#Zipper Times Square

[newyorkthegoldenage]

A crowd gathers to watch the 1952 U.S. presidential election results on the Times Building's election "scoreboard" (the Zipper) in Times Square, November 4, 1952.

Photo: Robert Halmi via Keystone/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

[munsster]

sharing a bed (trope bingo)

A/N: i could melt (pun not intended. you’ll see) this trope is literally my fav, all my fics would be about it if i could… (gif creds: @bubbarnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Summary: You're cold, Bucky's a living heater. Need I say more? 1.2k words

Warnings: fluff, fluff, more fluff, sharing a bed, cuddling, nervous/borderline horny Bucky, pet names (doll, sweetheart)

You should have made this decision before your fingertips went numb. November in a northern motel room found you freezing. In basketball shorts and a crewneck, no less. You should have been in California by now, but Bucky has been dragging his feet since Maine. Though, he does drive more than half the time, so it's a sacrifice you had been willing to take.

There's no snow on the ground, but you can feel the beginnings of it on the damp pavement. Your socks are soaked through, and you cringe making a mental note to burn them. You cross your arms over your chest and tuck your fingers under your armpits, jaw clacking as you shiver. The heater in your room scuttled hurriedly to a wheezing stop five minutes after whacking it alive.

Now you're shifting from left to right outside Bucky's door with your blood about to run purple. He hollered something through the door when you knocked the second time. It was either a it's unlocked or a don't come in and you don't trust your hearing enough to distinguish between the two at midnight.

"Bucky," you whine, resting your forehead just below the peephole and trying to shake the low beating sound from your ears. You lift your head. Footsteps then a rattling chain, and he whips the door open.

"Why are you up?"

"What?" How could he be annoyed right now when you're freezing your ass off and you can practically feel the heat rolling out of his room in waves. "I'm cold."

"Well... what am I supposed to do about that?"

You roll your eyes and glare up at him. You could swear he's doing it on purpose. You could swear he's making mental bets just to play with you. Right now he's betting all his cash on who'll crack first. His bet's on you. It always is.

"James, I swear to fucking God—I will walk back to Brooklyn if you don't—"

"Jesus, don't have an aneurism, doll. Come in," he mumbles. You follow him into the little square motel room: one bed, one table, half a bathroom. Plus a TV that only plays soaps and, half the time, crackles with static. The door shuts, and you sigh. You're swaddled by heat; the blood gushes back into the tip of your nose. You can feel your joints again.

"Take this." He tosses a coat at you. At you. It's heavy and green and thick. It's army grade. "Put it on." So you put it on and zip it up. He chuckles at the sight of you because the jacket is massive: down to your knees, quarter-foot past your fingertips. It dwarfs you. It's incredible.

"I feel like a gym teacher."

"What?"

"It's a... mm… nevermind," you hum, "'M tired." Your eyes sink shut, and he watches you from the bed, entertained by your sleep-standing act. For a second, he thinks you're actually gonna fall asleep like that. But then your eyes snap wide open and he looks away.

Bucky shuffles under the sheets, and you watch him curiously through the window of the coat's hood. You suppose you'd missed the fact that he's wearing only boxers, completely shirtless with his cropped hair messily flared around his head. You start to sweat.

He looks up when you whine. "What now?"

"... It's hot."

"You're killin' me, doll."

"I know, I'm sorry," you huff, hands fiddling the flannel insides of the hot jacket sleeves. He watches you struggle to glance at the floor and becomes flush with pity for you. He sighs.

"Alright, hon, take that off and c'mere. We'll get you warm, hmm? Come here."

You flail your arm before latching onto the metal zipper tab and tugging it down with a hissing bzzzz. Bucky watches you relax and let the coat slump to the floor before you peel your socks off and toss them in the small metal trashcan by the door. You pad your way to the empty side of the bed and pat the moth-eaten comforter a few times, smoothing your hand over the soft cotton.

"Don't be shy now. I probably won't bite," he teases.

"You piss me off, Barnes."

"Oh, feel free to freeze your ass off in your room, sweetheart. I'm doin' you a favor."

You harrumph and swing your legs onto the mattress, sliding yourself under the sheets and tucking the blankets under your chin. You face the door, and Bucky settles in beside you, leaving a comfortable six inches of space between you. He faces the wall.

"Night, Bucky."

"Goodnight."

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, and you don't know when Bucky got so close. Or when you turned around. What you do know is that Bucky runs red hot in the middle of the night. Or maybe all the time, but you've never been skin-to-skin in the day. Hell could freeze over and Bucky would still be an inferno.

Sometime between two and three, you tossed around and ended up facing him as he crept closer unconsciously. His hands felt empty in dreams about dancing, so he reached into the darkness and tucked his fingers into the crooks of your knees to draw you into his warm body. On instinct—and because you're still in need of thawing—you curl into him and let your heart beat comfortably alongside his.

Bucky's a talker. He's a vocal sleeper. Good thing his deal was talking. Becca got saddled with sleep walking, and he remembers Ma asking him to install an extra lock high up to keep her from wandering out at twilight. Again. They'd found her mumbling at a brick wall half a block away one night and decided it was for the best.

Now he's rambling on about goats, describing their rough coats as he nuzzles into your navel. His palm spread over your back, he keeps you close, taut to every bit of his body, your leg draped over his waist.

He moans. Loud. And you shift in your sleep, fingers moving to cup the back of his head, brushing through his soft hair. His scalp is hot, and you sigh lazily as you melt further into his tight skin and smooth muscle. If either of you had woken up, it would've been a bloodbath. But for now, it's peaceful, and a dove coos from a lamppost outside.

A couple of times, you open your eyes but find yourself so disoriented, you can't bother to assume it's anymore than a dream and pass out again. At the crack of dawn, Bucky's lashes flutter open, and each of his veins flows with new life and the rising sun. It takes a second for him to realize he's breathing in the warmth of your skin. And he doesn't hate it.

He falls back asleep.

In the morning, you're both too busy adjusting to central standard time to register that you'd been pressed up close and personal all night. Too busy to acknowledge the comfort you both found in each others arms. And hands.

Over breakfast at the twenty-four-hour diner, he smiles meekly, and you blink down at your short stack like nothing happened. Like nothing ever will.

marvel masterlist

[pickingupmymercedes]

Damn him - Lewis Hamilton NSFW

Braids down, finger in and that smirk.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities

Also, wrap it before you tap it.

wordcount: +2K

a/n: I might have found my passion for teasing 🤭. Also, the smirk besties, that smirk @lh44girl 🫦

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

_______________________________________

The room was still shrouded in darkness, only the faintest sliver of dawn creeping through the heavy curtains. Lewis was dead to the world, his arm lazily draped over her waist.

She’s got to hand it to him—when he’s out, he’s out, completely unaware that she’s about to disappear from his bed like a ghost.

Gently, she lifts his arm, careful not to disturb him. The bed creaked slightly as she slipped out, the cool air immediately prickling her skin. Her dress from last night lies abandoned on the floor, and she silently cursed the choice of attire.

A body-hugging, zipper-up-the-back number isn’t exactly designed for a swift exit. Still, she’s been through these routine enough times to make it work.

She pulled on the dress, her fingers fumbling with the zipper, and catched her reflection in the mirror. Her hair a mess, wild and tangled from sleep and... well, whatever that was that happened the night before.

There’s a faint smudge of makeup under her eyes, and she can’t help but notice the telltale mark on her neck. Great. She’s got a press conference today, and now she’ll have to figure out how to cover that up.

Professionalism, right?

She glanced back at the bed. Lewis is sprawled out, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He looks so damn peaceful, so utterly unaware of the world.

And for a moment, just a brief flicker, she considered waking him. But what’s the point? This is how it always goes—no strings, no complications.

Besides, there’s a certain satisfaction in slipping out unnoticed, leaving him to his dreams.

She moved to the door, her hand hovering over the knob. There’s a moment’s hesitation, a tiny voice in the back of her mind that wonders if this will ever change—if they’ll ever stop playing these games.

But she brushed it aside. They both know the score. She’s not looking for anything more, and neither is he.

As she stepped into the hallway, she doesn’t look back. She’s done this dance before, and she’ll do it again. The only thing she takes with her is a hair tie around her wrist—probably his. It’s a small, insignificant thing, but she likes having it, a reminder of the night.

She straightened her dress, squared her shoulders, and walked down the corridor to enter the car waiting.

There’s no shame there, no regret. Just the usual morning after, with the usual complications.

But then, complications are part of the job, aren’t they?

By the time Y/n arrived on the paddock it was its usual buzzing ground, the organized chaos of a media day in full swing.

She’s got her game face on, professional and poised, the lingering traces of last night buried beneath a shower and layers of carefully applied concealer.

She was just finished setting up in the media pen, her notes organized, camera crew in place, when her phone vibrated against the table. She glanced down, expecting some last-minute update or an overzealous PR rep trying to change an interview slot. Instead, it’s a message from Lewis.

You have something that’s mine.

Her brow furrowed as she read it, confusion and intrigue bubbling up. What the hell is he talking about?

She quickly scanned her surroundings, half-expecting to see him lurking somewhere nearby with that damn smirk of his. But the paddock is crowded, drivers and team members moving in every direction, and there’s no sign of him.

She brushed it off. There’s work to be done, and whatever game he’s playing can wait.

But it’s easier said than done. The message lingered in the back of her mind, gnawing at her curiosity. What did she take? He can’t be serious.

She barely had time to dwell on everything that had happened since the night before before she has to move again, weaving through the throng of people.

As she rounds a corner, she nearly collides with him. Lewis, in all his casually confident glory, is striding toward her, his eyes locking onto hers with a look that gets her breath stuck in her throat.

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t stop, but as he passes, he gives her that look. The one that says he’s up to no good, that he’s got something planned.

The smirk on his lips is unmistakable. It’s a promise, a challenge, and she can’t help but roll her eyes at his audacity.

Of course, he’d pull something like this on a day she’s already juggling a million things. She keeps walking, head held high, refusing to let him see how much he’s already under her skin.

Only later, as she’s waiting for an interview to start, she spots him again. This time, he’s not in a rush. He’s lingering, talking to someone from his team, but his attention is split.

She can feel his gaze on her before she even looks up. When she does, he’s already watching her, a little too intently for her liking.

He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, then stops, closing it with a thoughtful pout. His hand slips into his pocket, but only his index goes in, tapping the rest rhythmically against his les.

Her breath hitches again. She knows exactly what that finger is capable of, and the memory from last night floods back in with a vengeance.

The slow, deliberate way he’d teased her, drawn out her pleasure until she was a trembling mess beneath him.

She forces herself to look away, to focus on anything else. But the damage is done. He’s got her flustered, her mind racing in directions it shouldn’t be going in the middle of a workday.

She doesn’t miss the satisfied glint in his eye as she turns her attention back to her notes, pretending she’s unaffected. But he knows better. He always does.

Damn him.

Then she’s back at the hotel, settling into her room, the familiar comfort of routine taking over as she edits the final images for the broadcaster. The day has been a whirlwind, and she’s finally finding her rhythm.

She’s halfway through cropping a shot when the phone rings, startling her. The room phone.

She blinks, confused. Who even uses the room phone these days?

“Hello?”

“Your car is downstairs, ma’am,” the receptionist informs her, tone as polished as ever.

“My car?” She’s even more puzzled now. She didn’t call for a car. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s waiting for you.”

Almost simultaneously, her phone pings with a message. She glances down, and her confusion deepens when she sees the name on the screen: Lewis. She opens the message.

Just get in.

Of course. Who else could it be? A sigh escapes her as she gathers her things, tossing her phone into her bag.

Why was she even entertaining him was something her logical side was having serious trouble grasping.

The blacked-out Mercedes waiting outside is a dead giveaway. She slides into the backseat, and there he is—Lewis, sprawled out with that easy confidence he wears like a second skin.

The door barely clicks shut before his hands are on her, pulling her close as the car begins to move. A closed little window the only thing separating them from whoever was on the front seats.

“Lewis, not here” she hisses, feeling his fingers deftly working their way to the button of her jeans.

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Don’t worry, love. The big guy driving us won’t say a thing.”

His fingers are relentless, sliding under the fabric, seeking out her heat. Her breath catches as he finds her clit, rubbing it through the thin barrier of her underwear.

The car is moving, taking them somewhere in the Milan area, but she’s too caught up in the sensation to care where they’re headed.

“You love the tease, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

She bites her lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatens to escape. She can’t let him win that easily, not when he’s already got her halfway undone with just a few well-placed touches.

But when he finally slides a finger inside her, she’s lost, her body arching into him despite herself.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, dragging her toward the edge with a practiced ease that only makes her want him more. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter until she’s gasping, muffling her sounds against his shoulder as she comes, her body trembling from the intensity.

But it’s not enough. Not even close. She’s still aching, still needy, and she knows he’s fully aware of it.

“Lewis,” she breathes, her voice a low plea. “I need more than this.”

His laugh is soft, almost indulgent, as if he expected nothing less. “Patience, babe.”

The car begins to slow, and she glances out the window. She can only assume it’s their next stop in whatever he’s got planned.

He withdraws his hand, leaving her feeling achingly empty. But the promise of more, of what’s to come, is enough to keep her on edge, her pulse quickening as he opens the door and steps out, offering her his hand.

“Come on,” he says, that damn smirk back in place. “We’re not done yet.”

As Y/n steps out of the car, the cool evening air wraps around her, a welcome help to the heat still simmering within her.

She takes Lewis’s hand, not because she needs it, but because it’s part of the unspoken dance they’ve been doing for over a year now.

He leads her up a discreet side entrance, the back of another hotel, and it doesn’t take long for her to recognize it.

The same damn place she’d snuck out of this morning, trying to preserve a shred of her dignity. And here she is, to end the day right back where she started it.

The universe’s funny like that.

They move quickly and quietly through the hallways, Lewis’s hand gripping hers with an easy familiarity. The top floor, naturally—because Lewis doesn’t do anything by halves.

When they finally enter his room, he pauses, turning to face her. There’s something different in his eyes, a seriousness that wasn’t there before. But before she can analyze it, he’s speaking.

“I believe you’ve got two things that are mine,” he says, voice low and smooth.

