Oh My God! Sebastian Stan! Man, You’re Looking Good!

Do you think about this everyday or are you normal

A Six Sentence Sunday teaser of Yenzy and his girl…

Thanks for tagging me @justalonelyslytherin and to @caffiend-queen queen for starting the Six sentence Sunday post ❤️

Check out the other teasers HERE ❤️

Yenzy x y/n

"Yenzy?" a surprised smile spread across your face when you pulled open your front door to find the goalie standing there.

Jake's cheeks were already flushed from the alcohol but the hue crept up his face to the tips of his ears as he drank in the sight of you.

"Shit..." he swore, "you look fuckin' hot in my shirt" his hands were just itching to pull you in for a good grope and a filthy kiss.

"You wanna come in?" you tried biting back the smile that was quickly spreading across your face as you twirled the bottom of his pink petunia’s shirt around your finger, "my roommates gone... I was watching a movie in my room..."

"Hell yeah" Yenzy’s enthusiasm made you giggle, his goofy boyish grin making your belly swoop as you took his hand, trying to tug him inside, but Yenzy yanked you back to him and you crashing into his chest almost losing your footing.

"Been thinking about you all night, pretty” his lips brushed over yours, his facial hair tickling your face and making you gasp as his tongue licked into your mouth.

The hockey divider was made by the lovely and talented @firefly-graphics ❤️

No pressure tagging: @navybrat817 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @firefly-in-darkness @sconnie-doesnt-know @musingsinmoonlight @chrissquares @onsunnyside @holacia2 @thecornerlot @ghotifishwrites @saiyanprincessswanie and anyone else that wants to play!

Navy! Stud knocking on the door to wake up Smartie from the alarm is so cute. What about when they're dating? 😏

I'm glad you think so, nonnie! And Bucky has ways to wake you up.

Sleeping Arrangements

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You insist on sleeping in your room, but Bucky likes a challenge. Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f. receiving), slight dirty talk, slight praise, swearing, implied unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), established relationship, roommate!Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Lovelies, I promise I will actually write how Stud and Smartie get together, but I couldn't pass this up. Partially inspired by a chat with @lookiamtrying (thank you!!!). Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banners by @vase-of-lilies. and divider by @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Please reblog or comment as it means the world!

It was your idea to keep your separate bedrooms once the two of you started dating. It was a way to maintain boundaries and a small sense of independence since you shared a living space. You didn’t always sleep alone. Some nights he slept in your room and vice versa. It was a good system.

Not that Bucky made it easy. He never did when it involved him wanting you. And you made the mistake of looking back last night as you went toward your bedroom door. You knew better and you did it anyway. All 6’3 of him with his messy hair and beefy frame bathed in the moonlight from the window was staring back at you and pouting. It didn't help that the sexy menace was only in his underwear.

And that your panties were wet just from his gaze.

"My bed is much warmer, Smartie, and I’ll get lonely."

Don’t give in. Admittedly, you always slept a bit better when he was beside you. Even though you were soaked as he slowly sauntered toward you, part of you said to stand your ground with the rules you set. Bucky made it fun to break them, but you would not let your body overrule your will tonight.

“I’m sleeping in my room,” you proudly managed to say, pressing your thighs together as if to silence your weeping pussy. Get it together. “And if you really get lonely, you can wake me up early.”

Bucky hummed as he stopped in front of you, grasping your chin. He smiled as you looked into your eyes and you swore your heart stopped. A second passed before he covered your lips with his, using his other hand to pull you closer by the small of your back. He worked his mouth against yours, spreading desire from your chest down between your thighs. How he managed to always kiss you breathless, you had no idea.

He took his time to pull away, his thumb brushing your trembling lip as he gazed at you. The look of affection in his eyes made you feel cherished and safe. You were proud your legs didn’t give out when he took a step back, his hands dropping to his sides. He spun around without another word and walked toward his door, only stopping when you began to follow him. The smug smirk on his face only turned you on more when he glanced over his shoulder. “Your bedroom is that way. Sweet dreams.”

