Kaz Brekker Shares His Clothes With You

Maze runner ~ Sleepover with the boys ~ Part 1

Want more take a look at my masterlist

Masterlist here

Alby: I got the goods * walks in holding multiple bags of chips*

Newt: *follow behind Alby holding alcohol and fizzy drinks.*

Chuck: Yaayyaa *so happy right now*

Minho: Oi chuckas one!

Thomas: *Brings out a bunch of pillow and dragging sleeping bags into the homestead*

Gally: *also helping Thomas set up beds for everyone*

Newt: Hey did anyone invite Y/N?

Thomas: Yeah but she's coming later..

Minho: What why!?!

Gally: So we actually talk instead of watching you desperately trying to flirt with her!

Minho: What you jell Gally *smirks*

Gally: No....

Minho: I mean Y/N's quite the girl!

Thomas: Oh yeah and she's gonna be mine *smuggle smirks*

Newt: Oh no Thomas, you just wait and see

Alby: Alright quit it you lot your bugging me..

Chuck: Yeah y'all all gross

Thomas: Admit it chuck! I see you throwing googlie eyes at her!

Newt: So have you Thomas!!

Thomas: Have not!

Alby:.....why am i here

Chuck: to supervise??!!

Gally: Hey guys Y/N's here early...

Newt: What!!!

Thomas: She's here like right now!

Minho: Well bring the baby girl in don't leave her waiting! I know she misses me *smirks*

Thomas: How about we make a little bet *whispers so Alby doesn't hear*

Minho: Your on Thomas!

Newt: Minho!!! NO!

Thomas: What do you say eyebrows?

Gally: Heck yeah

Thomas: Come on blondie it will be fun!!

Newt:Fine!

Like for part 2

Things ill start to get pretty heated *wink* *wink*

THINGS IM CONVINCED CHRIS DOES DURING SEX

↳ SUMMARY || Pretty self explanatory, here are 30 things I think Chris does during sex! Please reblog if you enjoyed x

↳ WARNINGS || Smut! [Includes oral and penetrative unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it. Spanking and being tied up!] 18+ ONLY

↳ PAIRING || Chris Evans x Reader

You do not have permission to steal/copy my work!

1. Whilst he’s eating you out, Chris always manages to bring his hands up to hold yours, he then rests them on your stomach to hold you down because he goes hard with devouring you and doesn’t want you squirming away.

2. Chris also holds your hands during missionary, he brings your joined hands up against the pillow as he pounds into your repeatedly, making the intense situation somewhat even more intimate then it already was before.

3. He definitely closes his eyes and hums when his tongue touches your already drenched pussy for the first time that night (yes man has stamina, he can go for round after round)

4. Chris 100% is the type to pull you up and flat against his chest when you’re in doggy just so his hand could trail all over your body. It makes him feel close to you, especially when you rest your head against his shoulder!

5. He likes pinching your nipples and seeing you squirm, especially during foreplay and you could bet he’d have the biggest smirk on his face when he sees the reaction it causes.

6. Chris also likes being in control and watching the effects it has on you (like you squirming and shaking after a particular thrust that hit your g-spot just right)

7. Chris definitely pushes you down flat on the mattress when you’re in doggy, his hand lands at the small of your back when your laying on your stomach so he has more control over his thrusts.

8. He will pretty much fuck you anywhere, got horny whilst shopping? Don’t worry, Chris is already pulling you into the nearest bathroom. In the mood whilst on a drive? Once again, don’t worry because he’s already parking in a dodgy car park so that he could pull you into the backseat to pound the living daylights out of you. In conclusion, he’s always turned on and is always there to help you out.

9. Chris is the type to bite at your shoulders, nibble your ears and suck marks at your neck whenever he’s balls deep inside of you. He likes marking you because after all, you are his territory and he wants everyone to know that.

10. He makes you open your mouth so that he could stick his thumb inside. “Because you won’t shut the fuck up, daddy’s thumb will do the job” Chris growls before he starts to pounds into you.

11. He likes to splay his big, calloused hand on your lower stomach when he’s balls deep inside of you making you gasp and press his hand down further. “Is daddy deep inside of you baby?” “Can you feel me here? In your belly? Speak up brat”

12. Chris likes to throw you over his laps on nights where you’ve been a bad girl so he could spank you. He starts off with rubbing your ass softly before lifting his hand up and slamming it down harshly, making you scream and whine.

13. Chris likes seeing the aftermath of his spanking on you. He definitely licks his lips and kisses you right on the sore spots of your ass, making you flinch because it still stings a little.

14. He’s 100% a dirty talker. He likes expressing how good you’re making him feel and also likes making you speak and communicate how you’re feeling. “So tight around me” “Am I stretching this pretty little pussy out love?”

15. Chris likes it when you tug on his hair, especially when he’s eating you out. You bet he’s be rutting into the mattress so he could receive the sweet pleasure he’s craving whilst you also fall apart under his tongue. You tugging on his hair let’s him know that he’s doing a good job.

16. He definitely gathers your hair and pulls it into a ponytail when you’re sucking him off. His eyes would be hooded but kept on you on your legs infront of him.