She arches a brow, trying to play it cool even though her heart is thudding in her chest. “Oh…two?”

He steps closer, and she can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “My hair tie you took with you this morning” he says, nodding toward her wrist where the band sits snugly.

She glances down at it, remembering how he’d used it to pull her hair back last night when his hands were too busy holding her in place.

A small smirk tugs at her lips as she looks back at him.

“And you, babe” he continues, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re mine.”

She huffs a laugh in his face, half-amused, half-challenged. She turns from him and sits on the sofa, crossing her legs as she slowly let’s her head fall to the side and her lips pout “Yours? I don’t remember ever saying yes to anything.”

Lewis smiles, but there’s something in his eyes that’s deadly serious. He closes the distance between them, his hand lifting to cup her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Will you, then? Let whatever this is stay in the past and be my partner?”

Damn him.

She was just here for the sex, the fun, the thrill of sneaking around with one of the most recognizable men on the planet. But he’s gone and done it—turned the tables on her when she least expected it.

And of course, she wants to scream to the top of the roof she does. But she’s not going to make it that easy for him.

A slow smile spreads across her face, and she uses his arms to help herself up, bringing her face level with his. Her other hand finds its way to his jawline, her thumb brushing lightly against the beard there.

She leans in, her lips barely grazing his ear as she whispers, “You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that, Romeo.”

And then she pulls back just enough to see the flicker of surprise in his eyes before she leaves a kiss at the corner of his lips.

With a teasing glance, she turns and strides towards the bed by the windows, peeling off her shirt as she goes.

She doesn’t look back until she reaches for the hooks on her bra. Then, with a wicked grin, she glances over her shoulder at him. “Aren’t you gonna help me with that?”

There’s a heartbeat of hesitation, and then she hears him move, the soft sound of his footsteps on the carpet as he closes the distance between them.

Because this is what they do—challenge, tease, and drive each other crazy.

Only this time, the prize is that much bigger.

She can feel it in the way his hands are just a little gentler, his touch lingering a little longer as he reaches for her.

And as much as she wants to hold onto her bravado, there’s a part of her that’s ready to see where this path might lead them.

But first, there’s the matter of making him earn it.

______________________________________________________________

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[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Language, slight smut, touching, body-issues, reader has insecurities over big chest, ass slapping, oral sex (f receiving), self-esteem, mentions slight panic and anxiety, mirror play, and NSFW.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Plus size Reader

Wordcount: 1,945

A/N: I’ve had a lot of negative comments from people/my family about my weight lately, so… This is self-indulgent. I need Eddie to make me and my body type feel appreciated.

Buying lingerie to show Eddie and he’s honored that someone dresssd up for him.

You had fumbled with the bags all day, caught between regretting your decision and ready to take it on. Eddie wasn’t like other guys… other people, really. It wasn’t that you feared what he would do, no. It was the humiliating dread of him being nice to spare your feelings, the worst possible outcome equaling out to disgust at your surprise. But you had pushed it aside, freshened in your shower, applied a different makeup look to frame your features, then slipped an old parka on over the black lace.

You’d forgone heels and kept your boots on, those easy to take off once you had arrived at the trailer, your giddy boyfriend greeting you like he’s never seen you a day in his life. With the air conditioner properly placed in the trailer, Eddie’s hair was down, curled around his shoulders, a simple white tank top and black cut off sweat shorts over his trim form. He’s always beautiful to you. The amused smirk on his face did not go unnoticed, however, upon taking in your parka in this sweltering Indiana heat (even at night). It was an automatic “it’s cooler in my room, if you wanna?” offer, with him grabbing two bottles of coke from his fridge on the way.

Time to do this thing…

~*~

When he pushes his door open, the coolness that carries his Old Spice, nicotine soaked scent, it hits you square in the face. You relax a little, already sliding your fingers into your jacket buttons, popping them open and working the zipper. His back is to you as clears some space on his dresser, going on about why you’re wearing a coat, if you’re okay, what is it about. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, an anxious reaction, and you’re shoving the coat off your shoulders, exposed skin immediately stimulated with the prickles of electrifying goosebumps. And Eddie, god love him, he isn’t at all prepared for what he sees when your voice hooks into his attention span and gets him to turn around.

“Eddie?”

Initially, you take his shocked look as something bad. His widened eyes and slack jaw, the way he runs his fingers and tugs at his own roots. You feel an immature burn of familiar tears, reaching to pick up the coat and apologize. His voice leaves zero room for that energy in here.

“No, baby. No, sweetheart.” Layering on pet names to help soothe you, he calms the panicked nerves he can see escalating.

Though his own heart rate is out of control, his tongue’s tip on fire, touching his cheek, sweats suddenly tighter. You are his personal goddess on the daily — something he never expected, nor looked for. And you did this for him? The devil freak gets something special from an Angel like you? Temporarily halting your actions, you do notice the way his eyes expand into the depths of midnight black, how he reaches to adjust himself in his sweats - it keeps you here.

He reaches for you with that outstretched, tattooed arm. “Baby? Let me in. Let me see? I’m just not used to this…” He rushes to correct his phrasing, already knowing what it could do to you. “I mean, I’m not used to a hot fuckin’ woman getting dressed up for a guy like me, y’know? Takes a minute to sink in. And honestly? I’m waiting for Wayne to wake me up right now.”

It all clicks for you. It isn’t just about your insecurities, but this also giving something special to someone who also struggles to see confidence and self-worth. You’ve never been more proud of yourself than in this moment, overcoming your fears to get Eddie Munson this excited? You take his hand with a soft smile, albeit, still shy as he brings you around to pinch your chin between his fingertips, leaning in to press a kiss to your nose’s tip. His voice is gravelly, soaked in heat. Eddie’s mouth ghosts across your own, barely touching as he asks, “Permission to touch?”

You give into him, hand still in his, the other raising to hold onto the warmth of his shoulder, twirling his curls into your grasp to ease some nerves. His eyes immediately widen as he truly gets to look you over. Overflowing thighs in a beautiful thong, your thick curls peeking out of the sides, your beautiful legs — clad in silk sheer stockings, lace trimmed to meet, your stretch marks, your scars, the way, in which, you carry your plush stomach, to your full breasts that spill over the cups, and even your makeup — different, darker, more smoldering. He tips the digits of his spare hand, rings clinking together as he tickles his way up your forearm, tracing the vein back down, until he’s tapping on your pulse point inside of your wrist. Hands join, his grip shifting you into a twist, with your back pressed against his chest, and how badly he wants you nudging at your bare ass cheek.

You bow your head from immediate reflection in the mirror — something your boyfriend has yet to see. He’s too busy watching the way your ass swallows that thin black strap, this set showcasing all the indents that cascade down your thighs. And even your boots, he loves that you kept it you, that you didn’t force yourself into heels. You don’t like them, he knows this. He lets his fingers path their way along your spine, rubbing across the clasp on your bra, pausing to ask once more, now quite aware that you’re looking awkwardly at his messy floor.

“Sweetheart? You okay up there?” It’s silent for a beats, but then you’re mentioning his mirror.

He fights back a sigh, because how can you not see how perfect you look — without or without all of this. He wants to keep your comfort in mind, but it’s also important that he helps you see how fucking gorgeous you are. So he shakes his head, his curls tickling your shoulder blades.

“I don’t think so.”

You object, stopping yourself when his voice pleads into a softness that you’ve never heard from him before.

“I want to try somethin’. And if you don’t like it, we move away from the mirror, kay? Zero pressure, all your call.”

You have to admit that you’re intrigued, and excitement bubbling beneath your breastbone, dumping molten lava over your flesh. Eddie can see you inhale sharply through the mirror. He does that downward nod, brow raised, and you’re nodding. He’s so giddy that his tongue pokes out in concentration, joined hands freed, one of his dipping backward in a journey to slide the back of his knuckles across your thong strap. You arch into his torso, watching him watch you.

There’s a primal confidence that stirs in your belly, twists inside of your gut, ultimately soaking you between your legs. And as he finds the clasp on your bra, getting it unhooked in one go, only for his hands to dance along your sides, hook underneath your armpits, and immediately begin to tease your areola in languid strokes — you lose it. He allows his chin to rest on your shoulder, his voice the cure for everything you’ve ever needed, or will desire. “Look at yourself. Don’t look at me, just watch yourself.”

Your gaze finds your own body, not even caring at the exposure of your breasts or how they hang (something you are trying to be okay with, you know), heart accelerating full speed ahead, sure that Eddie can feel it. It’s almost like his mimicking the way he runs his fingers across the body of his guitar — easy, languidly, making sure to dip and curve when necessary. He goes with your head tilt, his voice finding your earlobe, hot breath causing your nipples to harden. “This body, it’s like the shield of your secret world. One that only I’m allowed into…” He breaks apart his sentence to drop his hands over your navel, curling into that ticklish spot that has you shivering.

“Eddie…” You watch your lips part, tongue licking to smear your lipstick.

It seems as if you’re watching a private show, beautiful woman and her beautiful lover. You’re out of body, yet you have never been more present. Eddie, he can hardly think, his breaths falling over uneven pants, his cock so hard that his eyes could cross. He can’t stop touching you, won’t dare miss how your eyes have glossed over at the performance your body is giving you. He can cry within this moment, so grateful, so fuckin’ proud of you.

So he keeps going, saying what he feels in several organs. “Your body is a map and I get to explore it with these.” He wiggles his fingers against your tummy, letting them fall above your elastic waistband, before they dip inside. Holy Christ, you’re warm, and he hasn’t even touched you properly.

“With my lips.” His lips find the flesh of your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth — tasting your perspiration, your body wash… you.

He watches your legs spread on their own accord, beckoning him to take what he wants. His fingers brush through your soaking wet curls, a moan leaving his throat so deep that it echoes inside of his diaphragm. Fuck. You’re a mess. Both of you hold your breaths as his fingers glide along your seam, combing through your hair, making it even sloppier, cruder.

And the way you sound…

It is you who looks up first this time to catch the reflection, enchanted by the way his knuckles and the rings adorning take shape beneath your lace panties. He lets his remaining hand smack your ass, one cheek at a time, before it cups your breast to give a pinch. You’re shocked when he releases you to come around and briefly block your view. But he presses his sticky fingers to your mouth and you suck them in without question, enjoying your own taste (something you would barely try beforehand), and Eddie literally gasps, tugging you by a love handle in for a crushing kiss. By the time you part, you’ve left your lipstick stain on his fingers and his own mouth — your claim.

That’s when he licks his lips, dropping to his knees, giving you an entirely different view. He’s at your feet, tugging your panties down, a thick creamy web threaded from you to the crotch, making you swallow harshly. You balance on his shoulder to step out, left in just your boots and thigh high stockings. He rubs his hands along the material, squeezing, appreciating the flesh beneath. His brown irises are left to a simple ring, a murky abyss shadowing his sclera.

His does that thing with his mouth, the one that causes you to fold like a lawn chair. And then he’s speaking to you, using two fingers to noisily part your cunt. “You can even take my tongue captive inside of you, empress.”

Your hands drop, fisting into his curls immediately, as he wastes to time to give you one solid lick, gathering what he has to circle your opening, his tongue’s tip then pushing into you. He’s whining in little grunts, vibrating between your legs, in absolutely heaven on earth. You begin to ride over his face, hand in his curls, unrelenting, one finding your nipple to play with. You’re doing exactly as he’d hoped — watching yourself receive his worship. And this is something he will never let you forget.

[yawnderu]

Cat and Mouse — König x Reader

CW: porn with barely any plot, primal play, hunter and prey, rough sex, previous consent, established relationships, anal fingering, König is too in love to fuck you hard, love-making.

A/N: I'm taking a very short break after this one, trying to work on my writer's block and to come up with better ideas. My inbox and dms are always open, I love getting random asks and talking to all of you!♡

The wind blew on your hair as you ran through the woods, barely managing to narrowly miss the trees when you turn back, the giant man chasing after you standing out easily— his imposing figure looking even more intimidating under the moonlight.

His cocky laugh encourages you to run faster, your heart beating in your ears when you hear him start chasing after you again, legs already exhausted from running nonstop for the past ten minutes, never once losing sight of the masked man matter how fast you ran. He was simply faster, with a better stamina that came from being a soldier most of his life. You gasp for air, lungs greedily taking in the oxygen as the world starts to blur out, the muffled sounds of nature around you doing nothing to help as you manage to find the strength to run.

"Get over here!" His loud voice overpowered your surroundings, burly arms wrapping around your waist before manhandling you onto the ground, holding you still no matter how much you tried to kick and scream.

In a pathetic attempt to escape him you throw a punch to his face that connects square on his jaw, the man's grip on you loosening slightly out of shock. You take the chance to try to run away again, barely managing to get on your knees before he's pushing your face down onto the cold, moist soil, the strong smell nulling your senses so bad you don't feel him pulling down your pants until the cold wind hits your bare cunt.

"Caught you, kleine maus." He taunts in a whisper, running one of his gloved fingers up and down your cunt, spreading the wetness all over it before he wets his thumb, pressing onto your puckered hole.

"Wait—" His hand comes down to deliver a hard slap to your ass, the whine of protest you let out doing nothing but make the blood rush faster to his cock. He manages to get his thumb in, fucking it in and out of your ass. You bite your hand in an attempt to muffle your tiny moans, the stimulation of all the nerves being touched by his thick thumb already getting to you, feeling your wet cunt clench around nothing, making the tall man behind you let out an amused, taunting laugh.

"Little mouse likes getting chased around like an animal, ja?" He's clearly trying to get into your head and it's working, not even protesting when you hear his zipper being pulled down, his heavy cock laid out on your ass. König is huge— you've seen it way too many times, felt it way too many times, yet it never fails to surprise you.

"Well, spatzi, you act like an animal—" His words are interrupted by a muffled groan, his cock sinking into you slowly, yet it's so painfully tight he never got used to it. He groaned as he finally bottomed out, a sharp hiss mixing in with your moaning.

"You get treated like one." He finished his sentence, his free hand holding onto the curve of your waist, fingers bruising the skin as he began to thrust into you, movements fast and desperate, your warm insides feeling way too good.

