Imagine: Being In A Poly Relationship With Harley And Joker:

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

AND IT NEVER DISAPPOINTS

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

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

Hope you enjoy! XO

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then they dragged you away from him.

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

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

But this. This was bad.

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

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

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

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

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

What the absolute fuck were you supposed to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are they saying about me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drinking and fucking was something you could do all day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe it wasn't.

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

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

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

__

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck happened.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

__

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alfie.”

“Wot”

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

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

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

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

____

Being destructive was so nice.

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

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

This was almost as good as subspace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cum”

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

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

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

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

Tag list: @tommydoesntpayforsuits @misselsbells06 @kpopgirlbtssvt

guys my age

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pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: having a crush on your father’s best friend shouldn’t be an issue, until that friend is steve rogers and he has you pinned against the wall.

word count: 4,070

warnings: age gap, implied absent mother, oral f receiving, language, fingering, sex, praise kink, slight degradation kink, dom! steve, daddy kink and some dirty talk.

author’s note: has been a while since i wrote a smut fic for steve so… here u are. as always reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! :) my work is not meant to be reposted or stolen, this is the only place i upload my work and if you steal it i’ll have early 2000′s chris eat your toes

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Keep reading

Thunder [Gally]

Gally x fem! reader

Summary: The reader is afraid of thunders so Gally helps her with that. Kinda

Word count: 306

Warnings: none

Gally felt uncomfortable when your legs entangled with his under the covers. It was more than obvious that Gally had never experienced sleeping next to someone, so that gesture made him uncomfortable.

He tried to pull away a little, but you clung to his shirt and he gave up.

There were thunders at the glade and you could even see the sky light up from the lightning. You jumped up as thunder struck very close to the place where you were sleeping; you walked over to the boys’ sleeping area and, kicking Gally lightly, asked him to let you sleep with him

“It’s just a thunder, go back to sleep” he told you with no intention of leaving you a space next to him. However he noticed the fear in your eyes and clucking his tongue he made you some you space. “I guess we can sleep together just for tonight.”

You nodded and that’s where Gally knew he had made a mistake cuz immediately after you had fallen asleep, your whole body began to move closer to his and therefore invading his personal space. It didn’t bother him at all cause the contact felt good, but the feeling of sharing his things with someone else seemed a little awkward to him.

“Well” he said in a whisper “I guess everything mine is yours now.”

Then he felt the need to put one of his arms over your shoulders and another over your waist in a protective embrace, deciding that he would be there to take care of you always.

Your body was able to relax and soon the uncomfortable feeling was gone. You smiled between dreams and squeezed his body even tighter with yours.

Yeah, Gally could get used to that for the rest of his life.

the fjerdan & the kerch

kaz brekker x reader - the fjerdan & the kerch

summary: kaz and matthias butt heads over someone they both care for

warnings: roughly follows parts of the ice court plot, matthias x childhood best friend!reader, fjerdan!reader

word count: 2.5k

“Lucky for me, I’ve got another Fjerdan to confirm your information.”

As Y/N climbed the stairs to the deck, her palm sliding along the wooden railing, she could hear Kaz’s gritty voice booming from above. She’d joined the job at the last moment after a last ditch effort of begging Kaz to allow her to join. Of course he was hesitant bringing along someone so fresh, new and untested, but relying upon the intelligence of a Fjerdan fugitive was not something Dirtyhands wanted to do. And so here Y/N was, on a bobbing ship bound for the country she left so long ago.

“Don’t you trust me demjin?” The question was a snarl, one of an animal bound and caged, silently fearful of there being no escape in sight.

As Y/N stepped onto the main deck, light pouring over her form, she felt as though she were basking in the feeling of home. That rough accent traveling on the high sea winds was a jolting reminder of home, of the family she once had. Of the small village she’d once lived in, just a few miles from the coast, wedged between frozen rivers and thick pine forests. She could nearly smell the pine sap in the air, the chilling breeze seeping into her bones.

And as she opened her eyes, she swore she was hallucinating for a moment. Squinting at the blond burly man, she allowed her gaze to roam over his face. Those features were foreign yet so familiar. On the outside was a war hardened soldier, fighting for a country he blindly pledged loyalty too. Fighting too young. But underneath, Y/N could still peer at the little boy she had grown up beside. The lopsided grin on the squarely set jaw, now clenched so tightly he looked like he might snap his own teeth off. Ignoring the shaven head, she could still remember the wavy blond locks he’d had, that seemed to shine like gold during the summer months.

It was Matthias and somehow at the same time, not him at all.