“I beg your pardon?” was what came out because he wouldn’t really make you sleep alone after that, would he?

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he winked before he went into his room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

You tapped your finger against your thigh, trying to figure out how he turned this around on you. “Well. Fuck,” you said indignantly. You couldn’t be too annoyed with him since you set the rule, but he wasn’t playing fair. I don’t have to either. Smiling, you crept to his door, peeled your underwear off and hung it from the doorknob. Your boyfriend could be a light sleeper and sometimes got up in the middle of the night. So a gift wouldn't hurt.

At least he doesn’t have to steal this pair.

You weren't exactly sure what time it was when you began to wake up, but you knew it was early from the lack of light coming in from the blinds. You hadn't even hit "snooze" on your first alarm. What you did know was that your legs were spread wide on your bed to accommodate the size of your boyfriend, who had already pushed his shirt up around your waist. When you actually wore something to bed, it was always something of his.

And you hadn't bothered to put on a new pair of underwear.

"Was kind of hoping you’d sneak into my room, but I should’ve known better after that stunt I pulled. Was also hoping I’d have my tongue buried in you before you stirred,” Bucky said when you tried to sit up. "Found your little gift, by the way. Could still smell how wet you were.”

“Your fault. You always get me wet,” you argued, blindly reaching for his hair as his breath ghosted over your folds.

“And you always get me hard, so all’s fair, doll,” he said with a drag of his tongue. “Did you have sweet dreams? You must have since you're still wet."

You lost your train of thought for a moment, a soft noise coming out as he brushed his nose against your bundle of nerves. "Yes," you whined as your head tipped back, feeling his grip tighten on your thighs to keep you in place. This is exactly how my dream started and it better end with his cock in me.

“Dream of me?” he asked and you felt him smirk as his mouth wrapped around your clit.

“Fuck, yes!” you shouted impressively considering he just woke you up. Part of you wondered if your neighbors heard you. If he was buried between their thighs, which will never happen, they’d be screaming, too.

“Dreamt about you, too. Woke up aching. I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned as he went back to licking your folds. "Fuck, always so sweet for me. Just lay back and let me keep tasting you."

Tugging a little on his hair in response, you gasped when his metal hand moved under your shirt. Your nipple was taut before he touched it, gently grazing it as he groped your breast. You wished you could see his hot gaze as you arched your back, but you knew you'd see ecstasy in his eyes after he got you off.

His tongue flicked over your clit again as he moaned, like he had all the time in the world to work you over. "You should just sleep in my bed. Let me wake you with my tongue and cock before you start your day. Love tasting you in my mouth before I go to work. Best breakfast I've ever had."

The breathless sounds you made blended together beautifully with his words, that familiar spark felt deep in your core when he suddenly pushed his tongue in deep. "Bucky, there! Please!"

He sighed as pulled out, making you whine. "You know what to call me," he reminded you, the touch of his teeth against your inner thigh making you tremble. "Just say it once."

"Stud, please," you begged. The nickname should've sounded ridiculous like this, but Bucky loved hearing it because you were the one saying it.

“Good girl.”

"Fuck!" you cried when he plunged his tongue back in, licking your walls like he wanted to taste every drop of your essence. The hand that occupied your breast moved to your stomach, keeping you as still as he could. Your legs began to shake as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm before he stopped. "Bucky!"

Your boyfriend simply slipped his tongue out again, the pool of heat in your gut still there. "You're sleeping in my bed tonight," he told you. It wasn't a question.

"Oh, my God! Fine! I will sleep in your bed tonight,” you groaned as he chuckled happily. I might smother him with a pillow. “Just get your tongue back in me before I-"

"I know what you need, Smartie. Let me give it to you."

You almost lost it completely when he did so, adding two fingers. He didn't thrust deep until he knew the stretch wouldn't hurt. How is he still gentle as he devours me? You tried to push your hips closer, needing a little more fiction so you could let go.

"Come for me. Scream my name. Wake the neighbors. I don't give a fuck. Not when you taste this good."