"Fuck— slow down, König." You plead pathetically even when that's the opposite of what you truly want, feeling the tip of his cock slam into the spongy spot of your cunt over and over, whiny moans mixing in with his loud groans and growls.

"No can do, Schatz." You can hear the shit-eating smirk he has under the sniper hood, almost making you smile before he starts to slam his hips into you faster, pulling his cock out all the way before slamming himself back in. You're reduced to a pathetic moaning mess as König drills into your cunt, hitting every single sensitive bundle of nerves along the way to hit your cervix.

He pulls out suddenly, making you feel empty for a second before he manhandles you onto your back, taking a second to admire your pretty, fucked-out face and body. One of his warm hands comes down to cup your cheek, thumb caressing the skin softly before he slowly pushes into you, this time much more gentle. Truth is, König wanted to fuck you. He wanted to fuck you good and hard, yet how can he resist the urge to make love to you when you look up at him with nothing but trust and adoration in your eyes?

"Pretty girl." He muses, holding his weight above you as his hips roll against yours, pushing himself deep inside with every single thrust. He's nothing like before— all the adrenaline from chasing you down fully gone as he simply focuses on making love to you, light blue eyes looking down at you with nothing short of raw devotion. Your legs wrap around his defined waist and he fucks into you harder, one of his gloved hands coming down between your bodies to rub on your hard clit.

"Fuck—" Your back arches, hips moving weakly to meet his thrusts, the double stimulation driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it, my pretty girl." His masked lips are planted on your forehead for a soft kiss, his fingers rubbing faster and faster as he feels his cock twitch, wanting nothing else than to finish inside you.

"Can I come inside, liebling? Want me to fill you up...?" His masked face is buried into the crook of your neck, eyes closed tightly as he tried his best to get your consent before cumming.

"Need— need to cum inside. Fill you up with my babies, please." He was now getting whiny, images of your tummy stretched out carrying his baby with your tits full of milk raid his brain, numbing him out to everything around him other than the way your tight cunt suck him in.

"Yes— cum inside, baby." Your arms wrap around his neck while your thighs hold him on a leg lock, pushing him even deeper into your cunt, not allowing his stuttering hips to pull out much as he ruts into you, his fingers going back to rub your clit, your bodies uniting as one in a display of love and passion, orgasms hitting together like a tidal wave. Your cunt tightens up around him, his balls emptying all the way deep inside you, a low growl coming out of his lips.

He tries his best not to collapse on top of you, managing to pull out slowly and lay down next to you, pulling you closer to him. He takes deep breaths, his big hand gently massaging your scalp before looking down at you, meeting your gaze. You can't see it because of the mask, yet the way his eyes soften and turn into crescents is enough for you to know he's smiling.

[tired-biscuit]

18+ MDNI, fem!omega!reader/alpha!kiba // cw: omegaverse, knotting, breeding. established relationship.

↳ you slip into heat at the worst time imaginable; right on kiba’s 30th birthday. as a result, nothing goes according to plan.

“ugh, i’m so sorry.”

you barely recognize the sound of your own voice as you listen to the quiet sigh your boyfriend lets out as soon as he wraps his strong arms around you from behind.

your bedroom is enveloped in darkness despite the fact that it’s summer — a particularly hot one this year — and the alarm clock on your nightstand shows that it’s barely a little past eight in the evening. it’s still light outside, the sky is clear and pretty, but the curtains that frame your window are drawn tight. the only source of light comes in the form of a single orange streak that seeps from the hallway through the crack in the door.

as of right now, it sits on the corner of your pillow that you’re resting your head on, unmoving. judging by the progressing hour, as well as the way faint warmth begins to tickle the top of your head at that very instant, you suppose it won’t take long until the ray settles on your already much too hot cheek as well.

nuzzling your face further into the cotton, crisp white bedding, you can’t help but let your eyes roll in evident dread at the realization. if your current situation is to be taken into any form of consideration, extra heat is the last thing you need right now.

kiba’s weight makes him sink deeper into the mattress when he readjusts on top of the bed you’d spent ages curled up in, trying to find solace all by yourself; that is until he’d shown up.

he had barely stepped foot inside your apartment when the scent of what was going on had hit him square in the face and had led him straight to you. granted, you’d vaguely texted him about it beforehand as to not make him worry too much, whilst also explaining why you couldn’t make it to his birthday dinner, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

and while he’d thought he could handle it as he sat in his car and drove over to your place instead of the restaurant where you were supposed to meet, he’s not so sure that can be the case anymore.

after all, you smell outright intoxicating. it’s so profound and intense, your scent. so sweet that it almost makes his teeth ache. but it’s not just the smell of you that coaxes him to slip into protector mode and start acting on instinct — though it is a key factor here. no, it’s the fact that every single aspect of you in that very moment is designed to lure an alpha like him right in. to lock him into mating.

always known to be a headstrong, self-assured kind of man; one with clear boundaries and a rare ability to make definite choices without any sort of trouble — oftentimes on a whim — kiba finds himself feeling perplexed for the first time in a long while.

to put it simply, he doesn’t know what to do. he’s got his girlfriend, a naked omega in heat, wrapped in his arms. he’s got the most raging boner that he’s ever had in his life twitching and throbbing in his pants, pressing so stubbornly against the zipper that it hurts like a motherfucker. he’s got a sudden wildfire overtaking his senses and fast-crumbling sanity.

but what he doesn’t have is consent.

every inhale he executes now, it’s like he’s turning into a brainless insect at best. you’re pure sugar, fruit dipped in honey, and every thought he has dissipates into nothing because of it. he’s ready to carelessly drown in the nectar if it means you’ll let him devour you whole.

will you, though?

god, never mind that for now; his pushy alpha brain cannot possibly bring itself to think about you refusing him at a crucial time like this. all that matters is that he shows you that he’s ready to help you out, to make it clear as day. your sudden heat has induced a rut from his side and it’s starting to give him a fever as the first signs of it step into the spotlight.

it’s all happening so fast, his pants are already feeling way too tight. there’s a blush creeping up his neck, tinting his ears and cheeks a bright red, and pre-cum is turning his underwear sticky. one second he was fine, albeit slightly worried for your wellbeing. now, he’s horny out of his fucking mind and his dick just won’t stop growing bigger.

so as a result, his shoes now lay discarded in the middle of your bedroom from the way he had hurried to get to you as soon as possible. his keys and phone had practically been tossed to the side on your nightstand, carelessly. the screen sometimes lights up with birthday wishes from friends and family, most of who you’ve already met, but neither of you cares about it in that moment. he’ll type his thank you’s in the morning.

you exhale a breath you’d forgotten you were holding when he brings you closer to his chest, embracing you until your limbs become entangled with his own longer ones and your naked spine touches the buttons of the fancy navy blue button up shirt you’d suggested he put on back when you’d still thought you could endure this entire ordeal that you’re currently suffering through.

his belt buckle is cold. it almost feels like a blessing when it presses against your sizzling hot skin.

“hey,” is all he says.

“oh, god,” you grit out in reply, practically heaving at this point. the amount of saliva that starts to gather on the flat of your tongue the moment your body senses he’s near is ungodly. it’s unnatural, the way you respond to him.

“i know,” he coos softly even if he doesn’t know; he can’t possibly know what it’s like to endure a thing like this. but he tries. “here, lemme… i gotcha, baby. shh.”

a strangled little sound leaves your lips when he holds you still and starts to scent you without even giving it a second thought. to the surprise of both of you, you comply without any sort of fuss as he drags his hands all over your stiff, naked body, effectively easing the overly tense muscle into something a bit more lax and bearable. you don’t even notice how hard you’d been clenching your jaw until he coaxes you into relaxing it with a couple of strokes from his fingers.

slipping into heat completely unprepared can be a pesky little thing for an organized, perfectionist omega like yourself. when you’re so used to leading an independent lifestyle in a society that certainly doesn’t lend you a helping hand with it, and indulge in endless persistance of being in complete control of your body at all times, the occasional flood of hormones that turns you embarrassingly docile is immensely unwelcomed as far as you’re concerned.

yes, blatantly aching to be bred by your alpha’s cock like you’re some bitch in heat is seen as embarrassing in your eyes even if that’s exactly what you are. you believe there’s a lot more to you than just rolling onto your back and acting submissive towards your more dominant partner, thus listening to that wretched primal part of your brain that’s taken center stage inside your skull for now, but at the same time…

it is just so unbelievably hard to fight instinct when he’s right there behind you, with his hips pressed so closely to your own. so hard to ignore and not burn at the way his touch turns noticeably more possessive over the span of a couple of moments of comforting strokes he otherwise gives to your body. so hard to dismiss the way your heartbeats align and your cores reach the exact same temperature.

he even smells invitingly delicious. the rut you’d unintentionally sent him spiralling into had changed the base of his scent in mere minutes. its only aim now is to make him as alluring as possible to you so that you will enable him to mate and reproduce. and he’s not even to blame.

aftershave riddles his otherwise signaturely musky scent; it softens the almost overbearing notes of pure alpha. when he raises his hand to stroke his fingers along your jaw for a second time around, you’re briefly present enough to also catch hints of coconut adorning his tan skin. it’s rich and summery, perfectly him.

he must have used the pricey shower gel you’d bought to surprise him for your anniversary a few months back, because he’s gotten all tidied up for date night that’s now definitely not going to happen because of your ‘condition’, or whatever you want to call it.

either way, it’s the fucking worst. to say that the entire thing is a bust would be an understatement. even the super secret birthday party that you’ve planned for ages had to be rescheduled because of the way how your skin feels like it’s being pulled too tight over your bones, the flames erupting.

i mean, slick is literally dripping out of your soaked pussy like you’re a fucking hose, goddammit. did you really think you’d be suitable for socializing in your current state?

part of it is your own fault, you suppose. ignoring the symptoms and the evident increase in your body temperature that’s been building up over the last few days because you had something to prove was a stupid idea. believing the fact that your sheer will and determination would be able to keep the worst of your heat at bay, without the usage of any sort of suppressants at least until the weekend had passed, had been an even stupider one.

and now you’re stuck paying the consequences.

“i’m sorry,” you feebly parrot the apology that you’re still slightly unsure about if you mean to give to him or yourself. perhaps it’s both. at this point, who knows?

there’s a beat of silence before he whispers, “you’re sorry for what?”

the rasp in his voice pulls you back from your troubled thoughts that just won’t stop whirling around one possible solution to this agony: dick.

have you really stooped so low?

fighting to at least keep your sanity if you can’t keep your pride, you try to focus whilst straining your ears. try to actually listen to him. despite speaking quietly, he sounds almost breathless. like he’s struggling to be in your presence, doing absolutely nothing about the problem at hand.

you should let him do something. better yet, you should let him in.

come on. be a good girl. a good little omega.

let him in.

“for, uh… mmh,” your brow furrows as you try to find the right words you’re looking for. fuck this stupid omega brain of yours, truly. “for ruining your birthday just like i’m ruining your pants right now; gosh, i dunno.”

heat sears your face at the thought of the milky white residue you’ve surely left coating his jeans in copious amounts. instead of keeping you in-check, the image of it only makes you all the more hot and bothered. god help you.

“it’s fine,” he assures you way too fast, swallowing thickly.

the action is audible. listening to it, you can imagine how his adam’s apple bobs with it. up and down, so subtle but just so attractive. his neck appears in your mind’s eye, that sweaty, muscular throat of his, with the vein protruding on the side and— stop it.

“i-it’s not fine! what part of this looks fine to you…?” you groan as you shake your head in disbelief. he’s so close, you just need him so badly. it makes you unable to think straight. “we had plans, for crying out loud!”

“we can take a raincheck.”

“but you’ve just entered your thirties!”

“so?”

“it’s an important number, is it not?”

“babe,” he says, chuckling at your nonsense. “i’ll be in my thirties for a long while. don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“but i’ve got an entire cake meant for like ten people minimum sitting in my fridge.”

“well, if that’s the case,” he mutters, grinning lazily, “i’ll try my hardest to eat the whole thing by the end of the weekend if it’ll make ya feel any better.”

you turn your head to glare at him. “you’re not helping with your silly little jokes, you know.”

he snickers at that and it makes your heart bounce. “oh, i know, all right.”

“it’s just,” you start, sighing. the bridge of your nose scrunches up in annoyance when yet another heatwave washes over you and you suppress the urge to mewl. “this entire thing is so frustrating.”

“mm. tell me ‘bout it,” he says before he runs his broad palm along the column of your neck. your collarbone. the underside of your breast and down your stomach, which trembles at the feeling of the rough callouses that adorn his fingerpads.

the touch only offers more oxygen to the already raging flames that are already licking your entire body. you can’t stifle the small whimper that leaves your lips in response to even more silvery strings of your arousal smearing over the dark denim of his pants almost immediately. it causes a muscle to flutter in his cheek as he looks down and watches how wetter you’re getting by the second.

you’re entirely naked, have gotten rid of your damp, slick-coated panties because your blood feels like it’s boiling under your skin and you just couldn’t handle the heat anymore. he’s completely dressed because he didn’t think you’d actually slip into one while he’s around.

no, he didn’t dare believe it, even if his keen sense of smell did allow him to catch a whiff of a particular kind of sweetness appearing in your scent a long while ago. didn’t dare consider it, even if it did start to invoke some kind of primal, almost aggressive urge to protect what’s his in him.

but the thing is: you aren’t even his to begin with — at least not yet, that is. you refuse to bear his mark, refuse to submit, refuse to be mated even if he’s expressed the wish himself once or twice by now.

so to be entirely fair, it’s no wonder kiba feels surprised to see you acting so disheveled and pliant for him like you are right now. unlike him, you’re always so collected, looking like you have your shit together no matter the situation that’s thrown in your direction. making it look like he’s the one relying on you, instead of you relying on him, despite the roles you both possess.

maybe that’s why he’s so into you. after all, he’s always been one to love a good challenge.

and you’re just that.

furthermore, you’ve become so good at keeping your cool around him that in the last year and a half of being in a relationship together, you’ve even managed to slip out of his grasp whenever the merest hint of your heat had started to come forward. taking suppressants and disappearing off the face of the earth whenever your scent had started gaining attention from nearby alphas, you’ve successfully avoided your boyfriend until the entire thing had passed and you were back to normal, leaving him yearning all the more to see that side of you once and for all.

and whilst we’re on the topic of yearning…

he’s about to go batshit crazy because of it.