17. Sometimes when you’re having some soft sex, probably the sex you have when Chris comes back from filming or something. He drops a pillow/shirt onto the floor for you so you won’t hurt your knees as you suck him off.

18. Chris keeps his hands planted on your ass when you’re riding him, squeezing down and spanking you every so often.

19. He also helps you ride him and sometimes thrusts up into you making your eyes roll back in pleasure and for Chris to grin smugly because he’s doing this to you.

20. Chris always lets you pick out a playlist before sex because he’s not into music like that so when you pick out the dirtiest of songs, Chris is entranced and it turns him on so much knowing his girl listens to music like that.

21. This is a bit of an embarrassing one for Chris because when it was yours and his first time having sex together, he was so nervous that he couldn’t get himself up. But with your help he managed that and showed you the best night of your life.

22. Chris likes taking your tits into his mouth, as soon as he sees them bouncing up and down infront of him when you’re riding him, he’s heading straight to them, licking and sucking just how you like him to.

23. He grips your waist tight, digging his nails into your sides when he’s hitting it from behind. Something about your pussy being so tight and squeezing down hard on him just gets him going.

24. He 100% has a thing for praise, he likes knowing that it’s only him that could make you feel such euphoric things so he loves getting you to tell him how it’s feeling. “Who’s making you feel this good baby?” “Tell me, who is it? Is it daddy?”

25. Definitely gets cocky when he finds your g-spot “I found the spot didn’t I?” He ask, biting down on his lips as he sees you flutter your eyes shut at the feeling.

26. He loves the sight of you underneath him, so most of the times he’s always on top or dominating. He wants to watch you squirming underneath his touch and to see you squirming is his favourite.

27. Chris likes watching his cum dribble out of you, you’re still trying to catch your breath but you lift your head up regardless and see him eyeing your wrecked pussy and it definitely makes you laugh but he doesn’t care as he reaches for your pussy with his thick fingers so he could push the cum back inside of you. He likes having you stuffed and full.

28. He has some nights where it’s strictly for “love making” as he likes to call it, where he dims the lights, brings out some candles, puts some fresh bedsheets on and scatters rose petals on the bed for you.

29. He also has some nights where he’s the exact opposite, where he brings out his ties/ropes, spanks you with his belt or hand, overstimulates you until you can no longer take it and makes sure you don’t cum.

30. Eventhough you have sex quite often, Chris can’t help but fall even more in love with you each time he sees your face when your cumming. You have such an innocent but gravitating look and he never wants to not be able to see that. He loves you and you can definitely tell by the way he touches you.

tidal // steve rogers 🌊

↳ summary: tony doesn’t trust his kid and steve has to play mediator, although those duties don’t come without a reward

↳ relationship: dad’s best friend!steve rogers x stark!reader

↳ request: steve defending his soft girl when she starts crying when someone yelled at her…maybe she thanks him by putting her mouth to good use @donutloverxo + what about dad’sbestfriend!steve x reader?…I need me some Steve please!! (anon)

↳ word count: 5.4k (this has no business being this long)

↳ warnings: angst, smut, dirty talk, slight degradation, some light fluff kinda

↳ author’s note: i do love a stark!reader so this was so much fun for me - enjoy my loves! x

The relationship that you have with your father is complicated. It reminds you acutely of the foamy sea that you used to tentatively wade in and simply stare at with a wide-eyed, childlike fascination when your parents took you to the Maldives or Seychelles or Ivory Coast, each summer a different place and a different tide. There’s a sense of predictability to it, a routine you have in a language that is understandable to nobody but the two of you. He pushes and you pull, coordinating your movements in a choreographed dance so as to safely row your canoe filled to the brim with trust and love through the rocky seas of life. 

He’s made a mark on you that will always be a permanent imprint on your soul much like the way that water stains the surface of the sand but it’s not as if you perceive that as something negative. You attribute the best parts of yourself to your mother and father and although their DNA isn’t housed inside your body, you’re more Tony’s child than he could have ever asked for. He hears so much of him in the tone of your voice and sees Pepper whenever you cross your arms over your chest and pin him with a look he knows too well - her influence is all over your mannerisms - and the both of them in the charming brightness of your smile when you let yourself laugh freely.

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"Oh, you haven't read the classics..." I'VE READ THE CLASSICS

✨Dramione edition✨

Manacled by senlinyu

Rights and Wrongs by LovesBitca8

Isolation by bexchan

The Fallout by everythursday

Breath Mints / Battle Scars by Onyx_and_Elm

Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love by isthisselfcare

Wait and Hope by mightbewriting

Meet Your Match by morriganmercy

Measure of a Man by inadaze22

Love In A Time Of The Zombie Apocalypse by rizzlewrites

Secrets and Masks by EmeraldSlytherin

Remain Nameless by HeyJude19

Bring Him To His Knees by musyc

The Eagle's Nest by HeartOfAspen

Dragon's Heartstrings by pinkinku

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. 

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This is one of the best pictures of him that I have ever seen 🥰

(please add your favorite pictures of him. I want to see)

Anything: BBC Sherlock X Reader

A/N: Woo hoo, first Sherlock imagine! Let me know what you think?

WARNING(S): Sally Donovan being an idiot

You took a deep breath and walked up to your boss’ office before tentatively knocking on the door to which Greg said, “Come in!”