Y/N stood frozen, simply staring at her childhood friend who stared back with a sense of disbelief. All she wanted to do was run to his side, fall to her knees, and hug him until her arms gave out. But she couldn’t. They weren’t little naive children anymore, running through a field of snow as reindeer migrated through the village. Their grubby hands no longer sought out freshly baked cookies on the countertops. She no longer braided her hair like her mother had done, no longer placed a ruby red ribbon in the braid like the one Matthias had given her.

Deep inside, Y/N knew they both changed that night the Grisha had struck their village. An eye for an eye seemed to be the one thing shared between drüskelle and drüsje. When her father had been struck down, heart stopped in his own chest, her mother had fled with Y/N’s hands in hers. Running far far away from that quaint village. Away from their cozy patchwork quilts, made of whatever pieces of spare fabric could be found at the time of their making. Away from the tiny cabin that had been their home, that had provided shelter during blizzards, warmth during the winters. Away from her father lying dead on the ground, eyes blankly staring up at the sky. Away from Matthias, wherever he was.

Staring into his eyes now, she knew something horrible had happened. The blues within his eyes had once reminded her of the spring melt, when clear blue water came streaming down from the snow-capped mountains. It was the sign of new life, of rebirth in Fjerda. Those soft blues were like the little tiny wildflowers that would sprout over the tundra, only to be grazed by horses or livestock. But now, there was no hint of softness in those blue irises. They were hard. Solid like ice that could run for miles underfoot. No matter how long you chiseled away, it was ice. Endless ice. That pale, nearly white, blue - unrelenting to any outside force.

“Y/N,” Matthias breathed out, barely audible over the howling winds.

But Kaz heard that single word, his hawk-like eyes flashing between the two Fjerdans. His jaw was set tight, muscles twitching every few seconds. “You two know each other?”

Nodding, Y/N took another step forward until she was standing by Kaz’s side, whose long coat flapped wildly in the wind like a large black sail, pushing them towards the icey country.

Matthias’s eyes stirred with something Y/N couldn’t quite place her finger on. Was it concern, a longing for their childhood, happiness over their reunion? And when she glanced at Kaz, she couldn’t describe his expression either. His dark eyes, like billowing storm clouds, seemed to swirl with anger, resentment… jealousy even.

“We grew up together in Fjerda,” Y/N clarified, reminiscing with nearly a smile upon her face. “His house was just a few down from mine.”

“How do you know this demjin?” Matthias’s gaze bore into hers as he questioned her in Fjerdan, voice heavily laced with concern.

Heart thudding in her chest, Y/N fumbled over her own words. It felt wholly impossible to describe whatever her relationship was with the Bastard of the Barrel. It wasn’t friendship yet it also wasn’t more… just that odd inbetween. Mutual appreciation?

In Fjerdan, she mumbled, “I met him in Ketterdam. He’s taught me the ropes.”

Scrunching up his nose and crossing his arms, Kaz harshly snapped, “I am right here, you know.”

But the two Fjerdans pointedly ignored him, now in the midst of a silent argument, staring at each other with fiery eyes as they did as children.

“He is not good for you.”

Y/N scoffed as her hands fell into place on her hips. “And you think you know what’s good for me? Years after we went our different paths.”

“He is an evil man,” Matthias snarled. “I can see it in those soulless eyes.”

“Don’t you even start!”

“I was imprisoned, Y/N! All because his Grisha pet claimed me a slaver.”

The last word of Matthias’s proclamation was spoken in clear Ravkan, as perfect a pronunciation as the Fjerdan man could muster. It was a clear message to Kaz as to the topic the two were discussing in their native language. Matthias’s eyes gazed at hers, eyebrows slightly furrowed as though he were begging. Begging for her to see his side, to understand why he was so concerned.

But Y/N simply shook her head, glancing at Kaz and speaking in Ravkan, “There must have been a misunderstanding.”

Matthias’s face grew red, the shade of beets her mother had harvested in the summer months. Standing up, he furiously reached towards Y/N fumbling to grab ahold of her wrist. “These Ravkan and Kerch people are horrible.”

“That is quite enough from you, Helvar,” Kaz snapped once more and with a swing of his cane, brought it roughly down upon the Fjerdan man’s shoulder.

The first day had been rough, taut tension rippling through the air between the Fjerdan and the Kerch as Y/N now liked to call them. The two men that marked the two different lives she had lived. Matthias with the naive girl who not once even wondered of a life outside her little Fjerdan village. The girl who made sticks into swords and rocks into cannon balls. And they’d played on those snowy fields, each commanding their own invisible army and conducting their own duels. Of course, like the little gentleman he was, a quiet and reserved boy, far too timid for the games the other boys played, Matthias had always let her win.