“listen to me. i don’t care about the pants, i’ll wash ‘em. and my birthday isn’t ruined,” he mutters as he nuzzles his face into the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “far from it, actually.”

silence hangs in the air for a little while before you finally whisper, “really?”

“really,” he answers in a heartbeat. it’s genuine.

he kisses your neck without warning then, making the nerves near your scent gland buzz with phantom electricity. it’s all warmth and grazing of sharp canines, and the way you arch your back so that you can push your ass further into his crotch in response makes both of your breaths shudder.

he grinds against you, and you react in the same way. drags his tongue along the sweetspot on your neck, and you reach back with your hand so that you can tug on his hair that he’s combed through a million times tonight just for you. you rock against each other like this for a long while, just dry humping, kissing, edging and listening to each other’s shaky breathing.

you’ve become outright slippery between your legs by now, it makes the rubbing of your thighs all the easier even if you want to die from shame because of how obviously horny and out of mind you’re acting during it. moaning and whining, you’re practically trembling by the time his fingers circle your puffy little clit. you feel your hole clenching around nothing in an instant; practically begging you to let him stuff it full already.

he applies steady pressure, the same kind he’s applied so many times before, but it feels different now. you’ve had sex plenty of times during the course of your relationship, even before it had been given an official date, but never during one of your heats. it changes everything. it’s an entirely new playfield that you have yet to explore.

truth be told, you’re shocked. you’ve known him for over two decades, have grown alongside him; drifting apart and reconnecting once or twice, perhaps even three times during your years spent in different high schools and universities, before you’d finally settled on remaining in each other’s lives for good.

you’re supposed to know every inch of both his body and soul by now, but the heat that’s plaguing your mind makes you see him in an entirely different light. it’s like you’re wearing rose-coloured spectacles. you’ve been in love with him before, now you’re obsessed. every breath you take makes the world spin right before your very eyes even though he has just become your world.

and that world slows down, now, all sound is drowned out by your rapid pulse that beats inside your ears as he quickens his touch on your almost painfully sensitive button of nerves. your cunt is so warm, soft, sticky. he can barely keep it together from how badly he wants to pound it already.

“k-kiba,” you stutter his name and suppress the urge to cringe at yourself. anger and overwhelming lust make your toes curl.

“look at how wet you are, pretty,” he utters softly, sounding so baffled and in awe by it at the same time that it’s almost funny. and sure enough, when he raises his hand from the apex of your thighs and holds it right in front of your face, his fingers are practically glimmering with your slick.

you’re quick to avert your eyes from the sight.

“well, you’re really fucking hard, okay?” you attempt to quip back but fail outrageously. it’s supposed to be a jab, your statement, but the high pitch that appears in your voice now exhibits pure, relentless need instead. even your hips are wiggling by their own accord and you hate yourself for allowing it, but you just can’t help it. it’s all instinct.

“fuck yeah i am. i mean, how couldn’t i be hard when you—” he grunts mid-sentence and you swear there’s a certain kind of edge to it; like a growl that thunders somewhere deep within his chest. every exhale tickles your throat as he pants — it cools the sweat that sticks to your skin in a layer so thick that it makes you shiver. “when you smell so fuckin’ good; so sweet?”

your scents meld as you writhe against each other, it makes you tip your head back and gasp from how good it is to inhale into your lungs. at this point, your brain is screaming at you to let him in, to let him do whatever he wants if it means he’ll stuff you full and knock you up by the end of it.

you can’t take it anymore.

you want, no, you need to feel the heated stretch of your alpha’s cock. need to be mounted. to be turned over then so that you can look at his face as he manhandles you into the tightest mating press known to man, and to feel his sharp teeth at long last sink into the sensitive scent gland on your neck, marking you as his before he lets you do the same to him. to let him use you as his cocksleeve the moment you become his mate, his hands gripping your hips so hard during every thrust that you’re bruising at the curves, but it just feels too good to notice the pain to accompany it.

you want your sloppy cunt squelching and gushing slick around him until he can feel his balls tighten and he cums and spills his load so deep into you that it goes straight to your goddamn womb. want to watch him keep every single drop from spilling with the help of his knot that you want him to push into you at some point, too. want his sweaty forehead pressing against your own as he fucking plugs you and sucks in deep, ragged breaths, whispering how he’s just put so many pups inside you that you’ll have to start thinking about moving house.

and afterwards, you want soft, warm kisses instead of messy, sloppy ones. you want the faintest taste of your blood on his tongue intermingling with his own iron. want him looking so big as he holds himself steady above you; your legs still wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. want him calling you his mate for the first time ever because he’s finally able to do so. and well… you want yourself whispering the same.

you want all of that.

“kiba, i need you to take care of me,” you whisper, turning around to face him. your body is aching for him by now, the scent and closeness only make your desire worsen. you’re turning light-headed with want and it makes you wrap your twitchy hands around his bicep and tug on his sleeve as you try to pull him forward so that he can top you as soon as possible. you’re clinging onto him for dear life, throwing yourself at him even if you’d said you’d never. “need you to make me yours, ‘kay? right here, right now. please.”

“yeah,” he mumbles, clearly dazed. his body moves so quick, it’s pure thrill. “yeah, of course, baby. anything you want.”

poor man, he’s been waiting for all this time just to hear you say the words.

the quiet clink of his belt buckle becoming undone causes a shiver to rush down your spine. it sends you into a frenzy.

“please. oh, god, please, please,” you repeat your pleas, choking back a sob as he pushes you onto your stomach. the weight of him that settles above you is so comforting, it only causes more hot tears to well up inside your eyes. “it hurts so bad, it feels like i’m fucking dying.”

“i’m here,” he says, and his touch feels like you’re being stroked with embers when he grips you by the hips and makes you push your ass higher into the air. he can’t control the strength he possesses anymore, the manhandling has already begun even if he’s trying so hard to remain gentle. “i’ll take care of ya. i promise, sweetheart.”

who would have thought he’d get a mate for his birthday?

[reminiscingtonight]

Three's Not A Crowd

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

[WOSO Masterlist]

It was an accident. 

If confronted about it Ingrid will vehemently deny snooping.

Because she wasn’t. In any way. 

It all began with a simple tidying up. No matter how many times Ingrid reminded Mapi not to leave her various books and bags around the house the Spaniard just never took it to heart.

So doing what she does best, Ingrid puts them away for her girlfriend.

Opening the hallway closet, she starts the daunting task of hauling the heavy bag onto one of the higher shelves. It’s there, when the bag is halfway over her head that something falls out, the zipper not having been fully shut.

A couple curse words are grumbled out when the object smacks her square on the top of her head. Sighing, Ingrid crouches to grab at what she realizes is Mapi’s sketchbook… only to pause when she sees the page the book has fallen open onto.

Mapi’s artistic abilities have always been magnificent. When not busy with football or taking Ingrid out on dates, the Spaniard can always be found sketching away in some corner of their house. Ingrid’s always the first to point out how wonderful she finds her girlfriend’s pieces of art but these particular sketches, they’re nothing if not breathtaking. 

Ingrid picks up the book, fingers lightly tracing the unfamiliar face staring back at her. Whoever Mapi’s captured down on the paper is nothing if not beautiful. Your eyes look kind, mouth curled up into the gentlest of smiles.

Surprisingly it isn’t jealousy Ingrid feels at the sight of someone else captured so perfectly by Mapi. It’s curiosity that causes her to flip through page after page of Mapi’s sketchbook, each one containing a different picture of you through what’s clearly multiple different days. In some of them you’re staring right at Ingrid through the pages of the pad, in others it’s only your side profile that’s been captured.

The more Ingrid looks, the more her curiosity grows. And it’s this same curiosity that has Ingrid knocking on their shared bedroom a couple minutes later, book still in hand.

“Who is this?” It’s not an accusation, words coming out soft and curious as Ingrid gently places Mapi’s sketchbook down next to the defender. 

Mapi’s body all but freezes when she sees what Ingrid is referring to, eyes growing comically wide. “That’s uh, she’s um-- I just… she caught my eye-- and I… I--”

Mapi’s clearly at a loss of words, and Ingrid is quick to put her out of her misery. 

Ingrid puts a light hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Mapi, don’t worry about it. I know you’re loyal. This isn’t me asking if you’re cheating on me. You love me too much to ever think about breaking my heart.”

The blonde’s quiet for a moment, looking down at her fingers. Ingrid waits patiently, as the Spaniard gathers her thoughts. 

“She works at the cafe next to the park.”

Ingrid listens, if not with a little too much investment, as Mapi details the first trip that took her across your path. Something about you had Mapi returning time and time again, if just to hear your voice or get some work done in your presence. 

Mapi finishes her story and they put away the sketchbook and their day goes on as normal.The conversation really should have put an end to the thoughts swirling around her head, but something keeps tickling at the back of Ingrid’s mind. 

She should let it go. 

Ingrid knows she should let it go. 

But everyone says curiosity kills the cat and that’s exactly what happens. 

Ingrid goes to see you.

Well she actually goes to the cafe at which you work at, but it’s definitely with the intention to see you in action. 

And see you in action she does. 

Right from the get-go Ingrid can understand why Mapi’s been so drawn to you.

You’re soft spoken, eyes sparkling as you take her order. When Ingrid hesitantly pauses over unfamiliar Spanish words you don’t make a big deal out of her sudden switch to heavy-accented English. Instead, your smile grows wider, happy to converse in your native tongue. You converse in light English. Ingrid only stumbles over her words every here and there but you don’t comment, nodding along to everything she says as if they’re the most interesting thing in the world.

You’re just so nice and just so sweet and…

Ingrid finds herself coming back to see you again. And again. And again. 

She grows used to the way your face would light up when you catch sight of her walking through the doors. You’re always quick to nudge your coworker out of the way just so you can take her order. 

Ingrid doesn’t expect to feel things.

She’s in love with Mapi, she knows that. The two of them are supposedly going to get married in the future, live the happiest of lives together. 

But something about you is just so alluring. And it isn’t like Mapi isn’t attracted to you either. Although her girlfriend has never said it out loud, Ingrid knows her fascination with you is due in part to how beautiful she finds you. 

It’s after practice that Ingrid makes up her mind. 

There’s really nothing to lose either way. Either it works out, and she can make Mapi happy as well. Or it doesn’t. Worse case scenario the two of them will just have to get their caffeine fix somewhere else. 

Ticket clutched in hand, Ingrid walks up to the counter. 

---

Working at a cafe was never in your plans. 

But neither was uprooting your entire life and moving across the ocean to Spain. 

A year ago you had a really nice job, a loving girlfriend, a life you were sure was set to last you until the end. Walking in on your girlfriend in bed with “the friend you didn’t need to worry about” really turned everything on its head. 

When your job’s contract ended there wasn’t really anything keeping you tied down to the city you really only moved to for your ex-girlfriend for. So with nothing but a suitcase and plane ticket in hand, you made the rash decision to go to the ever sunny Barcelona. 

You’ve only been here for a couple months, but you’re already in love with the city and the culture. 

You get used to the everyday buzz of your routine. Wake up, go for a jog, head to work, make some coffee for some pretty girls, go home, rinse and repeat. Really not too much to focus on so it’s no surprise you noticed her right away. 

Bleach-blonde hair, reserved but beautiful smile, yeah, how could you miss someone like her?

She always ordered the same thing whenever she came in, one hand clutched around a small book and pencil. You’ve only ever heard her say her drink order, her name, and a polite thank you when you’d bring her drink, but beyond that, she was a mystery to you.

During lulls in your shift you’d often find your eyes drifting to where she sat, head buried in her book as her pencil made its way across the page. Her ink was magnetic, so many tattoos everywhere, her arms, hands, neck. 

You come to look forward to the days Mapi would come in. Every Monday like clockwork.

And while Mondays were for Mapi, Thursdays were for Ingrid. 

Ingrid was another one of the girls you’ve come to look forward to seeing. 

Unlike your Spanish crush, your Norwegian crush grew out of fondness.

At first you thought it was funny, having feelings for someone not from Spain in Spain. But Ingrid would always do whatever she could to make you laugh when she came in. She’s funny and attentive and just so caring, it’s no surprise you find your crush growing with each day. 

So yeah, maybe you’re crushing on two women in Barcelona, but it’s not like the other knew about your feelings for them or the other woman, so you feel vindicated to continue pining over Mapi on Mondays and Ingrid on Thursdays. 

When Ingrid asked you to accompany her to a Barcelona match your first instinct is to say no. 

First off, you never expected her to actually ask you out. 

Secondly, and more importantly, your best friend from home was always trying to get you to go to a soccer game with her but you never found much interest in people kicking balls around for ninety minutes. But to squander some alone time with a beautiful girl away from your place of work? Well that sounded pretty appealing.

The closer the match day gets the more excited you become. The day of the game you find yourself trying on at least half of your closet before calling your friend for help. All you really got was a bunch of teasing remarks, but with only a few minutes to spare you make it out the door to the game. 

You send a text off to Ingrid when you get to your seat. Everyone around you is already joyous, spanish chattering going off everywhere around you. 

But then the minutes tick by and your text is still left unread and Ingrid is still nowhere to be seen. It’s already passed the time Ingrid said for you to get to the game, but you can’t seem to get ahold of her nor can you spot her anywhere. 

You frown. Maybe something came up and Ingrid’s just running a little (a lot) behind?

Or perhaps you were just the fool to ever believe a gorgeous woman like Ingrid would ever be into someone like you.

Your heart sinks at the prospect of being stood up.

Suddenly your mood drops, no longer as excited at watching the game as you were earlier. The longer you sit here without seeing any hint of Ingrid, the more you find yourself wishing you never accepted the ticket in the first place. 

You’re broken out of your thoughts when the crowd around you starts cheering, the first of players starting to jog out onto the field for warm-ups. 

Blinking away what you know would be tears of frustration, you let your eyes rake over the unfamiliar players. Mapi’s the last thing on your mind as you wonder where Ingrid can be, which is  why you almost do a double take when you see someone who looks a bit like her jog right past you. 

Wait.

Your head whips to the side to track the player. 