Opening the door, you stepped inside and your gaze immediately fell on the tall, handsome detective with his messed-up curls framing his concentrated face.

“Sherlock,” you began in a pleading sort of tone.

“Ah, Y/N,” Sherlock greeted, “The girl is up to talking, then?”

You looked at him before sighing, “Sherlock – look, this girl’s been through a kidnapping and her brother is lying unconscious at a hospital – bloody hell, she’s just seven! Just – can you – please be gentle, just this once?”

“What her point is beneath those much-too kind words,” Greg explained, “Just anything you can do to –”

“Not be myself,” Sherlock finished monotonously.

Greg awkwardly looked at him, “Well, it can’t hurt.”

You, Sherlock, Greg, John and Donovan walked together to the room where the little girl was sitting, next to a psychiatrist.

She was staring determinedly at her knees and her tiny face looked so sad that it made you hate Moriarty, if possible, even more.

Sherlock walked closer to her and said in what he hoped was an understanding voice, “Claudette, I know you’ve been through a lot –”

There was nothing left to say. Claudette took one look at Sherlock’s face and emitted a loud, piercing, bloodcurdling scream that echoed off the walls of the isolated room.

“Okay, alright,” you placed a hand on Sherlock’s arm. He was looking perplexed.

“Sherlock – let’s just leave,” you muttered, steering him out of the room and back into Greg’s office. Minutes later, the rest of them came running in.

“Makes no sense,” John frowned.

“Poor thing’s traumatised,” Greg sighed, “Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.”

You looked at Sherlock warily, suddenly realising that he’d not uttered a single word during the conversation, but was determinedly staring out the window.

“Hey, don’t let it get to you,” Greg joked, “I always feeling like screaming when you walk into a room. In fact, a lot of us do. Come on.”

He left the room.

You threw one last furtive glance in Sherlock’s direction.

“Okay, come on,” you said gently, “You need to get home – it’s been a long day.”

As you made to steer him out of the room, Sally spoke up.

“Brilliant work you did, finding those kids with just a footprint. Really amazing –”

“Thank you,” Sherlock curtly responded.

“ – unbelievable,” Sally finished with a cold demeanour.

“Sally,” you warningly said, “Don’t listen to her – come on, let’s go.”

Not entirely convinced, Sally glared after the detective’s retreating form.

—-

“Sally, this is ridiculous, you hear me?!” you shouted, “Ridiculous.”

“Y/N – look at my position here!” Sally yelled, “He’s just absolutely – well, brilliant! It’s unrealistic! It’s not – it’s not right!”

“He’s different, is what you mean to say,” you snapped, “And that annoys you, does it? Because he’s not like you, or Andersen, or Greg – or even me?”

“I told you when I first saw him, I didn’t like the look of him –”

“So you’re saying he’s touched in the head?!” you yelled, “That he’s crazy?! Listen – to – me – Sally!” you pleaded, “Sherlock is not a lunatic, he’s not a fraud, and not a liar!”

“Then why did that little girl start screaming?” Sally asked.

“I – well,” you sputtered.

Sally smirked knowing you were lost for words.

“Girl of seven years of age, kidnapped a week ago, sees Sherlock and starts bellowing her head off – a man she’s never seen before,” Sally said, “Or has she?”

“Are you crazy?” you yelled, “Why would Sherlock do something like that?!”

“Sally, listen to me,” you said in a more pleading tone, “I know you don’t like him and I know he’s not a very open person. And I realise that you’ve not got much to go on about his personality apart from his cases. But listen to me, Sally – Sherlock is not a bad person. He would never do that to a kid! To anyone, for that matter! Don’t you see what Moriarty’s trying to do? He’s trying to sow doubt into the minds of whoever are closest to him and others as well!”

Sally scoffed, “Really, Y/N? You of all people bought into that bullshit about Moriarty?”

“Sally –”

“We don’t have time for this, Y/N, Lestrade’s already approved an arrest warrant. Now, I want you to stay away from the scene – you’ll only make it worse.”

“Make it – Sally, he’s my friend!” you yelled.

“And I’m your colleague who bears a message from your employer that you will get fired if you don’t follow instructions.”

—–

“So – he refused?” you asked in mock bedazzlement.

“What was he, some sort of private eye?” asked the superintendent.

“He was – we were,” Greg began.

“ – consulting with him, that’s what you told me,” said the superintendent, “Have you used him on any proper cases?”

“One or two, sir,” you said pleadingly.

“Or twenty or thirty,” Andersen muttered under his breath as you disbelievingly looked at him.

“What?! This – private detective, has no authorisation and you give him access to all sorts of classified information?! You’re a bloody idiot, Lestrade! Now go, fetch him in, right now!”

“Sir –” you began, “I’m not going to – arrest my own friend.”

“Safety before sentiment, L/N,” he growled, “I don’t care if he’s your boyfriend, I don’t care if you’re pregnant with his child – he’s a suspect in a case and I own this section of Scotland Yard, I can get you fired like that,” he snapped his fingers, “Clear?”

You turned faintly pink, “Y-yes sir.”

—–

You walked into 221B Baker Street straight up to Sherlock’s living room, keeping your face as impassive as possible.