And now there was the current version of her, the one whose life was marked by Kaz. That naive little girl had no clue what to do when arriving upon the docks at Ketterdam, her mother gravely ill from the tedious journey. And when she was left all alone, stranded and lonely, not a person to turn to for comfort on those grimy streets, was when Kaz appeared. Practically a knight in shining armor, someone to guide her through the city that rode that fine line between life and death.

In a way, he’d saved her. Silently directed her along the easier path, placing a few kruge in her pocket when she needed it. Whatever she needed, he provided some way, somehow. That was when her loyalty turned away from Fjerda and it’s gleaming snowy fields, her mind turned away from Matthias. And after that, it was Kaz… just Kaz.

Now as the ship cut through the harsh waters, ever heading more north, she could hardly stand the two men glaring daggers at each other. Part of Y/N thought, if given the chance, they’d willingly throttle each other to death. It would simply be a matter of who could throw the other overboard first. And as mildly entertaining as it sounded, that was one thing she did not want to witness.

By her side, Kaz fidgeted with a large padlock, tossing the rusted object between his hands as he worked those fingers, picking and relocking it. He liked to think he was a figure of confidence going into a job, the commander standing proud at the front of an army, head held high and shoulders pinned back. But really, he was a bit of an anxious mess. Everyone around just pointedly avoided the topic. Kaz always had his thing going. Something to work with his hands, something to exercise his brain.

“Can you show me?” Y/N found herself asking. For the longest time she admired the ways he could work a lock as though it were an extension of himself. How with just a few gentle clicks, like a puppet master pulling strings, anything would open to do Kaz’s bidding.

Kaz nodded, one corner of his lips turning up into what could resemble a smug smile. Outstretching her hand, she wrapped her fingers around the padlock he’d dropped into her palm. The metal was smooth under her touch, polished but tarnished by the rough patches of rust. It was like a little secret held within her hand.

Matthias, whose head was turned towards the churning waves, staring off into the distance for any sign of the icey coastline, chirped sarcastically, “In Fjerda, breaking into locked places is a crime. Is it not that way in Kerch?”

Y/N sent a scathing glare in his direction, just like how she used to when they were children. A smug grin sprouted upon Matthias’s lips, the same boyish look he had as a child. Even back then, they butted heads - the type of friendship anomaly where both were so different, yet so frustratingly alike. A sudden urge rose inside Y/N to poke her tongue out at the boy, but she didn’t. Instead, she rolled the padlock in her hands, cradling it like a precious jewel.

“Picking locks is an art,” Kaz began, folding both gloved hands in his lap as he learnt forward. “It takes time and practice, but it’s all in the hands. Locks are no different from people. With just a nice, light touch, a flick of the fingers, you can bend the object to your will.”

Gazing up into Kaz’s eyes, she thought he was more like the locks than anything else. Vehemently guarded and yet, the softness was still there. Way down beneath the tough exterior, vulnerable secrets held closely to the heart. If only she could scratch away at that, expose the truth beneath so she could know. Know Kaz for who he truly was, not this scary legend around him. But rather the true Kaz, the part of him that reigned over the motivations, the values, the reasons why he did what he did.

That was all she wanted in the world. To get to know Kaz. To learn the secrets of his trade, model herself in his image. To be talented enough to pick locks, twirl guns, and throw knives. To be someone worthy of being a Crow.

Each of the members of their group took turns peering through those glasses to examine the prisoner wagon rattling along the road on its way to the palace gates.

“This is genius,” Jesper breathed out, his eyes wide as he stared through the glasses.

All of them were jittery, adrenaline running through their veins that was nearly as cold as the Fjerdan ice. It chilled them to their core, but also stirred something inside. A deep wanting, a desire to make this whole job a success. To walk out of Fjerda in one piece, return to Ketterdam where their hands would be full of kruge.

“This is idiotic,” Matthias grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. His nose wrinkled up in disgust at the rather unappealing food placed in front of him, but Y/N would be willing to bet her life, some of that disgust was also meant for Kaz.

“How so?” Inej inquired as her thin frame practically leaned over the railing, staring at the prisoner wagon that slowed to a roll by the guard’s station.

“It would be,” the Fjerdan man admitted. “If Kaz knew everything about the Ice Court.”