Mapi’s dressed in Barcelona colors as she lightly pushes one of her teammates on the field. She’s now on the other side of the pitch, but you can still see the way she’s laughing and joking around with her teammates. 

Before you can really make sense of what you’re seeing, you feel your heart stuttering to a stop for the second time in seconds. 

There’s a familiar tall figure running up to Mapi’s side, throwing an arm around her shoulder. You would know that dazzling smile from anywhere.

Ingrid is on the field.

Ingrid is on the field next to Mapi.

Ingrid didn’t ask you to go to today’s game with her. She was asking you to watch her play in today’s game. 

And watching Ingrid play soccer apparently meant also watching Mapi play soccer too.

Although you’re here for Ingrid you can’t help but drool over how good Mapi looks streaking down the field. 

She seems to dance with the ball, effortlessly launching it right into the path of her teammates. 

You’re standing up and cheering when her assist turns into a goal. 

She’s celebrating with her teammates when you see Ingrid tug on Mapi’s sleeve. And then they’re both looking at you. You flush red at the gigantic smile on Ingrid’s face and the confused yet still slightly pleased look on Mapi’s.

When the final whistle blows you’re not quite sure what the proper etiquette is.

You’re still debating whether or not you should head out and text Ingrid later when you notice her heading in your direction. 

It’s automatic, the way your lips curl up into a smile.  

Until you realize she’s got one hand on Mapi’s forearm. 

It’s obvious that the two of them are arguing about something. Mapi’s eyebrows are drawn together, hand’s waving in front of her as she rapidly says something to the Norwegian. They’re still too far away for you to hear them but you can still make out the way Ingrid fondly rolls her eyes at the other woman.

As soon as they come within earshot of you though, Mapi falls silent. She’s looking a bit shy and bashful, not at all as confident as when she was playing earlier, but Ingrid still drags her to a stop in front of you.

“You could’ve told me you were playing in the game when you asked me to come, Ingrid.”

Ingrid grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You let her pull you into a sweaty hug, laughing when she shakes you side to side before letting go. Ingrid gives Mapi a slight nudge before the shorter woman gives you a subdued hello. 

She looks nervous. For what you’re not quite sure. If anything, you should be the nervous one. What’s your luck that the two women you’re crushing on know each other?

It almost seems natural, the way Mapi leans into Ingrid, and the way Ingrid so readily slots a hand on Mapi’s waist. 

It takes a moment but your heart drops when it clicks. 

“Oh, are you guys… you’re together?”

What. The. Fuck.

No, you’re not crushing on two women who know each other. You’re crushing on two women who happen to be together!

“Si,” Mapi confirms, looking a bit uncomfortable at the way Ingrid keeps manhandling her towards your body.

“Anyways, how did you like the game?” Ingrid butts in, eyelashes batting at you. 

Your eyes keep darting between hers and Mapi’s. “It was… it was a nice game. I can’t really say I have much experience to compare the match to, but you guys definitely tore up the field.”

Ingrid hums. “Well we’re just going to have to change that, won’t we.”

You don’t really understand what she means so you stay quiet, giving her a polite nod in response. If you were embarrassed thinking Ingrid stood you up earlier, there’s no words that can describe the way you’re feeling now. All you want to do is go home and curl into a ball. You’re going to need a couple days of wallowing about to get over these two stupid little crushes of yours. 

“The girls are planning on going out, if you want to come.”

Nervously scratching the back of your head, you try to swallow the lump in your throat. You’re not quite sure why Ingrid looks so hopeful when Mapi’s literally held in her arms right in front of you. 

“I don’t know…”

It’s the sight of both Mapi and Ingrid’s faces falling that instantly makes you start doubting your decision.

“Please?” Mapi rasps, hand lightly falling upon your arm.

Mapi hasn’t really said much this entire time, but your eyes drop to where she’s touching you, face instantly heating up at the simple feel of her hand on your skin.

“I--” You make the mistake of raising your eyes, making direct eye contact with Mapi. The Spaniard’s eyes are soft and it feels a bit as if she’s staring right into your soul. Her fingers absentmindedly dance their way down to your arm as you try to say anything other than how much you’ve been thinking about what exactly her hands can do. 

“Well I suppose an hour or two out won’t hurt.” It comes out of your mouth without you really intending it to. 

But your heart feels a bit lighter at the way Mapi instantly looks like you’ve just made her day. Ingrid’s sporting a similar smile, chin resting upon Mapi’s shoulder. As gently as she can, Ingrid shuffles Mapi out of the way. You don’t have any time to react before she’s leaning in to press a kiss against your cheek. You’re sure your face is flaming red when she pulls back, but then Mapi’s leaning in next, kissing you just as softly as Ingrid did. She lingers for a beat, pausing to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind your ear.

“Wait outside the corridor for us, yeah? We’ll let security know to let you through.”

Still dumbstruck you nod, not able to get rid of the tingling warmth from your skin. 

The two of them bid their goodbyes before disappearing down the tunnel towards the locker room. There’s nothing you can do but stare after their departing figures, hand coming up to touch your cheek as if you can’t believe what’s just happened. 

Because now that you’re really thinking about it, what did just happen?

[vicsy]

maxiel; mutual post-Hungary jack-off session. 1.5k.

we cope how we can and this is my humble offering.

Max is panting into his neck wetly, his arm sandwiched between their chests. Daniel’s got a mouthful of Max sweat-slick hair sticking to his lips, his tongue, half of his weight pressing Daniel into the stiff couch cushions. He stares at the low ceiling, the light fixture there, running his fingers up and down Max’s spine, his naked skin almost sparking a match beneath Daniel’s fingertips. He feels boneless but on edge; anger but an afterthought but present nonetheless.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck,” Max echoes.

Daniel shuts his eyes, a nervous giggle bubbling in his chest, making Max's head bounce a little. What a fucking mess.

He knocked on the door of Max’s motorhome half expecting to be told to fuck off. Max looked wild and Daniel recognized the glint in his eyes too well to let those expectations fly. He got gripped by the collar of his race suit and unceremoniously yanked inside, well against the odds continuously stacking not in his favor. Max locked the door before he paced to the small kitchen and then turned back, watching Daniel like he had been another ghost of their shared past.

“Daniel,” he raked his eyes up and down his form, pausing at his lips. Max’s race suit was partially off and his shoulders were squared, either for the fight or for surrender. The latter he chose rarely but desperate time, matching measures.

“No time,” Daniel said hurriedly, pouncing, but Max had been waiting for him, almost with open arms.

He didn’t give too much thought to navigating whatever he and Max have rekindled after years of drought. They’ve been glued together for the past two weeks, practically living in each other’s pockets, so falling back into the embrace of old habits felt like an inevitability that Daniel welcomed. No harm, no foul.

There was no finesse to their lips crashing, teeth clanking, Max’s hands fumbling with the zipper of Daniel’s race suit. He had beelined straight to Max’s motorhome without changing, riled up to the point where his vision had tunnelled and had shown him the way. Daniel slipped his palms under the hem of Max’s fireproofs, up his waist, tugging the tight material off and away. He missed the reek of champagne soaked fabric clinging to Max and it only made Daniel push forward harder, tongue slipping past Max’s familiar lips, one hand gripping the back of his neck.

No chances — they never made it to the adjacent bedroom because Max’s race went almost as shitty as Daniel’s and Max always gives as good as he gets.

Stumbling over the coffee table and a suitcase, Daniel parked himself on the uncomfortable couch and Max finally dealt with his race suit, all but ripping the top half of it down, burying his face into the crook of his armpit. Throwing one leg over Daniel’s thigh, Max inhaled audibly and moaned.

Daniel was woozy with desperation. His hand made it to its destination, fingers bumping against the outline of Max’s half-hard dick. His hips jerked, rubbing against Daniel’s clothed thigh, too much of an impediment but he couldn’t stand the idea of going through a costume change, not when Max kissed up his neck and cupped him through the thick material of the race suit.

Shimmying up, Daniel tried to make it easier for Max but it’s was too much work, too messy, so he opted to take the initiative and tug Max’s fully hard dick out, moving the elastic of his fireproofs behind his balls. It could not have been ideal, downright uncomfortable, but Daniel knew Max — his mouth dropped open, a whine tumbling off his lips at the slight discomfort, breath tickling Daniel’s chin. His dick twitched in Daniel’s palm. He grinned, arching an eyebrow at Max and got squeezed hard in return under his fiery gaze.

Max managed to get an easier access to his dick, half sitting in Daniel’s lap, one arm thrown around his neck for balance, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Daniel’s neck. He gave an experimental tug and Max reciprocated without missing a beat. Pleasure shot up Daniel’s spine and his hunger came alive with vengeance. He bit into Max’s lower lip, palming his waist with a free hand. It felt like a boxing match, Max pumping him fast and sloppy; Daniel holding on to the razor’s edge of unbridled desire, taking as much as he can. The void opening in his chest called for more. And more.

He had shit to do and it was an atrocity on its own, not having the freedom to take Max all the way, sink into his body like it could be another homecoming after years of aimless roaming.

Instead, Daniel drew back and looked down at Max’s cock drooling precome over the rose tattoo on his hand. He felt a bit sick with it, with the open road of possibilities ahead, so he twisted his wrist and Max rocked forward, sunk his teeth into his jaw harder, groaning. Daniel did it again and Max’s hold on his spasmed, his hips jutting back and forth, seeking release.

Daniel couldn’t breathe in the lack of space between their bodies, between the way Max matched his speed when Daniel jacked him faster and faster, the slide almost too dry to really feel good but nothing about the day they both had had screamed for something soft or tender.

With a hitch in his breath, Max came first. It was somewhat fitting for him to cross the finish line before Daniel but he was just behind, on Max’s tail, shooting once, twice, three times. His come painted Max’s bare chest, flushed with a lovely pink blush, and a couple of pearly-white droplets landed on his puffy nipples. Daniel got a sudden urge to lick it off but he couldn’t be arsed to move, let alone let go of Max. He peppered kisses over Max’s cheek, the side of his jaw, wherever he could reach. Daniel feeling stickiness cling to his skin where Max’s release soaked through his fireproofs and it was probably the highlight of the day.

It felt gratifying, in a way — he and Max were practically in the same boat. Fucked over by the team, bristling with anger they had no opportunity to let out to the fullest. Only exception was Max’s boat had some points in it. Daniel has been left adrift with nothing.

He let himself slide flat onto the couch and Max followed, tethered. The dead weight on Daniel felt grounding almost as much as it was crushing his ribcage as he tried to catch his breath. He would not have changed it, though. In the sea of fluctuations, Daniel knew all but one place to anchor himself to.

The circumstance of today catches up to Daniel as he's fighting off a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. He's lost the track of time. Max places a small kiss to his throat, his hand squeezing over Daniel's shoulder.

“I still gotta go to debrief. Fuck,” Daniel groans, tired and wrung out. The remaining sparks of pleasure fizzle out, leaving him running on empty.

Max hums and then makes an effort to unstick himself from Daniel, not without staring at him from above, all heady, his lips kiss-slick and so wonderfully tantalising. It's a sight Daniel missed. He wipes the come off his palm against the couch, rather inconspicuously, and steadily gets up to his feet. This feels awfully normal, like he never even left.

“You can come after the debrief if you want,” Max says, more like throws at him, picking up the discarded piece of fireproofs off the floor.

Daniel adjust himself to look somewhat presentable and partially succeeds at the job. He gives himself a once-over in the full-length mirror by the door and stops abruptly, as if cut off. Thinks again, turning the implication around in his head, then catches Max moving in his peripheral, almost like a shark circling him.

“Aren’t you flying out tonight?”

Max looks at him, long, then shrugs, sitting back in the couch to get his racing boots off. He makes a face, nose scrunched.

“I of course can leave tonight, Daniel,” he says, measured. Daniel tracks his movements, remembering; and memorizing anew. “Jet is ready to go anyway. No point to stay longer, honestly. Fucking shame of a race.”

Daniel’s been fighting an uphill battle — on track, in the car, in the briefing room — and losing out on those fine margins. His hands are tied most of the time. He’s being nice, a real team player, someone who chooses the high road even if he gets trampled along the way. Daniel should just leave for the debrief, get an earful of meaningless words and then catch a flight he has booked. Meet Max in a week for his home race like nothing happened. Onwards and upwards. Or whatever.

But maybe being nice has run its course. Maybe Daniel is ought to be selfish again.

“Hey, so,” he gets Max’s undivided attention back onto himself, grinning, and leans on the door, not yet leaving but grasping the handle in a slippery grip just in case. “That jet of yours. Got an extra seat for little ol’ me?”

Max smiles, derisive as ever, and this time around Daniel cashes in on a win.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

People crowd near the "Zipper" on the NY Times Building to see the news about the attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941.

Photo: Robert Kradin for the AP

[solargeist]

"What are you even doing here?" Grian grabbed Martyn's shoulder and dragged him to the side into an alley way.

"Don't worry. It's a rescue mission. We're here to rescue you!" Martyn let himself get yanked off the main square full of other Watchers. Grian was fully aware that there was no way the Watchers didn't already know that there was a Listener out and about in their streets.

"Rescue mission? We?"

"Yeah? Me and Jimmy mostly, but Pearl managed to get her hands on the uniform." Martyn says with pride, giving the outfit a little spin for a very stunned and disbelieving Grian. "Not sure about the holes in the back though. Seems like an odd design choice from such a conservative group."

"It's for your- our wings-" Pearl knew about Grian going to this Warcher conference. He had been formally invited to attend and even speak on some topics that he and the Watchers still agreed on. He was almost sure that this was Ather's idea. An olive branch of sorts.

Of course, Pearl would cause trouble about this.

Grian took a deep breath and raked his hands over his face as the Listener thought about his words. "Oh. Oh! That's what these are for then?"

To both his horror and amazement, Martyn leaned own and hiked up the skirt of his stolen uniform. There was a bag that was hidden by the long fabric. He undid the zipper and pulled out the cheapest wings Grian had ever seen. The elastic tool was caked in more glitter than there really had any deserving right to be on an article of clothing. Grian genuinely thought the rubber bands used to hold that thing to anyone's back would cause them to snap.

"Who gave that to you?" Grian really couldn't hide the almost horror from his voice.