“Sherlock Holmes, I’m placing you under arrest on charges of abduction,” you monotonously recited.

Though he normally would have insulted an officer in his face and told them to sod off, Sherlock took one look at your pained expression and quietly wrapped his scarf around his neck.

You extracted a pair of handcuffs and, with enormous difficulty, placed them on his wrist.

“God, I’m so sorry Sherlock,” you whispered so quietly that nobody except him heard you, “I promise this’ll be over soon, I promise.”

“ – and on charges of being involved in several other suspected cases,” you finished.

Sherlock looked at you again before saying, “Alright.”

“What – no, it’s not alright,” John sputtered, “This is ridiculous – Y/N! Y/N come on, don’t tell me you –”

“Don’t try to interfere or I’ll arrest you too,” you told John, your voice cracking with the agony the situation was causing you. John gaped at you but spoke no more.

As Sally took over Sherlock and dragged him downstairs, the chief superintendent strolled inside, taking a brief look over his apartment.

“Dottiness, that’s what he radiates,” he muttered, “Took one look at his face and knew it. He’s a bloody lunatic.”

“Apologies, sir,” you said, beginning to lose your cool, “But Sherlock Holmes seems a perfectly sane man to all of us.”

“Is that so?” he asked in a mocking way, “We’ll see what you’ve got to say when he’s convicted for all the murders he’s done just to show off –”

——

Sherlock was staring determinedly at his knees when your voice made him look up.

You were running out of his flat door as if your life depended on it.

“Hand – over – this – prisoner – to me,” you panted, coming to a halt, “Chief’s orders.”

The officers looked confused but guided Sherlock to your side.

“What are you doing?” he asked you out of the corner of his mouth.

“Getting you the hell out of here,” you answered out of the corner of yours, “Right, we’ve got around five seconds before they realise something is –”

“Stop! STOP!” the chief came running outside, his face grotesquely bloody from the punch you’d aimed at him, “STOP THAT WOMAN!”

The officers seemed to realise it was wrong to hand Sherlock over to you but they were too late. You grabbed the gun sitting in your pocket and pointed it around.

“Get on your knees! Everyone! I swear, I will shoot!” you screamed like a maniac.

“Open fire –” the chief began.

“NO, JUST DO WHAT SHE SAYS!” Greg bellowed over the commotion, “WE CAN’T AFFORD SERGEANT L/N’S DEATH IN THE CURRENT CLIMATE!”

You felt an inexplicable rush of gratitude towards Greg.

Everyone reluctantly sunk to their knees.

You menacingly made to raise the gun again to get Sherlock out of there but your hand was restrained by something. You looked down in surprise to see one of Sherlock’s hands free of handcuffs due to the reason that it had been placed onto yours, cuffing you two together.

“Don’t move!” yelled Sherlock. Nobody complied.

He raised your connected hands and shot into the air as you yelped in shock.

“Don’t move or I will kill this woman!” Sherlock pointed a gun to your head. Immediately, you caught on.

“Please, don’t move!” you said in a very convincing teary voice, “I’m his – his –”

“My hostage!” Sherlock yelled helpfully.

“Yeah, okay,” you muttered to yourself.

Sherlock’s cuffed hand dragged you gently further and further away from the scene.

“Now what?” you whispered.

“Improvisation,” Sherlock responded, “Run.”

You barely had time to register it as he took off sprinting, dragging you along with him. After a few blocks, you gained a clumsy coordination and you finally stopped at a gate with no way ahead.

Sherlock tutted in annoyance and jumped over the gate.

“What – you bloody twat, I’m not jumping off of that!” you yelled.

“No time to negotiate, Y/N!” Sherlock yelled, “Move to your right, and jump! Now!”

You shook your head but police sirens were gaining on you so you had no choice. Closing your eyes and shouting a prayer to the heavens, you jumped off and landed straight into Sherlock’s arms.

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment and you walked forward, as far away as possible. When you finally reached a secluded spot, Sherlock turned to you, both of you panting.

“You’re alright?”

“What – why, why did you do that?” you gasped, clutching a stitch in your side, “Now they’re going to think you’re a bloody psychopath, I had it under control!”

“You would have lost your job,” Sherlock snapped at you.

You scoffed, “I’d rather be unemployed than work at a place that’s trying to hurt my friend!”

Sherlock looked at you seriously, not blinking in the least.

“You would – you would be prepared to risk your job for me?” he clarified.

“Yes!” you yelled, “Of course I’d be prepared to risk my job for you!”

“Why?” Sherlock abruptly asked, “Nobody ever does anything without a reason, tell. Me. Why. This is – this is inhumane, this – this feeling I get around you these days – I don’t know if it’s you or me –”

“I think - it’s both of us,” you said quietly, “It’s called attraction, Sherlock. I think – I think you – you fancy me.”

“I’m beginning to think so too,” Sherlock muttered, messing up his hair, “But you didn’t answer my question. Why?”

You sighed.

“Sherlock.” you seriously said, “Sometimes you don’t need a reason to be nice to someone. I’d risk my life for you, Sherlock. I’d do anything for you.”