An icey silence fell over the group as Matthias looked happily smug, a devilish grin upon his lips as he stared at the high walls of the Ice Court. The Crows all glanced at one another, fear sparking in their eyes at the thought of the Fjerdan destroying their heist.

Clenching her fists, Y/N sat up higher in her seat as she stared down her childhood friend. “Matthias if you don’t tell us, I swear to Djel I’ll-”

“He’s bluffing,” Kaz casually announced, wholly unbothered by Matthias’s little drama show.

“What?”

“Your dear Matthias wouldn’t risk withholding information to put you in danger. And he’s certainly not clever enough to think of blackmail.”

“Demjin,” he muttered under his breath, not daring to glance at Kaz’s face.

“Can you two just stop it?”

Both men practically jumped in their seats like nervous rabbits, staring at Y/N, and everyone else curiously watched the confrontation.

“I can’t go on with the two of you at each other’s throats,” Y/N begged, glancing between both of them. Matthias shifted uneasily in his seat, glancing back yet again at the large stone walls lying just down the road.

“A truce, please? You don’t have to like each other, or even think of one another as friends. But please just stop snapping.”

Tense silence hovered in the air as Kaz and Matthias both eyed one another, their jaws tense and heads held highly with confidence as if both were Kings on a chessboard. But ultimately both nodded, giving in to Y/N’s plea for the same reason - to please her. Neither wanted to see her upset, eyes wide and voice wavering as it was now. They both treasured the times when she smiled so widely that her eyes sparkled. Both aimed to see her happy, as carefree as a butterfly crafted of the most intricate hues and patterns fluttering in the wind.

Perhaps the Fjerdan and the Kerch weren’t so different after all.

Kaz Taglist

@oliviasslut @ameliathackray @purplewcrld @subjecta13-thefangirl @aysegust @amberash05 @beatitlikeabongodrum @mindofasupernova @kaitlyn2907 @renataligorio @xcharlottemikaelsonx @ladydaemon @just-a-new-start @nlnlpanini @kaqua @chaoticneutral3 @thedelusionreaderbitch @spawn0fsatan @vintagebitc @itsnotquimey @datrie @aliiiyyaaah @morganayenneferburnham @magravenwrites @kykymyeon @fandomstuffff @whatiswrongwithpeople @bilesxbilinskixlahey @imagines-and-preferences1216 @dreamer-writer-fangirl @alice-the-nerd @rika90 @for-bebbanburg @ancientbeing10 @everwhovian @theoroseo @jaystaysinside @moony-is-bae @ms-awkward @glowstick-lesbian @xetherealbeautyx @lillypotter00 @black-kitten-imagines @shortimaginewriter @ohfuk @aleksanderwh0r3 @yummyfanta @gallysonegoodlung @bicyhot1 @notplutos

Maze runner Reactions  ~ Your Beautiful singing ~

Minho: “Who is that, Ive never heard such a heavenly voice” *peers off into maze unsure if its a human or a trap

Bonus Headcannons  

- Minho would frequently hear your voice echoing through out the maze (lmao imagine hearing way)

- Minho has tried for years to try and track where that sound has been coming from.

- Minho has seen dreams of the girl he’s so longer to meet. Or well he believes its a girl at least

- Minho often wonders what your eyes would look like, what does your hair smell like or how soft is your skin.

- Minho is very eager to see, and if he could get that chance he would take it no matter what it takes.

- Minho dreams of having his head on your lap and being able to gaze up at you listening to your angelic voice.

- Minho hasn’t told anyone about your voice in the maze, part of him thinks it to good to be true. Such a beautiful being can not come from such a dark place.

- Other gladers have noticed that Minho has been day dreaming a lot and is more determined the ever to go into the maze.

- Minho likes to think your his light shining in the darkness he just hopes that your light doesn’t dim. He will find you one day and he hopes to be yours.

Newt: “Keep singing love, you always make all the pain go away.”

- Newt loves your voice, it reminds him of something he’s not sure what but its something he really loves.

- He could imagine your qualities being the same as his mothers. Something about you is so familiar

- He thinks you would make a beautiful wife and loving mother.

- But Newt is scared of losing you and he believes the biggest mistake is bringing more children into this corrupt world.

- Newt would always ask you to sing him to sleep.

- He likes your soft whispers in his ear, it makes him forget about everything.

- Your voice take him to a special place.

- He can see a valley of flowers varying in colours. You sitting down with a flower crown singing to the butterflies that fluttered.

- These are Newts dream’s, he wants to take you to this place. He wants to keep you safe and throw away this part of his life.