The deep, dark command of his voice as he flicked his tongue once more made the coil finally snap. Your body exploded with your orgasm, screaming and sobbing his name as he worked you through it. Your walls continued to clench as his tongue and fingers slowed, lifting his head to watch. “Fucking beautiful,” you heard, your eyes half open as the world around you stopped spinning.

Bucky crawled over your body and you could make out a bit just how dark his eyes were before he kissed you. The mess you made on his tongue was put into your mouth as he licked into it, drawing another moan from you. That sound stretched on when you felt his hard cock trapped between your bodies.

“Morning,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Morning,” you replied, still catching your breath. “It’s early.”

“It is,” he agreed, dragging his lips to your nose. “We should go to bed early tonight.”

“Yes, we should.”

“And since you’re sleeping in my bed tonight,” he began triumphantly. “You should sleep in my room tomorrow night, too.”

Nice try. “No,” you smiled.

Bucky glanced quickly at your phone before he looked down at you. “I think I can convince you. But right now let’s see how many times I can fill you up before your first alarm goes off.”

*****

More from Stud and Smartie soon. Love and thanks!

'til the morning comes (8/10)

steve rogers x f!reader (fluff and angst)

summary: he's not supposed to see you like this.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: mentions of drinking

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

(part 7) (part 9) (part 10) (series masterlist)

 You tilt your chin, dramatizing your wide, shimmery eyes. “It’s bad luck, Steve.”

 He gives you a small pout of his own. “Let me see.”

 You poke his boutonnière weakly. Your bracelets brush against the throw pillows that your loyal bridesmaids have haphazardly clasped over your chest. “Please go away?”

 Sersi frowns. “Why is he even here?”

 Steve ignores her, and the lighthearted smack Helen lays on his arm. “Honey, this isn’t fair. You see me wear tuxes all the time.”

 “Rogers.” Natasha adjusts her protective cushion and pins him with a deadly glare. “Get the fuck out.”

 Besides one lingering look he gave the full-length mirror, appreciating the back of your wedding dress, Steve’s eyes haven’t left yours. “I didn’t think you cared about this stuff.” 

 You hug a pillow to your body, relieving Natasha and Sersi of their duties. “I don’t.”

 And why should Steve care either? Even if a groom seeing the bride too early means bad luck, your relationship doesn’t exactly resemble a conventional romance. You didn’t need luck, only a signed piece of paper, a hundred pictures, and the illusion of being a happily married, rock solid couple.

 Not that you weren’t happy, in your own way. 

 In his attempts to make things good for you, Steve doted on you almost to a fault, assembling your favorite dishes and insisting that you don’t lift a finger fixing or cleaning anything. He let you plan most of the wedding, a dangerous game given the large budget he offered and how you’ve dreamt about the day since you were little. You discussed your ideas once or twice when you were still with Shangqi, yet scarcely imagined much more than a modestly priced dress, fifty invitations, and casual catering. 

 But Steve said yes to everything. To test him, you once proposed something ridiculous: a tiara.

  You’d look nice in a tiara, sweetheart, he said absentmindedly, hunched over a report.

  It exhausts you to witness his devotion and to continually push against it, especially given the ten to twelve hour days he already spends working. The National Convention looms on the horizon, a dark cloud which has injected atmospheric pressure around this event for months. Because once Steve gets the nomination, he can’t step onto that national stage without a lovely wife by his side. 

 After a few dinner conversations, he promised to put away work at least two days prior to the wedding, and he appears visibly more relaxed now. But still. He should’ve asked, instead of casually waltzing inside your bridal suite, accompanied by Maria.

 “Then let me see.” He touches the corner of your pillow.

 You whimper. “I really like this dress, and if you say anything bad about it, I will divorce you.”

 “We’re not married yet.”

 “And we never will be,” you say, tugging his bowtie. He let you pick the color, and even bought socks to match. “Not even a twitch, okay?”

 He straightens his face, adopting his senator voice. “I promise.” 