"Jimmy said he had Heard Warchers have wings, right? I geuss he picked these ones out."

Grian wanted to rip his scalp off his head. "Of course."

"Don't worry." Martyn said again, trying to sooth as he put his bag away and attempted to put the wings on. "Like I said, I'm here to rescue you. We'll get you out of here in no time!"

"I am here of my own volition." Grian felt himself say distantly as he watched Martyn struggle to get the bottom of the shawl unbuttoned without taking the whole thing off. "I- Martyn that isn't going to work."

"Course it will!" He said cheekily. "Besides, I'm sure they won't even notice you gone. You don't have to pretend to want to be here."

Grian took a deep breath before stepping forward, undoing the back button that kept the shawl flat agaisnt a Watcher's back over their wings. He helped Martyn slip the restrictive cords over his arms before getting them situated back into the long sleeves.

"Okay, Look, I mean, look, Martyn. I can't leave just yet. I actually got somethings to do before we go."

"Do you have to?"

"Martyn, I was Invited here."

He pauses. "You were?"

Grian rolled his eyes. "For a Listener, you are very bad at paying attention."

"What do you expect me to do right now then?"

Grian stepped back and tried not to look at the glitter on the wings. "I geuss you walk beside me and we pretend I don't know you while I do all of the talking until we can both go home."

"Why are you here willingly on a Saturday?" Martyn asked, baffled.

Grian suppressed another eye roll. "I'll explain later, as of now... well, lunch starts in half an hour. I hope you can actually can pretend to be mute and only listen, er, Listen for now. Because if you cause any problems, I'm not gonna come back for you."

This was a lie and theh both knew it, but Martyn folded his arms and looked down at Grian. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

"Good. Let's to. Keep your mouth shut, Martyn." The two stepped out of the alley, the taller 'Watcher' following behind the shorter.

-Lunar, who is typing this out on a new phone and is having a fucking nightmare of a time doing it

they are so ridiculouS

[jobean12-blog]

Love in Bloom

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Plant!Dad!Bucky)

Word Count: 2,863

Summary: You and Bucky have the best coffee date then meet up at the Farmer's Market. Every minute you spend with him makes you fall harder.

Author's Note: More plant!dad!bucky for you! I'm so excited that you all liked meeting him so much! I'm having a lot of fun with him! You can read the first story HERE! And please check out @nalonzooo art to see how amazing it is! 😍Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

PS If you'd like to see the shirt Bucky is wearing you can HERE and the two plant pots, ONE and TWO. 🥰💕

Warnings: plant talk, Alpine fluffs, sweet and soft fluffs all around :)

You and Bucky have been texting every day since you met at the garden center, silly plant memes and pictures of Alpine filling up the lines between sweet words and soft flirting.

You couldn’t wait to see him for coffee today.  

The bell above the door dings as you enter and your eyes search for him. He’s standing at the counter, a large black backpack slung over his shoulders and a bouquet of flowers in one hand. He’s not wearing his hat today and his long hair is pulled back into a low bun with several strands sticking out.

When he spots you he smiles wide and waves you over.

“Hiya doll,” he says when you get close. “You look beautiful.”

You preen under his sweet words and kiss his cheek hello. “Hi Bucky.”

At the sound of your voice, Bucky’s backpack starts to move and Alpine’s white furry head peeks out between the open zipper.

“ALPINE!” you squeal, rubbing his head.

“He would have been very upset if I showed up without him,” Bucky laughs. “You can take him out if ya want.”

You reach down and gather up the cat, carefully lifting him out until he’s in your arms. You coo and gush over him while Bucky waits for your coffees.

The barista sets them down with a smile.

“Oh…shit,” Bucky mutters, finally tearing his eyes away from you when the coffee arrives. “Uh…I almost forgot,” he continues, holding out the bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.”

You take them with your free hand and bring them to your nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance.

“They’re so beautiful Bucky! Thank you!”

He grabs your coffees and starts toward a small empty table in the back. “You’re welcome doll. I got them at the Farmer’s Market in Union Square this morning.”

“You picked them out?” you ask, softly fingering the petals of the different blooms.

“Yeah,” he answers, looking both proud and slightly shy at the same time. “I like makin’ bouquets but I don’t really get the chance much.”

Bucky puts the coffees down and pulls your chair out for you. 

“Well, it’s perfect,” you tell him as you sit, setting the flowers down on the extra seat. “Thank you!”

Alpine promptly curls up in your lap, his tail swishing contentedly back and forth as you pet him.

Bucky sits next to you and unhooks the front strap of his backpack before slinging it off.

You stare at his chest.

“Oh my god,” you giggle.

“What?” he asks. “Did I drop some of my breakfast on my shirt?”

His worried eyes shoot down and he pulls his shirt away from his body, studying it closely.

“That shirt is so cute!”

He sighs in relief and lifts his eyes with a chuckle. “Yeah, I couldn’t resist.”

You press your hand to the soft fabric to smooth it out, poking the spot where the cat sits on the shelf in between all the plants. The feel of his hard chest beneath your fingertips has you pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and it takes all of your willpower to drag your hand away.

“I love it,” you whisper. “It feels soft too.”

“It’s really comfortable,” he agrees. “I’m glad you like it. I didn’t even realize I put it on. Sometimes I wonder if all the plant and cat stuff is a bit much…”

“No way,” you interject. “What’s not to love about plants and cats?”

You sip your coffee and eye him over the rim of the cup.

“You get it,” he says, the corner of his eyes crinkling with his smile.

“Mmm,” you hum, “this is so good. I can’t believe I’ve never been here!”

“This place is great,” he agrees, “and they allow cats!”

After some yummy sips and comfortable silence he asks, “so how’s Spidey? Still alive I hope?”

“Thankfully still alive,” you giggle. “But I still don’t know the best spot to keep him and how often to water him and if I should repot him? If I kill another plant I’m not sure my confidence will recover…”

You laugh but the look on your face must say it all.

“You’re not going to kill him doll!” he assures you before launching into a barrage of questions and information.

You’re long done with your coffee and scones by the time you both feel satisfied that you have enough starter plant knowledge to keep Spidey thriving.

“When he gets too big for his pot I can’t wait to pick a new one out! They have so many cute ones on Etsy!”

Bucky drops his head with a playful scoff. “Don’t even get me started on Etsy. I have two new pots on the way right now.”

“Lemme see!” you squeak, smacking him in the arm in excitement.

He feigns pain and rubs the spot. “Ouch.”

“Oh please,” you tease. “You’re like solid muscle. There is no way that hurt.”

You squeeze his bicep and he instinctively flexes.

“Well now you’re just showing off,” you tell him, “and if you don’t stop I’m going to feel you up in the coffee shop.”

He goes still, his eyes laser focused on you before they drop to your lips when your tongue darts out to wet them.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, feeling your skin heat with embarrassment. “I would never…”

“Doll,” he says, stopping you. “It’s fine. More than fine actually. I have zero problem with you touching me.”

“Oh.”

His eyes wander over your face before he leans in a little closer.

“That’s good,” you whisper, getting a good whiff of him, clean and spicy.

“Here are your blueberry muffins to go!” the barista says as she sets down the boxes.

You and Bucky move apart quickly, clearly startled out of the heat of the moment.

“Thanks,” you say, giving the barista a small smile.

When you take out your wallet he stops you with a warm hand over yours. “I got it doll.”

“But you already got the coffee and scones,” you explain.

“And I’ve got the muffins too,” he says.

“Thank you.”

He leans in and gives you a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary and your skin tingles.

“Thank you,” he whispers before pulling out his phone.

He scrolls around for a few seconds before turning his screen around so you can see it. There’s a picture of a white pot with a cat shaped face, the cat’s expression sweet and serene.

“So I got that one anddddd this one,” he says, scrolling again to a picture of another white cat planter, except this time it has four little legs.

“I love them,” you say. “They’re perfect and almost as cute as Alpine!”

Once you’re outside in the sunshine and back to some form of reality you reluctantly hand over Alpine.

“Guess I have to give him back huh?” you joke.

“Well,” Bucky begins, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re going to be at the Farmer’s Market again tomorrow morning. If you’re around you could join us?”

“I do need to stock up on fruits and vegetables,” you muse. “I’ll be there, just text me a time later.”

Thankfully Sunday morning comes quickly and you’re out the door in record time, strolling down West 17th street in the sunshine.

When you don’t see Buck you start to amble around the stalls, picking through various fruits and admiring the jarred jams.

“That one is really good.”

The deep and familiar voice makes you smile before you even turn around and when you do you see Bucky standing there with his backpack against his chest and Alpine’s head sticking out.

“Hey you two!”

He quickly but carefully swings the bag to his shoulder and wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you toward his chest for a sweet kiss on the cheek.

His hair is down today, brushing his shoulder and you have a strong urge to take one of the strands hanging in his face and twirl it around your finger.

Instead, you reach up and tuck it behind his ear, your eyes studying his face while you lean into him.

“I also have that in fig and raspberry flavor.”

“I think she’s talking to you,” Bucky says with a smirk.

“Huh?” you mumble, still staring at him.

He delicately takes your chin between his fingers and turns your head toward the stall.

“OH!” you squeak. “I’m so sorry…I was just saying hello and um…right. Did you say fig and raspberry?”

The vendor nods with a knowing smile.

“That’s great. I love figs. I’ll take one!”

You slip from Bucky’s arms and finish the transaction, taking your nicely packaged jam and walking toward the next stall, still feeling a bit awkward.

When you stop at the sunflower stall Bucky says, “I’ve always wanted to grow these but I don’t really have anywhere to do it.”

“They get really tall right?”

“Yeah, taller than me,” he says with a laugh. “I have to do more research.”

“They’re beautiful! Have you ever been to a farm to see them. It’s amazing!”

“I haven’t yet but I’d really like to do that,” he admits.

“We can go together…if you want?”

“How about you let me take you on a proper date first then we’ll go out to the farm and pick sunflowers.”

“I love that plan.”

Even though you’re still standing beside the stall and there are people walking by and around you, it seems as if it all fades away as Bucky steps closer and his fingertips graze your arm, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

He whispers your name, his eyes falling to your lips just before Alpine’s paw shoots between your faces and bats away a loose piece of Bucky’s hair.

“Alpine!” Bucky chides. “Watch it buddy!”

You cover your mouth but can’t stop your eruption of giggles as you watch Alpine continue to try and bat Bucky in the face.

“Told you he was a menace!” Bucky says with a pointed look at Alpine who simply meows with a blink.

“Aw but who could be mad at that face?” you coo, scratching under Alpine’s chin.

“ME!” Bucky practically pouts. “I’m mad!”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips and after a moment of silence you both start laughing again.

“Come on,” Bucky says as he slings his arm around your shoulder. “Let’s buy some food!”

By the time you’re done perusing and purchasing it’s almost lunch time.

“I’m starving,” Bucky says as he rubs his stomach.

Your eyes fall to the action just as his shirt rides up and you catch a glimpse of his taut skin lined with a dark trail of hair that disappears into his jeans.

With a hard swallow you avert your eyes and mumble, “me too!”

“Wanna get some lunch doll?”

“What was that?” you ask, lifting your eyes to find him watching you intently.

“Do you want to grab a bite? It’s lunch time.”

“Shit, already! I’m supposed to meet my best friend for lunch at one!”

“It’s only a little after twelve, don’t worry,” he assures you with a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’d invite you to come along but it’s our girl time,” you explain, looking disappointed yourself.

“Nope, I get it doll. That’s important time but let me at least walk you back to your place.”

“I’d like that.”

He adjusts Alpine and his backpack then takes your bag from you, switching hands so his free one is swinging next to yours.

Every so often your fingers brush as you walk and finally he hooks his pinky through yours, gauging your reaction. When you smile and tighten your grip he entwines all his fingers with yours, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

You walk back to your apartment hand in hand.

“I can’t believe I didn’t buy any flowers or plants today,” Bucky states, looking surprised as he holds the door of your building open for you.

“Oh my gosh, you didn’t!”

“It’s your fault,” he teases. “You’re a distraction.”

You press your teeth into your bottom lip and shrug demurely before turning and heading up the steps.

“Thankfully I’m only on the second floor…this is me.”

You point to the door on the left and start to fish for your keys. Once you have the door open you tell him to come in so you can take your bag and show him Spidey.

He approves of your placement and also Spidey’s overall health and you clap your hands together happily.

Your phone dings and you grab it, quickly reading a text from Nat.

“Thank goodness she finally picked a place to eat,” you laugh.

“Me and Alpine will have to pick some pizza up on the way home,” he says with a wink.

You stand only a few inches apart, staring at each other.

“Well, I guess…” you start.

“Thanks for meeting…” he begins at the same time.

You both drop your heads and laugh.

“I had the best time Bucky. I wish we could have had lunch too…”

“Nah don’t worry, it’s ok doll. I mean I do too. I would have loved to spend the rest of the day with you but you have plans. I understand.”

He turns and starts toward the door.

“Don’t forget to say goodbye to Alpine. He’ll bitch the whole way home if you don’t.”

As if on cue Alpine’s two white ears perk up and he pops his head out of Bucky’s open backpack.

“Bye handsome,” you croon. “Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

“He’s not coming on our dinner date next week,” Bucky chimes in. “I don’t want him stepping on my toes again.”

“Awwww,” you say with feigned sadness. “I’ll miss him!”

When Bucky’s standing in your doorway he turns to face you again and licks his lips.

“Text me when you get home?” he asks, his tone unsure.

“I will,” you say with a soft smile.

“Have fun doll!”

You both stand there staring at each other again and you finally take a step closer, your eyes focused on his before they drop to his lips.

“Bye Bucky.”

You practically invite him to kiss you, pressing yourself against him as you lean up. You lay your palms on his chest and feel his muscles flex beneath you. He dips his head, his lips brushing your cheek before he gives you a quick peck in the same spot and turns on his heel.

You try to hide your disappointment with a smile but the corners of his mouth turn down as he backs up.

“See you soon,” he says quietly.

“See you soon,” you reply as you start to shut the door.

With a wave you shut it softly and let out an exhale as you deflate.

You’re not even two steps away when you hear a knock. Your stomach erupts in butterflies as you twirl around and swing the door open, staring at Bucky on the other side.