There was nothing more to be said. After staring at you in serious concentration, Sherlock inched closer to your face. You could feel his breath fanning your face and his gaze was fixed upon your lips as yours, on his. Your lips collided in a spontaneous kiss and the next moment, you were fisting his shirt and pulling him closer to you, holding on as tightly as possible.

Sure, the world was beginning to crumble around Sherlock, but that could wait.

All that mattered in that moment, was you and the feeling of your body pressed up against his on the cold winter’s night.

A/N: So do you think Sherlock is a field I should write more fanfics in?

Azriel ~ Beautiful*

Azriel x Reader

* = NSFW. EXPLICIT CONTENT.

Summary: An imagine where you and Azriel find yourselves in the same inn that Rhys and Feyre inhabited 100 years earlier. Hidden feelings and declarations may be made.

Warning: light-ish smut, mention of scars and mental struggles/mental health incl. feelings of self-loathing, being worthless and not good enough, being undeserving of love. Please consider your decision to read this if you are experiencing these feelings.

You are loved. I love you.

Word Count: 3537

I shivered throughly in the cold, teeth chattering lightly from behind my frozen lips. Feyre wasn’t kidding when she’d told us this inn was like an ice box - even to the thick skin of the High Fae.

The order from our esteemed High Lady had led to the necessary overnight stay in the same inn she and Rhys had stayed about a century ago. Feyre and I had become fast friends after the war with Hybern, after the Court of Nightmares had been allowed restricted entry into Velaris as part of Keir’s Darkbringers being…loaned to them.

Velaris was everything I had wanted, everything I had dreamed of. Like Mor, I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares and my kindred heart had spoken to everyone in the inner circle - it hadn’t taken long before I became yet another number.

“Are you alright?” Azriel’s low, deep voice curled around me, another shiver eliciting from me as he closed the door to the room behind us with a soft click.

“Just…cold” I sigh, “Feyre wasn’t kidding.”

Azriel chuckled softly - so softly the sound escaped and vanished into the mist of warm breath it elicited from his mouth.

Turning to face the room, I realised there wasn’t much in it - just grey floorboards, grey walls and…one bed.

Feyre.

I growled internally, finally coming to the conclusion that this entire trip was most likely merely nothing more than another of her matchmaking schemes she had become known for over the years.

Feyre Cursebreaker, more like Feyre Matchmaker.

It was no secret that Azriel and I had danced over our attraction for each other ever since we’d met.

It was a source of relief for the entire Circle - most notably, Mor, whom with Azriel’s attention somewhat divided from her, had finally come out to us all about 50 years ago, the final nail in the coffin of Azriel’s pining.

The relief of the entire Court was palpable when those longing glances towards Mor, the awkward tension, Cassian’s odd scapegoat role all vanished - but was almost immediately followed with trepidation as those wandering looks turned to me instead.

In some ways, I could understand their frustration, it was so clear how we felt for each other - but we’d never acted on it, never said it. It was an unspoken acknowledgement that went, for the most part…unacknowledged.

For whatever reason - whether it be my own trauma, my own issues, or the fact he had spent over 500 years pining for the same woman…we-I just wasn’t ready to admit it, to say it, to..act on it.

No doubt why Feyre was subtly pulling the strings behind the scenes to make it happen.

“I did request a second bed” Azriel says, “But the innkeeper said they didn’t have one and…”

“It wouldn’t fit” I shake my head, finishing his sentence, “Not in this shoebox, no.”

Azriel nodded in agreement, head ducking just a little lower, “I will sleep on the floor.”

“You will do no such thing” I scoff, prancing toward the bed and slumping onto it, patting the empty space beside me, “We’ve been friends for 100 years, Azriel, I’m sure we can share a bed.”

“Alright” Azriel agrees tentatively, a ghost of a smile flickering upon his sensual lips…I tear my gaze away from those lips and instead meet his eyes as he flares his wings a little, allowing them the stretch before he would undoubtedly need to tuck them in for the rest of the night to avoid them getting caught on the snags in the floorboards.

Halfway to the bed, he stops and begins to disarm himself, beginning with his Siphoned gauntlets, the weapons adorning his legs and arms and any spare space a blade could fit. Truth-Teller, however, remained sheathed at his side.

As he prepared himself for bed, I lay down on the mattress, sliding back towards where the slant in the roof was, tucking myself under the sheets and curling into a ball on my side, facing him - allowing him the side with more room, more space to stretch those wings out.

Noticing my courtesy, he smiles softly in thanks. I duck my head in a silent ‘you’re welcome.’

It had always been like that with us - able to communicate with smiles and nods and gestures, rarely needing to rely on words.

Of course, Feyre liked to see that as a potential mating bond but that…that was, at this point, a slim possibility. The only thing that could potentially unveil it would be…

I growl softly, this time outwardly, at the realisation. Azriel stops mid way from sliding into the bed, shooting a curious and concerned look at me. I shake my head, confirming its not him I’m growling at, and he continues his descent into the bed, wings flaring out and behind him.

Having sex.

That was the only thing that could possibly reveal a mating bond between us and our position now, in the same bed, the same inn that Feyre had-

Fucking Feyre.

Another low growl slips from me and this time, gestures weren’t enough for Azriel as he said, “What’s wrong?”