 The pillow drops half an inch. Then, Helen’s palm connects with his bright white shirt and shoves. “Nope, as the maid of honor, I am intervening. You’re leaving, now.”

 Steve groans. “Cho.”

 “You heard her,” Natasha agrees flatly. Unlike Helen, her yanking actually knocks him off balance. “Let’s go.”

 He follows her dutifully, but not before throwing you a dopey smile. “Bye, honey.”

 “Bye, Steve.” Tucking your chin, you admire his wide shoulders, the crisply creased pants, and the flash of his green socks as he exits.

 Helen snaps her fingers three times in front of you. “Oh my God, you’re so fucking whipped.”

 You wrinkle your nose. “No, I’m not.”

 “You two are disgusting,” Sersi says, her inappropriately polite nod and English accent making you laugh. 

 You toss the pillow onto the chaise lounge. “Okay, well, I’m allowed to be whipped.” You smooth the front of your dress, ensuring no stray fibers got caught on your complicated bodice. “He’s gonna be my husband.” A new word to you, like fiancé once was.

 Mrs. Rogers. So bizarre. 

 “Speaking of husbands.” Sersi taps her keyboard, giggling to herself. “I think Dane is having a wardrobe crisis.” 

 You and Helen gather around her phone, bursting into laughter. Joaquín poses cheesily next to Dane’s gray slacks, which have split along the seam of his ass.

 Sersi swipes away Joaquín’s urgent texts. “He’s requesting a needle and thread, stat.” 

 Helen rotates, her skirt swishing prettily as she locates her bag. “I have some.”

 “We gotta go.” Sersi grabs both your hands, marveling at you. “I love you.”

 “I love you too.”

 Helen examines you seriously. “If Rogers comes back in here—”

 “Go,” you laugh.

 Which leaves… Maria.

 Who never seems to uncross her arms. “You look great.”

 You barely shrug; any sudden movement could send your hair toppling down. You silently thank Dane for taking the brunt of the wardrobe malfunctions today. “Thank you.” 

 You fidget nervously. The ceremony starts in almost half an hour. You’ve paced circles all day to soothe your anxiety, mostly looking forward to the reception. With a bit of patience, you’ll soon be surrounded by drinks and friends and food and a far more comfortable party outfit.

 Steve must feel the same. You wonder again why he couldn’t wait a little longer to see you.

 Maria, manager extraordinaire, is just as aware of the time as you. “Here.” She lifts the veil off the nearby vanity table, gesturing for you to crouch so she can affix it. “Are you nervous?”

 “Um, yeah.” Your traitorous eyes catch your reflection and, without warning, your thoughts swim with uncertainty. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

  “You’ve come a long way if all you care about is him liking your dress.” She chuckles. “He’ll love it.” 

 Maria forms a half-circle around you, correcting the train of your skirt. Honestly, you’ve never witnessed her so chilled out either. Maybe the campaign has affected her more than you realize. She must enjoy some sense of victory by attending this momentous wedding, the product of the blind date she arranged.

 “Maria.” 

 “Mmm.”

 “Why did you choose me?”

 Maria pockets her hands inside her jumpsuit. “Not to insult you, but…” She pauses. “You’re not the only one we asked.”

 You nod. “I know. He told me.”

 “He’s not very smart, that one,” she remarks dully.

 “Who were they?”

 Twisting your fingers together, you imagine the weight of an elaborate flower bouquet between them. Then the cold surface of another ring, a shiny and steadfast reminder of the promise you’ll soon make.

 Sometimes you still wonder what the hell you’re doing marrying Steve Rogers.

 “Two friends of mine,” she says carefully. “I was honestly just looking for people I could trust to keep a secret without forcing them to sign an NDA.” 

 You stare at her blankly.

 Maria clears her throat. “Darcy, and Hope.” 

 “Why did they say no?” 

 Maria blows a short stream of air, pretending to be deep in thought. “Well, Darcy works for SWORD and already likes her government work.” She purses her lips. “Um, Hope owns a tech company with her dad.”