- Sometimes Newt looks up to you with glossy, sorrow filled eyes. It hurts but you understand so you both live it up whilst you two can.

Sorry guys but this gif was just to funny😂 we get it everyone wants Thomas

Thomas: “ You know your my sun shine Y/N..”

Headcannons

- Thomas would sometimes join in, he knows he’s bad singing but he wants to sing with you.

- Thomas isn’t actually that bad probs is the best out of the boys

- Thomas would sing you to sleep if your sick, tired and or can’t sing anymore.

- He would whisper into your ear and you would be able to feel his breath on your neck.

Thomas would always kiss your check before he finally goes to sleep.

- Sometimes you make Thomas cry with your voice and the things you sing about.

- The real reason he loves your voice so much is because he can feel your sorrow, pain, joy, love.

- He knows your real and appreciates it.

- Thomas will never forget you or your voice of hope. He singings with you to remind him of the memories, to hold onto them and cherish you.

- Thomas would hand these songs down to his children/generation.

- He wants your voice to live on in the glade.

Gally: “Your what  i need after a long hard day at work”

Headcannons

- Gally has a tough time putting up with everyone else, its not his fault its just who he was.

- Gally would crawl up to you in bed (i imagine as a keeper he gets to stay in the homestead), lye on your thighs kisses and them occasionally.

- He would let your voice relax his tired muscles, tense expression and allow his to slowly drift off to sleep.

- Gally loves it when your rack your fingers through his hair.

- Because of this Gally treats you like a queen. Your just so loving and kind to him. Not like any of the others.

- Gally would always tell you how gifted you are to be able to sooth everyones problems and make everyone feel special, loved and valued.

- You also taught Gally how to enjoy the present, stop worry about tomorrow and start living today.  

Umm hi I don’t know if you still take ACOTAR requests anymore but if you do can I request an azriel x reader where he’s in love with her and is afraid of rejection but he doesn’t know that she loves him too? 👉🏻👈🏻

hi nonnie, i’ll always accept an acotar request, hehe! did this in headcanon form, hope you don’t mind <3 it’s quite long and a little rough around the edges, but i hope you like it! ps. tumblr mucked up the formatting, some dot points don’t want to be indented. i hope it still makes sense x 

when your and azriel’s paths crossed, it was the mother at work again. after mor, azriel didn’t think he’d ever have the strength for love again. the aching and the pining had taken their toll, and the appeal of the mating bond had faded. to feel it all again, to risk his heart like that again - he couldn’t. and yet, the mother saw fit that he would. 

+++

he first met you in the palace of hoof and leaf, and it didn’t mean anything at the time; a stranger’s kindness, or if he indulged his cynicism, a hawker’s ploy. you were a commoner, a milkmaid who came to sell your products in the markets. he’d been at the neighbouring stall, waiting for the clerk to put together the only tea brew in prythian that could placate his migraines.

“sir, mr. shadowsinger, sir,” you called, “could i offer you a sample of my goat’s milk? maggie-may is very special, her milk can be just as good as a healer’s work, i swear it. try it, try it, sir.” 

azriel looked you over, glad that cassian wasn’t here to make that particular moniker stick. one brow raised in dubiety, he nodded and held out his hand - might as well, he thought, tired and getting ever more desperate for his tea. this didn’t show outwardly, of course; azriel’s face was as neutral as ever, his shadows coiling about his talons. your gaze was expectant as he tried the sample, and while it was a little too earthy for his taste, he nodded all the same. perhaps it had encouraged you too much, because then you asked: “could i perhaps persuade you to buy a pint?”

azriel had no interest at all, yet he couldn’t help but notice the detail: your fraying sleeves, the imperfect glass bottles, the beginnings of dark circles under your eyes. and yet you were smiling, you were sweet, being very generous for someone who had to presumably make a living selling fresh products. not for the first time, azriel made a purchase that only someone of the inner circle could afford, and one that didn’t really benefit him. “i’ll take several,” he said, looking at the handful of wooden caddies, mostly still filled with milk bottles. “i’ll take it all.” 

the clerk then handed azriel his brew while you stood there, wide-eyed and speechless, working through a range of emotions. at first you thought he was mocking you, but when he turned around again, fiddling with his coin pouch, you realised he was serious. “but, sir— maggie-may’s milk sure is delicious, but only in moderation— i couldn’t expect someone to buy it all—”

“as much as you’d let me, then,” he amended, being mindful not to impose or patronise. you bit your lip, trying to tally up the ultimate price, trying to gauge whether this man could even afford it. two gold, you said, trying your luck. azriel merely fingered his coins, placing the expected two and an additional three on the counter. he must’ve noticed your shock; you had frozen, after all, perhaps even stopped breathing. “since maggie-may is so special,” he drawled, earning a disbelieving laugh from you. 

that night, cerridwen, nuala, and elain were very confused at the sight of bottles and bottles of milk laying in wait on the kitchen counter in the house of wind. the note - clearly by azriel’s neat hand - read: use within five days.