This time I didn’t dodge the question, “Feyre. And her incessant meddling.”

Another soft smile from Azriel, “You would think she’d get bored of it.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” I scoff, “Not until every one of us is paired up and as happy as she is.”

The statement seemed to make Azriel slightly uncomfortable - perhaps too close to the confession neither of us had made or would make…maybe ever.

I let the room fall into a comfortable quiet and end up finding myself…staring at him. His eyes, more specifically. Almost identical to Cassian’s, but where Cass’s fire brightened them, flaring like a living ember amongst the brown and green and yellows of his golden hazel eyes, Azriel’s was…like a living golden flame made ice.

The brightness, the colour was all there but amongst the multi-hued tones of hazel, there were flickers of ice blue so infinitesimal I hadn’t even noticed them until now, where I was so close, so wholly focused on nothing but those hazel depths…

A soft, almost silent gasp elicited from me as I realised that as I stared at him - into him, drinking in the colours and hues and shades of his eyes…he was also doing the same to me. The sudden sound, too, brought him out of it and his gaze dropped from my eyes - not wholly away from me, never that, but just…focused less on my eyes and more on my entire face, the way a friend would usually look at another while talking.

My brows creased a bit, the slightest of frowns - why did we bother with this dance? With denying what we so clearly felt?

To distract myself from ruminating too much more on those thoughts or from Azriel requesting to know them, I uncurled myself from my little ball, stretching my arms before me, reaching for Azriel’s forearm.

He slid his arm back slightly, hesitating and wary, the scars upon them bleached a stark white, setting them shimmering as if they reflected that light. I paused my own movements, again meeting his eyes, my gaze questioning, beseeching…requesting. With a small tremor of his hand, he extended it towards me, palm down, right above my own extended hand. An offering.

I took his hand in mine, so warm despite the ice in his eyes, the ice in his shadows I could feel emanating from behind me, encasing the rest of the room in darkness. If anyone were to walk in, they’d see nothing but black despite the power of the full moon’s light.

With my other hand, I brushed softly over those harsh scars, the little light illuminating the space we lay casting them an even paler shade, so stark against his tanned skin. A harsh intake of breath again paused me in my movements - well, it was harsh for Azriel. For anyone else it was barely a gasp but for the silent, stalwart spymaster…it was a loud sound.

Meeting his eyes, another question within them, I wait for his answering gaze, the permission to continue. A barely perceptible nod and I continued my exploration of those scars. Cold - colder than the rest of his skin, shimmering with an iridescent light, and smooth and silky compared to his palm, covered in calluses from weapon wielding.

Before I can make myself reconsider, I make the boldest move I’d ever made with him - bending my head before those scars with a reverent gentleness, I brushed my lips across the top of his hand in a soft, light kiss, the silky-smoothness of his scars like a gentle, cool caress.

“Beautiful” I whisper into the darkness, raising my head to meet his gaze once again.

Raw, undiluted emotion swam within them - so at odds against the cold set of his face, the mask he never let slip - in front of me, in front of Mor, in front of Rhys. Nobody.

A glimmer of silver traced the line of his eye - tears. Tears he wouldn’t shed, I knew that, but the sight of them there…it broke me. So did the doubt tinged with disgust.

“They’re beautiful” I enunciated again, forcing him to hear the words, the truth behind them.

Azriel closed his eyes, hand tightening around mine. I squeezed back and his wings flared in the shadow-kissed dark. I could have sworn they also shuddered delicately.

I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the words I was about to speak. The declaration I was finally going to make.

There would be no more skirting around the feelings we both knew I felt…that he felt.

“Azriel, I-” I swallow loudly, forcing the nerves to abate - even if for just a moment, “I-”

“Don’t say it,” his words were a broken plea, a wrought and destroyed thing, “Please, don’t say it.”

“Why” I breathed, not quite a question, my brows furrowing with hurt - maybe he didn’t feel how I thought he did.

“I’m not worthy of it. I’m a bastard born…nothing” His voice…it destroyed me, wrecked me, shattered me with the pain it portrayed, the full scope of how worthless he felt.

I wished he had just told me he didn’t feel the same. That he just didn’t want to ruin a friendship so personal to him. Or even that he just blatantly wasn’t interested.

Anything but this…self-loathing.

That mask, the one of cold indifference, of calculating calm…it slipped and - faltered completely. That one form of protection he put out to the world, his way of protecting his very soul, now disappeared before me - only for me, perhaps even only now, for this one moment of complete and total vulnerability.

The emotion from his eyes now leaked into every feature of his face, bowing his eyebrows toward his nose in a deep, self-loathing frown, his mouth downturned, his throat bobbing and those tears…one indeed slipped from his eye.

I released one of his hands from my touch, guiding that now free hand to wipe the tear from his cheek, the silvery wetness of it clinging to my finger.

I studied it, the glistening moisture of it that shimmered like suppressed stars on my finger. As beautiful as the rest of him. Perhaps pathetic to think about a tear as such, but it was almost impossible for me to see anything that related to Azriel and not think it a thing of beauty.

When my gaze unfocused from that tear, I went to meet his eyes again only to see his shadows were ensconcing him. He was almost completely invisible, his wings nothing more than blackness. Disappearing before my eyes.