 A sensible answer, and a good sign that neither had anything against Steve personally. You should feel satisfied. Shut up, and go into the wedding certain that you’ve always been the best candidate for his partner. 

 And yet, these women’s personalities echo someone else equally independent and dedicated to her work. “Would you have asked Helen?”

 Maria holds your gaze, her tough love unwavering. “Yes. I was going to.”

 You let the diamond of your engagement ring catch your thumb, rotating it over and over.

 It seems like forever ago when you posted pictures online gushing about your new fiancé and proudly displaying your diamond. You and Steve fended off questions from friends and curious paparazzi alike, telling everyone that his proposal was intimate. That all-important question would remain concealed behind the walls of your shared home. 

 In reality, early on, you and Steve sat down with a laptop and he requested that you order whichever ring you wanted.

 You’re going to wear it. I want you to like it.

 He meant it well; he means everything well. But Steve was staying late at the office when the jewelry arrived inside ugly cardboard packaging. You ripped it open, slipped the thing on, and continued with your nighttime routine.

 How would Helen have reacted, in your shoes? You wonder if she would’ve stumbled into a brief but intense bout of crying the same way you had. 

 More likely, she would have overcome the feeling, like she overcomes most things. “Oh.”

 Maria responds gently. “I could tell Steve needed a break.”

 No shit, you think kindly, never knowing Steve for his laidback nature. “From what?” You scoff. “All the beautiful, powerful women?”

 At least, you imagine the others to be beautiful. Stunning, probably.

 A small crease forms in Maria’s perfectly smooth forehead. For the first time, she seems disappointed in you. “Steve has spent his entire life trying to live up to people’s expectations. Mostly his own.” Again, she busies herself with your veil, the silky fabric brushing the inside of your elbow. “He needed to get out of his head.”

 And look after some washed-up school teacher. “So me, floundering without a job—”

 "No,” she interjects. “He needs someone who sees him. Beyond his job, beyond what he can offer." 

 Doubt spins itself into a tight ball, lodging inside your throat. “You don’t sound like his campaign manager.”

 Because… why did you and Steve get together at all? It was a trade. A change in the trajectory of your life, in exchange for your presence in his. Helping boost his campaign. Your signature on the non-disclosure agreement as the cherry on top.

 “I’m a strategist, I’m not heartless.” Your eyes connect in the mirror. Hers are blue, as blue as Steve’s. “You make him happy.”

 Do you?

 You make him smile, sometimes. And laugh, when you force him to watch your favorite sitcoms instead of parking himself in front of the twenty-four hour news. Some invisible burden ascends off his shoulders when you compliment his cooking. A pink tinge rises in his cheeks whenever you tie his tie, or take his hand and hold him close. Months and months later, that still hasn’t dissipated.

 You have a crystal-clear picture in your head of how he would react to your dress: the open fondness in his eyes, his lips falling open for a second before curving into a smile.

 You’re so beautiful, he’d say. I’m so lucky. And he’d mean it.

 Maybe that could be enough. Maybe you could be enough.

 Your chest pinches sharply, your vision blurring at the edges, yet only when she hands you a tissue does it all spill over. “This might come as a surprise, but Steve was such a sad little shit before—” You toss your arms around Maria, laughing tearfully while she awkwardly pats your waist. 

 After a moment, your chiming phone brings you out of the embrace.

 “Told you,” she says, somewhat smug. Then, with tenderness: “Aren’t I the best manager ever?”

 You grin at the screen too. Sleep-deprived Steve. 

 She arranges your skirt again, then moves toward the exit. “I’ll see you out there.”

 It’s a video call. Grateful for waterproof makeup, you dab at your cheeks before answering. “This doesn’t count, right?” He’s grinning.

 “No, I don’t think it does.” You tilt your camera. Not the most flattering angle, but you avoid capturing the neckline of your dress. “Helen’s gone though, if you wanna see.”