+++

from then on, you always engaged azriel when you spotted him in the market. you could never forget his generous first purchase, and so while he waited for the tea master to finalise his special brew, you would entertain him with an endless supply of free samples of new products. over the years, azriel saw your business extend from milk to also include cheese and soap. he learned unnecessary things about your cattle, such as the supposed social dynamics and - mother forbid - adultery that mr. sweet pea the goat seemed prone to. over time, azriel grew comfortable enough to share some of his stories and observations, the things he’s seen in other courts. it took a while to realise you had become more than his mere acquaintance, and perhaps it was because you were outside his usual spheres of the inner circle and his spy network. to have someone outside was new, and a little jarring at times. the different experiences, the contrasting perspectives - it was refreshing, and reminded azriel how far he’d come since his miserable youth. when he was with you, the stakes weren’t so high, the conditions not so dire. you were a spot of calm, a reminder that life could be something other than the court’s defense. 

+++

one time when he visited - his tea no longer a requisite for him to make an effort to come in - you were noticeably subdued. “mr. sweet pea passed away,” you revealed, eyes wet and voice thick. something about that seized his heart, his shadows growing restless. “he was so special.” you actually said that about each of your cattle, something that azriel had started to find endearing, because he knew you really believed it.

social tact was not a strength of his - azriel knew he tended to be rigid and too formal - so he stumbled over some stilted condolences. it felt awkward and impersonal; azriel couldn’t empathise with the death of a pet, but he wanted to make it hurt less. he still remembered what the late goat had looked like the last time you had brought him in - an old thing, with a long beard and a mix of brown and black fur. strong, impressive horns, one which had a sizeable chip missing. 

so that night, he did what he could and sketched that image he had in his mind, of mr. sweet pea looking very wise and ponderous, if a little tired. azriel’s time as spymaster had bestowed him a keen eye and dexterous fingers, allowing him to make the necessary sketches to give his colleagues a clearer picture when necessary - of maps, of creatures, of profiles. they tended to be a little rough and raw, nothing particularly artistic. he thought the same of his current piece, and hesitated over whether it was good enough.

when he finally gave you the sketch the next day, you went very still. he started stumbling over some excuses, but you soon interrupted him with a shaky breath. “this is so thoughtful, azriel. thank you so much.” 

+++

azriel grew bolder, and interactions started to occur outside the markets. he’d invite you for tea, indirectly revealing one of his interests. he was a hard man to read, his expressions subtle when not stoic, but you learned. outside of professional matters, he was rarely straightforward, and tended to express his emotions in delicate, layered ways. his care for you was in the way he listened, how his attention never wavered when you were speaking with him. it was how he kept you close when you two navigated busy streets, how he lifted a wing over your head for cover when it rained, how he was content to spend time with you at your stall - sometimes for hours - despite his preference for quietude. 

+++

when work took him away, you two would exchange letters. azriel didn’t realise how dangerous a thing it was, because you quickly became a very intimate and constant part of his life. the act of writing tricked him, making it easier to truly express his thoughts - there was no pressure of navigating the immediate reaction, no incentive to keep his words short. you managed to draw so much out of him. he was mindful of each letter of yours he received, keeping them safe and tied together with an old ribbon of yours he’d saved before you could throw it away. he would never admit it, but work abroad tended to be overwhelming: while secure in his network’s quality of intelligence, being in another’s territory always meant having to deal with various variables and vulnerabilities, usually unknown. maybe your letters would have made it all a little more manageable if they didn’t elicit such longing within him. your words made him smile, yes, but they also made his heart ache. he missed you.