“That’s not at all how I wanted to say goodbye,” he murmurs before he steps back inside your apartment, shuts the door and spins you against it.

You realize there’s nowhere to go as you find yourself pressed to the door; Bucky’s hard body lined up with yours.

The first thing you feel is the strength of his metal hand as it wraps around your arm and his other clasping the nape of your neck as he drags you closer and covers your mouth with his.

You make a throaty sound you can’t control and cling to him, the smell of him, the feel of his hands holding you to him, it’s all overwhelming in the best way. His hand at your neck tightens every so slightly and he groans, the sound skimming across your skin like electricity.

He deepens the kiss, demanding more and it’s enough to steal your breath. Your hands dive into his hair and you moan into his mouth again, unable to stop it as his hand on your arm slips behind you and traces the curve of your spine.

With a muttered curse he breaks the kiss, pulling back only an inch to look into your eyes. His blue eyes are dark, his long lashes lowered as he traces his tongue over his swollen lips.

“Bucky?” you whisper.

He closes his eyes, resting his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry if that was…”

“It was perfect,” you whisper.

His eyes open and he lifts his head, reluctantly putting some space between you.

“Perfect,” he repeats.

He still looks like he wants to kiss you again and again as his eyes wash over you and his expression looks pained.

Your phone dings again.

“Nat,” you state, not taking your eyes off him.

He wavers, leaning toward you before he mutters, “fuck,” and runs a hand through his hair. “Right. Lunch.”

“I’ll talk to you later doll,” he says.

“Ok,” you manage, willing your body to keep holding you upright.

He gives you a slow and sexy smile before turning and walking down the steps.

@book-dragon-13 @randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @goldylions @sebstanwhore @kmc1989

[kissingchoso]

boyfriend!choso fulfilling your greatest fantasy and being ghostface for halloween.

cw: mask kink, degradation, shitty writing.

y’all this is my short horny piece for halloween so lol enjoy to the 5 peeps who will read this

you think you’re on the other side of the club away from him. you periodically check the many party goers and their costumes around you to ensure you don’t see a long, white mask. you’re walking away from the bar when you felt your phone vibrate and a message popping up across your screen that has your heart palpating faster than normal.

“i see you.”

you whip your head to the left and right, scanning the sea of drunken adults for a familiar silhouette but none comes. you’re about to step forward to change your location but someone from behind you catches your wrist before you can take another step. whipping your head around, you’re met with an all too familiar mask staring down at you. the lights are too dim in the party to make out the eyes, but just from the familiar grip alone, you know you’re staring up at your boyfriend.

he says your name once, tugging you closer until you’re chest to chest with him. “caught you,” he says with his normal tone, but you can make out a hint of smugness in there.

your glossed lips pout up at him, upset that he found you only five minutes into this little game of hide and seek you started.

“you do have a height advantage,” you complained, reaching up to push the mask up over his face so that it rests on the top of his head. you had the pleasure of adding some more makeup on his face, adding a dark eyeshadow around his eyes and even creating some false scars on his cheekbones and jaw.

“you never gave me any rules,” choso says before stepping forward, hand coming to rest on your hips.

you frown a little bit before you look up at his eyes, noting the way his face still had hints of a smirk, proud for completing his simple task of finding you.

“well, you won fair and square, i guess. what do you want then?”

choso pauses to stare at you. he’d never thought this far. while he didn’t doubt his abilities to find you in this crowded space, he wasn’t necessarily doing it for the purpose of winning. he just found himself at your side naturally, despite the space between you two. so while he racked his brain for simple prizes he could claim, he thought back to earlier while you two were getting ready for this evening.

you were seated on his lap, finishing his very basic makeup look. when you had finished with adding the makeup around his eyes, the iconic mask was slipped over his face and he remembers staring at you through the spaces of the eyes and remembering the subtle way your lower lip found its way between your teeth and the way your eyes flicked up and down to scan his body before you shyly shot up and finished getting ready yourself.

maybe choso can use this to his advantage.

“i have an idea.” is all he can offer you.

the next ten minutes are a blur. because in the first few minutes he’s dragging you out of the club with his mask pulled back down and in the next you’re laying in the back seat of his dodge challenger with his large body looming over you. everything about his aura has changed. nothing like your service dom boyfriend who usually waits for you to give him the go ahead. it’s swapped with this arrogant man who tells you nothing but simple commands.

he tells you to strip, you strip.

take his cock out, you’re undoing the button and zipper of his jeans before tugging them down with his boxers.

he adjusts the both of you in his car so he’s now seated comfortably. “fuck yourself on it, sweetheart.” he commanded with a muffled voice underneath his mask.

and god, this is the only time you hesitate. on any normal occasion, your boyfriend is horribly against this sort of thing but you’re proven wrong the moment he fists for the back of your hair, wrapping the locs around his fist.

“did i fucking stutter?”

“n-no, mr. ghostface,” you stammer out, fresh tears springing up in your eyes but choso knows it’s for show. he can fucking smell your arousal from underneath your tiny skirt.

“then do what i say and fuck yourself stupid on my cock. and don’t stop until i tell you to.”

“y-yes!”

happy halloween 🎃

[luveline]

so! we were talking about hockey!sirius a couple days ago soooooooo

i would love to request hockey!sirius flirting with a reader who is not yet his girlfriend. (bonus points if he does the lighting her cigarettes for her like i would die actually)

thank you for requesting! —hockey player!sirius asks you on a date. 1k

"Hey, you." 

You squeeze your box of cigarettes but manage to keep your flinch to yourself. "Sirius, you're like a ghost," you complain, letting your bag fall back behind you. 

"A fit one, at least?" he asks. "I've caught you, haven't I?" 

You fish your box of cigarettes from your bag guiltily. "Don't tell my coach and I'll give you one." 

"Give me two and I'll let you borrow my clipper."

"A clipper," you drawl, drawing two cigarettes from the box to pass him. "I didn't think you were rich." 

"You know, my parents are loaded." 

You put a cigarette between your lips and shove the box down the depths of your bag, your dirty little secret hidden once again. Sirius knows because he's the only other idiot sportsman at your rink stupid enough to smoke at practice. "Weird brag." 

"Well," —he bobs his head from left to right gently, inhaling sharply as he lights the end of his cigarette, breathing through it, "it would be if I spoke to them." 

"Oh, shit. Sorry." 

"Don't be sorry," he says, his cigarette held carelessly between his lips as he ushers you forward. He's much more careful about you, holding your arm in a gentle hand as he lights the end of your cigarette, and nodding encouragingly when you inhale, his eyes a stony grey where they meet yours. "I brought it up." His hand coasts briefly up to your shoulder before he takes a step back. "I like telling you things." 

You lean against the wall and Sirius leans beside you. The outside of the rink is boring, a huge parking lot full of cars going in and out. Sirius' car, a dark cherry red oldsmobile with more scratches than paint, is parked not too far from where you're standing, a dent the size of a sledgehammer head in the driver's side that wasn't there before. "What happened to the vampmobile?" you ask. 

"James. I bet you never would've guessed," he says sarcastically.  

"I wouldn't have. He's a sweetheart. I'd be much more tempted to think you did it doing doughnuts on the industrial–" 

Sirius cuts you off, flicking the tip of his cigarette with a put upon attitude, "I don't do doughnuts. You think so little of me, sweetpea." 

He says sweetpea like you're the cutest thing on earth. You nudge him mildly and stub your cigarette out on top of the square black bin, half-smoked. "I better go home."

"Working tonight?" 

"No, I finally have a night off. Got a ton of stuff I need to do, but it shouldn't take long." You lift your arms into the air and stretch your sore shoulders, angled away from him to avoid giving him a show of the world's ugliest yawn.  

"Wanna get something to eat?" 

You hurt your jaw trying to stop your yawn midway through, arms falling flat to your thighs. Sirius isn't looking at you, gaze on the vamp mobile, smoke curling like a ribbon between his fingers. He has nicely shaped hands, very boney in the sharp way but still rather inviting, when you think about it. 

"Now?" you ask. 

"Tonight. If you want to, I'll take you out." He takes another drag, eyes flaring in time with the ash. "Don't act like you don't know," he says through the exhale. 

"Know what, Black?" you ask. 

"That I'm mad for you." 

You're suddenly and deeply aware of how you look, a mess after practice, hair straggled from its styling, face without any make up. There's nothing wrong with the way you look, but when you picture someone on Sirius' arm, it's never you. You fiddle with your jacket zipper, voice low, "I didn't know that." 

"I don't believe you." He's not accusatory, simply stating a fact. Sirius stubs his cigarette out next to yours, black hair ruffled in the wind, the scent of him adrift. He smells like smoke, of course, but there's a nicer woodiness beneath it. "I'll take the way you're looking at me as a solid maybe. You can text me." 

"No, I mean. Yeah. I mean–" You stammer as Sirius laughs warmly. "I'll text you. If you really are mad for me." 

"Want me to prove it?" he asks. 

Your lips part of their own accord. You look like a deer-in-the-headlights for sure, completely stopped by the implication. Even the thought of a kiss from his has your pulse capering hard. His hands cold from the rink pressed gently to the warmer stretch of your collar, slipping into the hemline, curling behind your neck as he steps close. You can't summon the kiss itself, too close to bursting, because what would you do? Where would you put your hands? Is there a specific place? 

"Don't look so nervous," he murmurs, his eyebrows pinching ever so slightly together. "I'm not gonna jump you." 

"It's not like that, I just don't know…" 

"About us?" he asks. "That's why I'm trying to ask you on a date. You can make your mind up about us and I'll help you bulk for sectionals."

"I don't need bulking," you say. 

He laughs. "No, you're perfect. Beside your bad habit, that is. We have that in common." Sirius steps forward, pauses. "Can I kiss your cheek?" 

His asking is the last straw. You're melted like a slush curl. 

"Yeah," you say weakly. 

Sirius kisses your cheek gently, and then he tucks his face against the side of your head and gives you a hug. "Text me, yeah? If you want." He peels back to grin at you. "I have to go back in. Elite league won't win itself. Talk to you later, doll."

You watch him retreat back into the centre, not sure what you want to do first; text him, or smoke another cigarette. In the end, you decide against the cigarette. If he's really going to prove how mad he is for you, you don't want to taste like smoke. 

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

If you have time (and you want to) could you do something about jealous/possessive Christopher "marking his territory" (I feel like I describe a dog when I talk about him)? I recently saw a tiktok about how he needs to be 100% in control and he's prone to be a "yandere"?

I really just want to drive him a bit crazy. Thank you🌸

CLAIM

Content Includes: Hard!Dom Bang Chan x sub!fem reader, rough sex, public sex, praise, teasing, just depraved filth, humiliation, unprotected sex, aftercare, 18+

Word Count: 1.0 K

As you walked into the crowded room, Bang Chan, your wonderful boyfriend, held your hand tightly. His smile was warm and genuine, but you could sense a hint of protectiveness in his gaze as he scanned the surroundings. You both mingled with friends, enjoying the cheerful atmosphere until a familiar face from the circle approached us.

As the person greeted you, their tone seemed a little too friendly for Chan's liking. He raised an eyebrow, subtly tightening his grip on your hand. You were naive about the hidden agenda but Chan's intuition immediately sensed something amiss. He responded politely, yet his watchful eyes never left the person.

As the conversation continued, the person's casual compliments and flattery started to escalate. Chan's jaw clenched slightly, and his normally calm demeanor showed signs of unease. Sensing his discomfort, you gently placed a hand on his arm to reassure him that there was nothing to worry about. But Chan, fiercely protective and deeply in love, couldn't shake off the feeling of jealousy creeping in.

In the midst of the conversation, Chan casually placed an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. It was his subtle way of asserting his presence, marking his territory. His action spoke volumes, and the other person got the hint, eventually backing off and excusing themselves.

A soft smirk splayed across your face from enjoying how possessive Chan always was off you, leaning in and whispering in his ear.

'What was that all about?'

His face softened before turning towards you, bowing his head towards you so there was some privacy between you amidst the noise.

'He was staring at you too much, I could fucking see what he was thinking with how big his eyes were'

You could see his eyes darkening as he stared filthily towards the man who had his back turned, anger slowly seething through him and it was probably a good thing that both of you were lucky to be in a public place.

'Ohh, that would definitely be a red flag' You teased, rubbing gentle circles into his back.

'Luckily, you look so sexy when you're jealous'.

His eager fingers clutched around yours tightly, his eyebrow quirked and he squared his shoulders.

'I'm bored with this place, do you wanna get out of here?'

Heat started to stir in your body as you knew from Chris's posture and the energy radiating off of him that he was about to treat you to something much more pleasurable than drinks and entrees.

...

The chill of the bonnet was ice-cold against your back as Chan roughly hiked your dress up around your hips, his hands roughly pulling your panties to the side.

'We have to be quick baby'

Chan breathed into your mouth as he sloppily kissed you, your hands flailing to pull down the zipper of his pants.

'Never thought you'd be into this type of shit'

You panted into his mouth as you spread your legs wider, bracing yourself by clutching onto the smooth steel.

'I'm not but that cunt needs to be taught a fucking lesson'

Both of you moaned in ecstasy as he roughly pushed into you, bottoming out swiftly before pulling back halfway and thrusting into you again.

You knew you weren't going to finish from this angle but the rush of adrenaline combined with Chan's frenzied eyes and rough hands were enough to get you wet and satiated with desire.

'You're mine, you're fucking mine...you belong to me...fuck anyone who looks at you'.

His fingers left marks on your hips as he pushed your hips down onto his dick with every thrust.

'Ahhh!' You cried out when he thrusted into your g-spot, your eyes widening and you blushed, embarrassed and worried about how loud you just sounded.

It only egged Chan on and his thrusts became rough in force, veins taut in his neck and forearms and his brow and nose scrunched in effort.

'Let him hear you babygirl....'His voice was scratchy and wire-thin in his throat with each thrust.

'What if he walked out to see us fucking on his car yeah? Maybe I'd...hah! Maybe I'd let him watch huh? See how loud you are with my dick inside of you?'

A final guttural moan filled the air as Chan finished inside of you, his body hovering over yours and his hands rubbing circles into your hips.