 “I’ll wait for the big reveal.” The chaotic bustle inside his room obscures his words. You picture Dane in his boxers and Joaquín mending his pants while your friends snap photos and chat with Sam and Natasha. Steve turns from his phone briefly, situating himself elsewhere. The hallway, you’d guess, given the wallpaper and the significantly lower volume in the background. “I wanted to check in. How are you doing?”

 “I’m good.”

 "Yeah?”

 "Even though this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.“

 He chuckles. "Me too. And I’m running for President.”

 "It’s not a bad thing, though,” you reply. Luckily, you sit alone in the bridal suite. No one hears how soft and high your voice gets, talking to Steve. “How are you?”

 “Nervous. Excited.”

 You wanna kiss that nervous-excited smile off his face; he can’t seem to get rid of it. “What for?”

 “Seeing you,” he answers honestly.

 You bite your lips, a fruitless attempt to muffle your shy hum. “You saw me like, ten minutes ago.”

 Maybe at last you understand why he barged into your room. 

 You’d need to travel down half a dozen corridors, and add in a few left turns, and eventually you’d find him. Leaning against the wall, the screen illuminating his face. Easy in theory. Yet, the journey seems to drag on for miles. He’s too far from you, from where you want him. Right here, right now.

 You check the time. Ten more minutes, then all you have to do is walk down the aisle.

 He’ll be yours.

 Steve softens. “I like seeing you, sweetheart.”

— — —

masterlist

Thats it

The thing that killed me.

This is the end of the line for me.

Chris Evans on “Lightyear”, Anxiety, & The MCU 🧑‍🚀 MTV News

This is Josh interview.... we are just missing one ..the puppy one

love is a game by adele - for the song drabble!

Moving On

Word Count: 530

Warnings: None, some angst.

Frank x Female Reader / Special Guest

The sun shines through the blinds, casting a warmth that this apartment hasn’t seen in months. You know it’s time to go, your tears no longer worth shedding over a man who won’t commit, let alone communicate. There’s a weight off your shoulders that feels oddly freeing. You thought that you would sadder than this, to leave this place that you once called a home with a man who you thought would want to see this through.

Life has a weird way of making you realize that what you thought you wanted at a point in your life is now a lesson, one that hurt, that challenged you, broke you and ultimately left you being reintroduced to part of yourself that you thought you had lost. She was always there, just hiding in the misery that Frank had managed to pile on during your relationship. What could be said for the boxes that line the hallways? The dishes that you bought, the coffee cups carefully wrapped – and you have so many because you thought you’d spend your mornings on the balcony, drinking coffee with the love of your life. You’ll use every single of them one day. You know this. For now, they are securely in a box, waiting to be whisked away to your new apartment.

It's like a checklist now, moving through the apartment as you mentally tick off everything you’ve packed or given away to charity. You’ve thrown away the pictures of you two together, unceremoniously placed in the trash as a symbolic gesture of how quickly things went wrong. You aren’t upset anymore and you don’t wish to be. There’s no numbness, no wishing that things could go back to the way they were.

You know now that you deserve better.

That alone keeps the momentum up to finish packing, the doorbell ringing to signal that the movers are here. Where Frank has gone, you have no idea. Somewhere up in Northern California most likely, hanging out with his friends who probably told him it was a good idea to get away from you because this last fight, the one where you looked him in the eye and told him you were unhappy, only seemed to make him disinterested in continuing the conversation.

As the movers come, you survey the place, looking at the note that is placed on the counter. It’s a quick goodbye, your portion of the rent already in his bank account in case he thinks you’re skipping out.

Before long, the truck is packed up and heading to your new place as you follow behind.

It doesn’t take long for you to get there, looking up at the brownstone building with a sense of hope and peace of mind before a man walks past. You almost do a double take at the sight of him. He looks so much like Frank that you aren’t sure if you’re seeing things, the man stopping at the sight of the moving truck.

“New here?” he asks with a kind smile.

“Yeah,” you answer.

“Always good to have new people around. I’m Bucky,” he introduces, holding out his hand as you shake it. “Hope to see you around.”

brought absolute tears to my eyes