again, lapping around his waist and soaking his legs. But Y/N's eyes were locked on to his and his hand was still around her arm, his knees supporting her. He couldn't let go. He wouldn't let her go.

"What's wrong?" Kaz forced himself to ask, his voice harsher and deeper than normal. He cleared his throat and took his hand off Y/N's arm and carefully moved her jacket aside, his bare wrist brushing the bare skin of her bloody side as he lifted her shirt up a bit.

"I don't - I don't remember," Y/N stammered her own shaking hand hovering over the bullet wound in her side.

"Don't," Kaz said, pushing her hand away as she went to poke it.

Kaz had seen numerous injuries in his lifetime. It was like Jesper said - pointing a gun at someone in Ketterdam was a way of saying hello. He'd experienced his fair share of injuries and had seen both Jesper and Inej at their worst, bleeding out and pale.

But, for some reason, it was different with Y/N. Kaz swallowed and took his gloves off, pressing them against her side with his bare hands.

He was used to blood. It no longer fazed him. What was fazing him was Y/N's sluggish pupils slipping away from his gaze.

"Say you're sorry," Y/N muttered, her head falling onto Kaz's thigh as her body went limp.

"I don't say sorry, Y/N, you know that," Kaz replied, taking a hand off her side and gently nudging her head so that she was looking up at him. "I know you didn't tell."

"That almost sounded like an apology," Y/N said, her voice quiet. She was silent for a minute but then said, "who did you trust?"

Kaz froze. "What?"

Y/N opened her eyes wider and turned her head to look at Kaz properly. "You told me that the last time you trusted someone," she paused and took a deep breath in, wincing, "you lost everything. Who did you trust?"

Kaz could feel the waters rising, flooding his body. His eyes unfocused and he was back in the bay, Jordie's body underneath his hands, his brothers rotting skin the only thing he could feel.

Y/N's hand clusmily wrapped around his wrist and Kaz blinked, startled.

But he didn't pull away. He blinked again and clenched his jaw.

"My brother," Kaz said quietly, his voice harsh and rough. "He told me that 'our luck was changing' and then not even a week later he was dead and I was alone. I had nothing. And I haven't trusted anyone since. Until you. I trust you, Y/N."

Kaz looked down at her. Y/N had passed out, her head on his thigh, her hand still gripping his wrist. Kaz smiled for a moment and shook his head. He confessed his heart to her and she passed out on him. Kaz looked up as he heard Jesper and Inej running towards him and found himself relaxing just a little bit more as he saw that his other two crows were ok.

Kaz would never admit it to anyone who wasn't Y/N but she had well and truly stolen his heart. And when she was around him, the waters stayed on the shore.

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.