'Feel better now?'

You teased playfully as you ran a hand through his sweaty hair, smirking and panting from the thrill of the moment.

'Yeah, that was so fucking...oh my gosh...that was so fucking good'

He chuckled breathlessly, leaning back to look down at you as he pulled out.

'Are you okay? It wasn't too much was it?'

Chan pulled up your panties and your dress down to cover you again, making you look all modest and pristique again.

'Nope, it's never too much when I'm with you baby'.

Chan smiled with love as he grabbed your wrists, gently pulling you off the bonnett and pulling you into his arms.

'I love you so much baby girl' He kissed your cheek and whispered into your ear.

'Let's go home, my baby needs to be taken care of'.

Author Commentary: I have no idea, I just blacked out. I was writing this and was like 'Oh, I forgot Sagittarius Mars can have a thing for exhibitionism' and here we are.

I will be incorporating Bang Chan saying 'I will take care of you' in every fic because a fancall has confirmed that

Taglist: @hipster-shiz@creativechaoticloner@cherry-0420 @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @umbralhelwolf@starsareseen@lino-jagiyaa@mischiefsmind@mrcarrots@junieshohoho@partywithgyu@whatsk-poppinhomies@craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat@staytinyinmybpack@necessiteez@wooyoungmybelovedhusband@berryberrytan@sensitiveandhungry@laylasbunbunny@bangchanbabygirlx@ateezzseonghwaa@anyamaris@lemonhongjoong@krishastumblernow@hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @ddeonghwassimp @lyramundana

[judeswhore]

clandestine meetings; spencer reid

summary: spencer‘s favourite student makes perfect use of his break between classes

pairing: professor!spencer reid x fem student!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, oral (m), dirty talk, age gap (reader is 22)

notes: kind of obsessed w professor spencer i cant help it, you can find my masterlist here.

"i have another class in," spencer pulled his mouth from yours to check the watch on his wrist, moaning low in the back of his throat when you kissed along his jaw. "twenty minutes." you gave a little nod of your head, worked your lips over his throat when he tipped his head back for you. his pulse jumped and you sucked softly, enough to have his knees weakening but not enough to leave behind a mark.

"twenty minutes is more than enough time." you let your head fall back against the door to his office, thankful for the small set of blinds that covered the square window, and sent him an overly innocent smile. your hands pressed lightly against his chest, worked their way up to his shoulders and under his dark suit jacket. you were slow in pushing the material off him, your gaze never once leaving his. "i can make you cum in five, professor."

spencer's gaze darkened at your words, his hands helping remove his jacket all the way before he tossed it over the arm of the couch to his left and then he was crowding you against the door. both hands gripped your head, tilted it back as he dipped his own and kissed you. it was a messy clash of tongue and teeth, spencer's hips pressing forward into yours, one hand slipping until his fingers were wrapped loosely around your throat. you were tugging at the buttons on his cardigan, pulling them free as his kisses ran over your cheek and jaw, his lips grazing your ear.

"show me."

his mouth found yours again, languid strokes of his tongue making your head spin, a soft moan tumbling from you when he squeezed the sides of your neck slightly. you met his slow kisses with your own, your fingers discarding his half done up cardigan in favour of working his belt open. you were slow in unbuckling it, leaving it inside the loops as you turned to unbutton his slacks, tugging the zipper down before pushing your hand inside. your hand grazed the softness of his boxers over his cock, fingertips brushing lightly over him as he pressed further into you.

"what were you thinking about in class?" you asked against his lips, relishing in the shaky breaths he was letting out, his forehead pressed to your own. he settled one hand against the wall by your head to prop himself up, his other hand tightening just slightly around your throat when your hand left his slacks, slipped up his shirt to brush over the softness of his stomach.

"hmm?"

"in class. you couldn't keep your eyes off me, couldn't concentrate when people asked you questions, kept fiddling with your sleeves and fixing your trousers." your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers this time, fingers wrapping around his already hard cock to give it a couple of slow, sure strokes. "were you thinking about fucking me, sir?"

"i-" spencer bucked into your hand with a low grunt, pressed a hot kiss to your mouth and nudged his nose against yours. "i was thinking about this. about getting you in here and on your knees." your lips tipped into a smile.

"i can make that happen." your hand left his boxers and spencer almost whined at the loss of contact, pouted and started to complain until you pressed your hands to his chest and pushed. "sit down." you guided him back towards his chair behind the desk, giggling when he fell into it, head tipped back to keep your gazes locked.

his mess of curls had fallen onto his forehead, a light flush on his cheeks, lips kiss bitten and just a little bit swollen. spencer reid was heartbreakingly beautiful and right now, all yours. he blinked slowly at you as you dropped to the floor between his open legs, his body shifting so he could pull his dick out. your eyes fell to his hand, wrapped around the thick length of him, tip blushed pink from your teasing and you immediately shuffled forward, spencer's free hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"spit." he tapped your chin, held the base of his cock and watched you lean forward, hands on your thighs, and spit over the tip. "that's it." you hummed at his words, replacing his hand with your own, dragging your tightened fist up and down the length of him with slow twisted movements. your thumb brushed teasingly over the head and spencer hissed, hips bucking up desperately. leaning in again your tongue darted out to kitten lick his leaking tip, swirling softly over it and moaning at the familiar taste of him.

"i was thinking about this too." when you spoke you kept your lips pressed against the underside of spencer's length, spit coated and soft as they brushed the vein that bulged there before you kissed down to his balls. from the slightest bit of contact spencer's thighs tensed, his hand bunching into a fist against the armrest of his chair. "i always think about this."

tongue pressed flat against his cock you slowly dragged it from base to tip, wrapped your lips around the most sensitive part of him and sucked softly, lashes fluttering when you met his gaze. spencer couldn't take his own eyes off you, fixated on the way your lips stretched around him when you lowered your head. you pushed him further into your mouth, hands flat against his thighs, one of his coming to rest on the back of your head. he didn't push or pull, only rubbed his thumb soothingly into your scalp until you hummed in pleasure.

you hollowed your cheeks and let your throat relax, adopting a gentle and leisurely pace, completely unbothered by spencer's somewhat short time frame. his head had tipped back just slightly, jaw dropped open and the moans he was letting out had heat pooling in your stomach. giving spencer head had quickly become one of your favourite things since starting your relationship, he was always so vocal, soft breathy whines playing on a loop in your head well after he'd came. he liked talking you through it, telling you what he liked, mumbling praises about how good you were doing, begging you to quit your teasing and take all of him down your throat. exactly like he was right now.

"shit, c'mon, baby, take it all for me, i know you can take more than that." you made a quiet noise of agreement, relaxed your jaw and pressed deeper. he hit the back of your throat, your nose snug against his dark ladder of hair and his grunt was loud when he felt you gag around him. he held the back of your head to keep you in place, hips shifting beneath you as your tongue grazed wet and warm over the base of him.

when he finally let you pull off him you suctioned your lips tight around him, suckled teasingly at his tip as you fought to catch your breath. your fingers wrapped around the lower half of him twisting messily and his hips bucked, a desperate sound getting caught in his throat. you caught sight of him dragging both hands through his hair, his face flushed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. he let it go with another soft whimper, his thighs tensing around you.

"god, you're so-" spencer was cut off by a sharp knock to his office door, startling the both of you, your head knocking back against the desk in your haste to pull away from him. the professor fumbled, cursing low in the back of his throat while cradling your head in one hand, his other working to tuck himself back inside his boxers. he rubbed soothing fingers over your scalp, his brows furrowed in worry, his cheeks a darker red than the underwear you were currently wearing. "are you okay? i'm so sorry."

his words were rushed and whispered, his fingers massaging the sore spot on your head and if you weren't so worried about the person on the other side of the door you would have laughed. spencer looked wrecked, worked up and flustered, shirt askew, cardigan unbuttoned and the tent in his still undone slacks was almost begging for your attention again. you went to nod, lips parting to tell him you were okay when the knock came again.

"professor reid?" the voice was feminine and just slightly concerned, a prickle of annoyance sparking deep in your chest both at being interrupted when you already had such little time and at the fact you knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

"just a minute!" spencer's gaze frantically searched the small room, clearly looking for somewhere to hide you, his fingers still working comfortably against your head. the action was almost absentminded despite the current situation and it had heat fizzling inside of you. figuring there was no where else for you to go he met your eyes again. "fuck okay, you're going to have to stay there." he caught the slight tilt to your lips and the way your eyes slid to his still hard cock. "and behave yourself."

"yes, sir." it was teasing, just on the side of playful but spencer's jaw clenched as he shifted in the chair. he shuffled until you were further under the desk, completely hidden from view and made sure the desk also hid his crotch. he tried to fix his hair with a huff before clearing his throat.

"come in!" you couldn't hide your eye roll when you heard the usual click clack of professor henry's heels on the floor, the click of the door shutting behind her causing you to let out a sigh. she clearly wanted this to be private. nudging spencer's legs apart, your head fell to rest on his thigh, an innocent gesture, already missing the feeling of his fingers against your scalp. he sent you a quick surprised glance before settling his attention on the young woman opposite. "professor henry, how can i help you?"

"spencer, how many times have i told you? out of hours you can call me maria."

"right, sorry, of course. is everything okay?"

"yes, everything's fine, looking forward to the break. this semester has really taken it out of me." your nose scrunched at her light laugh, already wishing she'd hurry up and leave. spencer's thigh was warm and firm beneath your cheek and you tuned both professor's out as you reached up and brushed your knuckles over his covered cock.

his slacks were still undone, giving you easy access to shift up and cover the tip of his cock with your mouth, the cotton of his underwear soft beneath your tongue. spencer's entire body went rigid, his hand darting below the desk to push at your forehead but you simply glared up at him, pinching his thigh as a warning for him to stop. you mouthed over his underwear, tried not to giggle when he stumbled over his words.

"i, uh," he cleared his throat. "i'm actually really looking forward to writing the syllabus for next semester." a breathy laugh blew through your nose, hot against spencer's lower tummy and he coughed again. your fingers were tugging him from his boxers, still hard and leaking, coated still with your spit. you wrapped your lips around him again and in one slow movement, took him straight to the back of your throat.

you held him there, swallowed around him just to be a tease and were rewarded by a hitch in his breathing and a tightening of his thighs. you started bobbing your head again, tongue flat to glide along the underside, careful not to let any noises become too loud. you could taste his salty pre cum on your tongue and it only made you all the more eager to have him cum properly, your fingers wrapping around the lower half and jerking upwards. you tuned out the conversation around you, only let yourself focus on making spencer fall apart.

you sucked softly, bobbed your head a little faster and glanced up to see spencer's face had flushed again, his fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt. he coughed into his hand once again, an attempt to cover up the soft whine he was about to let out and slid his hand beneath the desk to find your jaw, a weak attempt at trying to hold you off. you simply leaned into his touch, slowed your hand and suckled lazily on his tip.

"is everything okay, spencer? you're looking a little flushed."

"fine, yes, everything's fine." a deep breath to stop the curse from flying free. "i think i'm coming down with something. you know, i was just getting ready to leave my uh, uhm, my cat. he needs feeding, so it would be great if we could pick this up another time?"

"oh. of course, don't want that cat going hungry." spencer forced a laugh and in return you tightened your grip around him, happy when he gave the smallest grunt and his hand shifted to the back of your head. he pushed you further down on him, held you there with his entire cock enveloped between your lips. "i'll catch up with you before friday. i hope you feel better before then."

he could only nod, waved awkwardly at professor henry and only let you drag your mouth from him when the door had clicked shut behind her. you only grumbled your complaints and went straight back in, lips and tongue and fingers working over him in slow strokes. spencer’s head fell back, his posture relaxing as he let himself go, one hand still against the back of your head, the other shoving though his already messy curls.

“fuck, baby, just like that. i’m gonna cum, oh.” he let his throat relax, completely unbothered by the people on the other side of the office door and moaned softly, the sounds getting louder and more whiney with each gentle suck to his tip. one hand cupped his balls, massaged them lightly and he whimpered, bucked his hips and started to help guide your head. the quiet hums you were letting out only added to his pleasure and within moments spencer was coming.

“that’s it, good girl. you’re doing so well, pretty, want you to swallow it all for me. there you go, take it all.”

he came with a string of curses and whimpers, your name like a breathy prayer as you sucked him through it. his cock pulsed on your tongue, his cum warm as you swallowed it down eager to taste all of him. his head was still tipped back but you kept your eyes on him, the slow bobs of your head making his stomach tense as he softened between your lips. jaw clenched and face flushed he looked breathtakingly gorgeous, your own body hot when he whimpered again and shook his head, his hips trying to shift away from you.

you pulled off him with a wet pop, a string of spit keeping the two of you connected and grinned, the smudge of mascara beneath your eyes and the glazed over look in them making spencer’s nerves tingle. he used his thumb to swipe over your bottom lip, effectively clearing away the mess you’d made and gave another small shake of his head.

“are you trying to kill me?”

“your cat needs feeding?”

“close enough to the truth, someone needed feeding.” you snorted a laugh at that, rolled your eyes at his pleased expression and shifted on your knees. the floor was starting to make them ache and spencer seemed to realise, his hands reaching for yours to pull you up. “you couldn’t have waited a few minutes until she left?”

“you’re hot when you’re flustered.” you shrugged innocently, smiling softly when he grabbed a tissue from his desk and used it to wipe your hands clean. “plus i kinda like the thought of getting caught with you.”

spencer’s cheeks flushed pink again and he glanced down to avoid your gaze as he cleaned himself up and tucked himself back into his slacks. before he could turn to his belt you were there, working the buckle closed, fingers grazing teasingly over his skin. lifting your gaze you tilted your head, switched to fixing his cardigan and ruffled shirt.

“so, twenty minutes isn’t really enough time for me to do everything i want to do to you, i can grab take out and come over?” spencer was nodding before you’d even finished speaking, his fingers finding your waist to pull you in, his head dipping to press a kiss to your swollen lips. “plus i think you owe me an orgasm.”

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Jubilant crowds in Times Square watching the returns on the "Zipper" on election night, November 3, 1936. Mounted police augmented regular patrolmen on duty to keep traffic lanes open during the all-night celebration.

Photo: Associated Press