+++

after a lengthy assignment in the dawn court, azriel was relieved to be back in velaris. his shadows swirled and whispered around his shoulders, eager to feel your presence too. he knew they fascinated you, how playful they could be sometimes. yet, azriel couldn’t find you at your empty market stall. it was odd - you hadn’t mentioned moving in your recent letters, and he couldn’t find you in any of the other market squares either. soon his shadows grew restless, embodying the concern that was rising.

he employed his spy network to find your farm, hoping it wouldn’t be too intrusive to just show up unannounced. you had mentioned some details in passing before - it was a modest place, with a small house and a meagre hill of grass to feed a handful of goats and sheep. the door was answered by two worried faces, who took one look at azriel and grew even more distressed. “our son— it’s not our son, is it? it can’t be— he just—”

“i’m here to see your daughter,” azriel interrupted, too preoccupied to remember polite niceties. they were confused, guarded, but let him through. the hallways were narrow, his wings often knocking against the wall sconces. he listened as they explained your condition - an illness had befallen you, leaving you bedridden for days. apparently a healer had told them it’ll pass with rest and water, and with that reassurance, azriel forced himself to remember his place. right in front of your closed door, he willed his shadows away from his face, called upon his familiar impassiveness. turning around to face your parents, he amended, “may i see your daughter?” 

your room was dark, the curtains drawn. his heart raced as he heard your laboured breaths, and something pulled at him when he saw the small desk in the corner, an unfinished letter atop it. “azriel?” you whispered, voice sounding so small. “is it really you?” 

he neared, taking a cautious seat on the side of the bed. you were shivering, but the thin sheet covering you stuck to your skin with sweat. “yes, it’s me, sweetheart,” he said, the endearment slipping out before he could stop it. his throat closed up immediately after, but your vague movements suggested you didn’t even realise, and that you weren’t all there. he could see the feverish blush high on your cheeks, even in the dim light.

“you’re too big for this room,” you mused softly, making azriel smile despite his worry. indeed, he had to bend down to avoid hitting his head, and keep his wings tucked in uncomfortably tight. he took your hand in his, and even in your feverish haze, you could register the roughness of his scarred hands, but they always handled you gently. “why didn’t you tell me in your letters?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. your discomfort was clear in your frown, in your downturned lips. noticing the basin on the bedside table, he took the damp rag on your forehead and dipped it into the cool water, wringing away the excess before gently placing it atop your head again. 

“i… didn’t want to trouble you with… with something trivial. a few more days and… and i’ll be back to work.” a weak smile pulled at your mouth, and azriel gathered both of your hands in his again. he shook his head at your line of thinking.

“your health isn’t a trivial matter to me,” he said, leaning close and cupping your cheek. in hindsight, it was so obvious that he had been in love with you far longer than he thought. it was all so rueful, the fact that he had let it happen again. despite it all, he pressed a kiss to your hand, trying to ignore how it trembled. your smile strengthened then, tracing a finger over his brow and down the bridge of his nose. azriel took a deep breath to savour the touch, and soon you two were merely watching each other, azriel wondering what thoughts were running through your slightly added mind. your lids eventually started to droop, however, but still he stayed even when you fell asleep, taking care to change the cool rag when necessary. his shoulders slumped when his head fell into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut tight. with such a revelation, what was he to do from now on? 

+++

azriel didn’t think he could be a good lover to you - even if he so very much wanted to be. his job took up so much of time, and it required him to be secretive. azriel wouldn’t ever be able to share everything with you, for the sake of keeping you safe. even if he could, there was just something in his nature that kept him reserved and pushed others away. there were so many things he’d rather leave in the past, and so many more that he wished he hadn’t been part of. there was that, but also his loathsome scarred hands - a reminder of those darker days. no matter how gentle, his touch would always scratch and scrape. once you took notice of how neglected they were, left to dry out and sometimes even scab, you took to work to concoct a nourishing lotion. “you have to be gentle with yourself, azriel,” you had once told him, gently applying the salve to his hands. they were rough but warm against your skin. “you do so much.”

+++

and so, everything he did with you was tinged with a hint of sorrow. he couldn’t bring himself to confront you with the severity of his feelings, but he also couldn’t quite remove you from his life - you had become a friend. you eventually noticed that he started to let his touches linger: when he hugged you, he’d curl arms and wings around you, enveloping you wholly; when you were near, his shadows would stretch toward you, as if revealing a hidden desire. when you reached for his hand, he would always grip it firmly, and when you came very close for some unimportant reason, his gaze would always linger on your face, flicking so often to your lips. 