I couldn’t beat it.

“No” I breathe, this time grabbing both of his hands, clutching them to my chest, his scars resting upon my collarbone. I slid myself closer, so close that I encroached upon his shadows, forcing them either to scatter or to envelop me too.

A pause in the shadows movement - considering. With a shuddering breath, I whispered, “Don’t hide from me. Never hide - not from me. Please.”

Suddenly, the shadows surged forward, swallowing us both in their darkness, the moon’s light disappearing as the solid warmth of Azriel’s body chased away the endless cold of them.

His shadows made seeing him impossible and, for a moment, I thought maybe he knew - they knew - what I was about to say next, that he could only stomach hearing me out, allowing me to say my piece if he didn’t have to see the sincerity upon my face…allowing me to see the emotion on his.

“You are worthy” I said, my voice a soft and distraught mess, “By the Mother, Azriel, you are so worthy. You are beautiful and strong and courageous and loyal and I…I love you.”

The shadows stopped their writhing, turning the once roiling darkness into a solid blanket coating us.

“You love me?”

And Mother help me, the uncertainty, the surprise and shock in those words…it fractured me even more.

“Let me see you” I begged. I would not tell him these things with those shadows hiding him from my sight any longer. The shadows stayed. “Azriel, please.”

My wrecked plea was the shadows undoing, his undoing, and they floated back, drifting on that phantom wind to again cover the space between his wings and the door, revealing all of him to me.

“Yes” I whispered, “I do love you. I have loved you for a long while…but you already knew that. We both did.”

The vulnerability seemed to overwhelm him and again those shadows seemed to subconsciously creep closer. Releasing his scarred and beautiful hands from my chest, I let them drop to the bed and slid myself into the last pocket of space between our bodies, my arms sliding between the spaces either side of his face to link around his neck, to hold me unbreakably to him.

“No” I growled, the first harsh words I’d spoken this night, “No more hiding. If your shadows come to claim you, they must now do the same to me.”

He knew I didn’t mean the literal shadows behind him, around him - it was the shadows within him I spoke of.

The fear and pain and self-hate that plagued his every thought, that stopped him from ever pursuing Mor, from pursuing me. No longer would they tell him he didn’t deserve what he wanted, what he desired.

Never again.

It took me a moment to realise he’d restrained the shadows. I met his eyes, to see the emotion there, to realise neither of us had spoken in a while.

“I…” His voice hitched, his breathing uneven and I watched the internal battle behind his eyes of what I said and he felt and what his mental scars and trauma told him he deserved, “I…have always loved you.”

The last four words rushed out like an avalanche, in one smooth motion, encompassed on one breath.

My eyebrows twitched inward, a momentary frown as I fought back the tears that threatened to spill. Instead, I beamed at him, the light radiating from it rivalling the moonlight’s glare behind me.

“You’re beautiful” Azriel whispered in wonder, his attention fixed on that beaming smile - only for him, “So beautiful.”

“Stealing my words now, are you?” I smirk, bringing in some much needed humour to cut the tension of our confessions, the pain and relief that mingled there, “Have you none of your own?”

Azriel’s face contorted into a mask I knew meant trouble, “I don’t need to resort to words”

My toes curled at the possession in his tone, the seductive and sultry promise.

Scenting the change in me, as quickly as the atmosphere of the room was now changing, he smirked, “Not here.”

I pouted and he let out a low snarl, his own hands sliding around my waist to pull me ever closer, flush to his body, legs tangling with mine. I tilted my head upward, exposing the column of my throat in an effort to better meet his eyes with our changed position…and in a silent request.

"Stop that” he growled, the pout still pasted to my face.

“Stop what?” I asked innocently, batting my eyelashes slightly - and having to clamp down on the laugh that threatened to burst from me at the action.

“Everything” Azriel responded cryptically, “Stop pouting that damn lip, for starters.”

I sucked in a breath, habitually pulling my bottom lip into my mouth and biting softly on it.

That was it.

Azriel swooped upon me, pulling that lip from the cage of my teeth to capture it with his, kissing me possessively as he bit down on my bottom lip himself.

I hitched a leg over his waist, the inside of my knee nocking itself into the slight dip of his torso. It felt so natural - fit so perfectly. Azriel released a hand from my waist to hike that leg higher, to pull the rest of my body into the space it left open.

Releasing my lips, he bowed his forehead to touch mine, sighing softly, “I will not fuck you here, Y/N.”

I whimpered softly and felt the evidence of what that sound did to him upon my stomach. My breathing became difficult, each inhale heavier and deeper than the last.

“Your mouth says no” I chuckled, pushing my chest closer to him, feeling the hardness of him grow in response to the added pressure, “But your body…”

“I have no doubt your own body is begging for it” Azriel cut in, the lust roughening his voice into a serrated edge, “I have no doubt what evidence I’d find between your legs”

Indeed.

My toes curled, my thigh constricting across his body with the same pressure I would apply if my thighs were together…but the prick held tight to my leg, stopping me from withdrawing it and providing the much needed pressure I now craved.

“I will not fuck you here.” He repeated, his head bending to brush his silken lips along the exposed column of my throat, trailing upward along the scope of it to the bottom of my ear where they pressed softly to my earlobe.