+++

one night you had invited him over to the farm, wanting to introduce him to the latest addition of your household: a baby goat, just over a week old. she was as white as snow, and kept nibbling at your hair as you held her in your arms. “what should we name her, azriel?” you had asked, too preoccupied to notice how tense he was, hands in his pockets. “i was thinking of marjorie, or maybe miss marjorie… hey, what’s wrong?” his face was unusually expressive, his shadows roiling about his talons as if in distress. putting down the goat, her legs still clumsy and gangly, you stepped closer to azriel, reaching out. he shook his head, trying to school his face but you knew him by now. your shoulders slumped, recalling his strange behaviour over the years - he was present in most ways, but avoidant in others. “i wish you’d talk to me, azriel,” you murmured, taking his hand and hoping he wouldn’t mind the dirt. “you mean so much to me.”

it all bubbled up then in that small barn, the light dim and the smell of earth pungent. you let out a rueful laugh, rubbing your eye. “i’m in love with you,” you said, very quietly at first. immediately you felt so naive to be doing this. the fact was that azriel came from a different life, one that saw him as a leader of the court, who worked with powerful and beautiful people, fae who were richer and stronger and vastly more interesting. azriel’s mere presence in your life was extraordinary enough. and yet, you had found yourself falling in love despite the impracticability of it, found yourself admiring his kindness, his quiet generosity, his strength and resilience and dry humour. you shifted, looking right into his eyes. even if your love was unrequited, he deserved to be told - if only to let him know that he indeed was loved by one more.  “i’m in love with you. i don’t— i don’t expect you to say it in return, but i can no longer keep it to myself. i love you.” 

that threw azriel. he had fantasised of course, indulged in the scenario. but now, as you waited for his response, his thoughts stuttered. what? he wanted to say, unable to believe what he actually so very desperately wanted to believe. you grew nervous as the silence lengthened, azriel’s face as stoic as ever. you shook your head, covering your mouth in regret. “i’m sorry, i— i shouldn’t have said anything—”

he gripped your shoulders tight, gaze intense and voice low. “i also love you.”

“why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?” the solemnity which had tinged your relationship for some time was subtle, but you had felt it, and it had bothered you. 

azriel’s hands came up to cup your face, and he quickly shook his head. “it’s not,” he said, he urged. “it’s not, it’s not.” and then his lips met yours, chapped and rough, kissing you slowly, thoroughly, firmly. the conviction made your heart melt, and you gripped his wrists, feeling his racing pulse and caressing it, kissing him back, standing on your toes, letting him steal your breath. “i love you so much, sweetheart,” he sighed against your lips, nose brushing against yours. you went to reply but then azriel had claimed your mouth again, one hand snaking around to your back and the other to the nape of your neck. the light shifted behind your closed eyes as his wings came down to envelope the both of you, and your fingers reached to tangle in his hair, to trace the shells of his ears.

when you two parted again, his grin was lopsided and a little wry. “i just couldn’t believe it,” he murmured, his eyes shining with emotion. why not? you wanted to ask, wondering what it was that had held him back for so long, but decided to delay it for another day. all you could do was hug him tighter, just glad for the sight of his smile and the feeling of his relief. glad for his happiness.

𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : the weather is bad and your dad, whose been picking you up after late shifts, is out of town so he’s sent his best friend bucky to take his little girl home. who is bucky to refuse?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : dad’s best friend!bucky barnes x f!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 4,215 words 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 :  (  MINOR’S DO NOT INTERACT! 18+  )  teasing, age gap (bucky is late 30s, reader is 22-23?), undefined relationship, praise kink, thigh riding, fingering, oral (female receiving, male receiving mentioned), dirty talk, pet names (sweets/sweetheart, honey, baby/doll), unprotected sex  ( don’t risk it, wrap ya biscuit! ), creampie, cumplay.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 :  i really said to myself “hey why don’t u write something small abt this au!bucky” and then it took two days and made my brain melt out through my bad ear. anyway, please don’t reupload, repost or translate my work. i only post on tumblr, so if you see this elsewhere know that it isn’t me. once again, i ask that MINOR’S DO NOT INTERACT! 18+

“You better be careful, what with this weather” Your boss, Tom, calls as you pull on your jacket, having so graciously offered to finish closing up on his own so you could get a head start to try and beat the worst of the wind and rain. You’re babbling your thanks to him once again when the bell above the diner door gives a jingle, your ride home entering. Your boss is about to shoo him away, telling him that they’re closed but you cut in, “Don’t worry, this is just Bucky. My dad asked him to pick me up, cause he’s outta town”.

“Y’ready, doll?” Bucky calls out with his familiar drawl, opening the door back up and letting a large gust of wind and rain into the diner. You make a point to dart straight out, shouting your good nights and final thank you to Tom as you rush to Bucky’s car, earning a chuckle from the pair. The parking around the diner isn’t that expansive, but it’s dark and you find yourself halting as you look out for it, only for Bucky’s hand to find the small of your back and guide you instead.

Keep reading

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

Apparently I have a type

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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