I shuddered gently against him and inhaled deeply. He was playing dirty…well, so could I.

Unlocking my fingers from each other, I extended a single hand towards that gauzy membrane, catching his eyes with mine so I could watch what it did to him as I brushed a finger along the inside of his wing, the feeling shockingly similar to his scars.

He flinched and hissed, his breath gusting into the shell of my ear as the hands around my waist and thigh tightened, the length of him hardening even more against my stomach. His eyes were set ablaze - not the simmering ember of Cassian’s but an icy fire - a cold so harsh it burned.

“Forgive me for wanting what I want” I whispered into his own ear, interlacing my fingers again as his wings shivered and then settled, “It has been a century.”

“A century?” Gone was the lust from his voice - though he still remained hard against me, that icy flame still smouldering, “You haven’t…”

I blushed at the unfinished question.

No, actually, I hadn’t been with another male since I’d met Azriel. I’d had opportunities, people who were interested but…I could never bring myself to do it.

No matter how many times Azriel took a female home.

“But I-” That guilt and self-loathing encroached upon his expression again and I shook my head emphatically.

Even Feyre Matchmaker had tried to convince me to take the edge off but despite having a need for touch, for taste, for contact - it was all for him. I refused to settle for any less. Even if that meant becoming a eunuch for the rest of my life.

“It doesn’t matter” I assured him, “We had no obligations, no promises.”

At that, he had no argument, no rebuttal. The guilt, however, still shone there, “I never knew how…deep your feelings went.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t feel as strongly?”

“No, of course not” Azriel rushed and I restrained a giggle, “I do feel for you - so deeply. Perhaps I took those females to bed in order to deny what I felt. Because I feel for you so much - so much so I feared maybe we-”

“Maybe we were mates?”

He nodded once.

“Feared?” I question, peering up at him, “Why feared?”

“Because I am unworthy.”

“Azriel-”

“It will take time, Y/N, before that feeling abates.”

I knew that. Deep down, I knew it.

“Well, from what Feyre tells me the only way we can find out if we’re mates at this point is to…”

“I will not fuck you here” Azriel again said but there was no teasing, no seduction - just blatant fact, “When I fuck you, Y/N, I don’t want any kind of audience. Just you and me.”

The sultriness had once again creeped into his voice and I unsuccessfully tried to huff in disappointment…it just came out as a quivering breath.

“Sleep now” Azriel whispered, releasing my leg at long last in favour of stroking my hair, “You’re exhausted.”

“Ha” I let out a breathy chuckle, “You think I could even attempt to fall asleep after all that?”

“Try” he smiled, “After all, the sooner tomorrow comes…the sooner you do.”

I breathed in shakily, toes again curling as I felt his words reverberate through my core, the heat there building.

I had never seen Azriel like this. So cocky and confident and seducitve, so…dominating.

“Right. Sleeping now.” I attempted to joke, closing my eyes suddenly.

“Wait” Azriel whispered and I opened my eyes again at the soft command.

He moved forward, so slowly, and gently pressed his lips to mine. A soft, gentle kiss - the one we would have had after our heartfelt declarations had lust not gotten the better of us.

The heat in my core settled, instead sending a rushing wave of euphoria and light and happiness, soothing me until I…indeed did feel sleepy.

“Ass” I grumbled, as my eyelids slid closed again, this time heavier.

“I told you, you were exhausted” he chuckled, pressing another light kiss to my brow before a different kind of darkness - separate from his shadows pulled me under.

Masterlist

Imagine #313

Imagine Jack is destroying the pirates ship, who tried to kill you

Botanical Interest

Soft!Mob!Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: You’re a florist working the wedding of Brooklyn’s most respected mob boss when you catch the eye of his best man.

W/C: 1557

Warnings: Allusions to violence, swearing, copious amounts of blushing

A/N: My second ever fic! I wrote this as an entry to @stargazingfangirl18 ‘s Soft Dark 5k Challenge (congrats!) using dialogue prompt 9 (bolded) with a Mob!AU. No smut, just fluff. While I’m a sucker for Soft!Dark I thought I’d keep it light and fluffy! Might enter a second one with some darker themes.

I’m brand new to writing and the fandom so if you want you can check out my first fic (also a Mob!AU!) and please reach out with any and all comments or thoughts! I’m eager to know!! Cheers!

Botanical Interest Masterlist I Main Masterlist

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The first time you saw him you didn’t actually see him because you ran square into him while you were looking the other way. Stubbing your nose right into his chest and nearly spilling the contents of the box you were holding.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going and I’ve got so much to do so I’ve been running around and I just didn’t see you I’m-“

“Forgiven. You’re forgiven, sweetheart” a smoky voice with confidence and amusement informed you.

You loved being a florist but you were short handed for this wedding and needed to get a move on. You wouldn’t have taken the job but the infamous Bucky Barnes, King of Brooklyn himself was getting married. It would be great exposure for you but when a man like him asks something of you you don’t exactly have a choice. In all the chaos of it you didn’t watch your step.

Cheeks still burning with embarrassment, your eyes met those of Barnes’ right hand man, Steve Rogers. Now you weren’t just embarrassed you were nervous.

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