#Burning on my chest

[holylulusworld]

Burning on my chest

Title: Burning on my chest

Square filled for @anyfandomkinkbingo​​: “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

Square filled for @mcukinkbingo​​: I3: Wedding proposal

Rating: Mature

Summary: Your ex is the least person you expected to meet.

Pairing: Mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of past relationship/breakup, making out, almost smut, light hand job, coitus interruptus, implied smut, a hint of fluff, attempted semi-public sex, implied oral sex (fem rec), tattoed Steve, mafia au

A/N: Handsome is the reader’s pet name for Steve.

Words: 1,7k

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

AFG KINK BINGO masterlist 

2022 MARVEL KINK BINGO masterlist

“A pleasure to meet you,” the man says as you shake another hand, struggling to keep your tired eyes open. You hate the sound of your voice as you keep on making small talk. “We are glad you made it to the party.”

“OH, thank you for inviting me,” you reply, forcing a small smile on your lips. One that doesn’t reach your eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too Mr. … Stark.” You add as you forgot the name of the man in front of you. “Would you please excuse me? I need to find my companion.”

“I hope to see more of you tonight,” he kisses your hand, lips lingering a little too long for your liking. “Miss Y/L/N.”

“Mr. Stark,” you pull away, fighting the urge to wipe your hand on your red gown. It’s your fault. You shouldn’t have listened to Natasha. The dress you are wearing is a little too revealing for some men to behave. “The pleasure was all mine.” It’s a blatant lie you sell so easily.

Natasha needs new clients and you, well, you need the distraction.

Heartbreak isn’t easy to forget about when you are the one breaking your heart by walking away.

“Y/N, I was looking for you,” Natasha coos while wrapping her arm around your shoulders. She guides you through the crowd chewing your ear up on your way as she doesn’t stop talking about all the hot guys at the party. “Did you find someone worth your time?”

“I wasn’t looking for someone,” she huffs as you wiggle out of her embrace. “I need a little more time to get back into dating mode. Just give me more time.”

“Babe, you broke up with the mysterious guy you told no one about. If he was the wrong guy, look for someone better. Or at least a hotter piece of ass,” she points at Tony Stark. “He’s elder but can fuck like he’s in his twenties.”

“How do you wanna know?” she snickers darkly as you roll your eyes. “You fucked him, didn’t you?”

“Hey, I was tipsy, he was tipsy. We fucked, babe,” Nat pats your cheek as your eyes round. “It’s not a crime to enjoy a good dick, you know.”

“Uh—not Stark. He’s kinda hot but not my type,” your friend shrugs your comment off. “I mean it, Nat.”

“Fine, go for one of the others. There are more than enough dicks to ride in this room. Just not Wilson. He’s mine tonight.”

“Wait, isn’t he engaged?” you glance at Sam Wilson, one of Natasha’s newest business partners. “Nat!”

“Nah, they broke up a month ago,” she whispers in your ear. “Now he’s going to be my newest conquest. I need to help him cope and all. A pity his ex was more into their gardener, isn’t it.”

“What a cliché,” you turn to leave the room to get some alone time. It’s tiring to spend so much time pretending you are not missing him. “Have fun, I guess. Just don’t break another heart on your way.”

“Maybe I’ll keep him,” she winks at you before pushing her tits up. “Here I come, Mr. Wilson. You’ll be in heaven tonight, or rather inside of me.”

“Crude—” Natasha walks off, chuckling at your comment. You watch her flirt with Sam for a while until you turn to leave the crowded room and hide in the restroom to get a moment of silence.

“What a pleasant surprise,” you feel a shudder run through your body as the voice you’ve missed so much fills your ears. “Did you miss me, doll?”

“I-what are you doing here?” twirling around, you face the man you left three months ago. “Steve, how did you get inside the mansion? It’s a private party.”

“I know,” he huffs. “I got an invitation, too. You know, most of the people inside the room do business with me.”

“What?” your eyes drop to his forearms. He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing the tattoo on his left arm. A snake wrapping around a phoenix, fighting the mystic creature with all might. “Stark and Wilson do business with you?”

“Natasha Romanoff, your good friend, is one of my best clients,” he lifts your chin with his index finger to draw your attention toward his eyes, not the tattoos on his arm. “I’ve missed you, Y/N.” His thumb swipes over your lower lip, making it tremble. “Did you miss me, too?”

“Steve, we can’t be together,” he moves his hand to your cheek to cup it gently. “Handsome, I can’t,” you almost whimper when his lips meet yours in a soft kiss. You moan into his mouth as he eagerly slips his tongue inside. “Steve.”

“I let you go, baby doll,” his hands cup your face as he deepens the kiss. You are helplessly lost in his taste and the heat coming out of his body. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have let you go to find someone else.”

“Steve,” the kiss gets more heated as your hands shoot toward his face to end up in his hair. “Handsome…baby, I can’t be with a man like you. You’re dangerous and your business is illegal.”

“I don’t fucking care. You belong with me, Y/N,” your hands grip his forearms, nails biting into his tattooed skin. “You’re my girl, my love.” You slide your hands over his arms up to his shoulders to grip him tightly.

“Show me,” he groans at your words. You always loved his wild side. He’s so unlike you when it comes to taking what he wants. His lips crush against yours as he tries to steal more than your breath. “Fuck me. Please.”

“You want me to take what’s mine,” Steve growls as you are busy ripping his dress shirt open to reveal the tattoos on his chest. “See, your tattoo is still burning on my chest.

He grips your hand to press it to his heart, nodding as you trace the tattoo with your fingertips. It’s an old-fashioned tattoo. A burning heart with ribbon and flourish design. His pet name for you is on the ribbon.

“That’s mine,” you stand on tiptoes to lick over the tattoo. “Only mine, Steve. Don’t let anyone else touch it.”

“Baby doll,” he easily hoists you up to carry you toward the washbasin. Steve takes his time to look you all over as if he wants to make sure you didn’t get hurt while he wasn’t around to protect you. “That dress kills me.”

“Take off your shirt, Handsome,” purring the words you run your hands up and down his chest. “Please, Steve.” You gasp as he guides your hands to his hips. Steve smirks as he shrugs the dress shirt down his shoulders to reveal his upper body to you. “Perfect as always.”

“Why did you leave me,” you unzip his pants to slip your hand into his dress pants. He places his hands on each side of your body, simply watching you work his cock. “Baby doll, tell me why.” 

His lips search yours and he hotly moans in your mouth when you finally take his cock out to swipe your thumb over the tip. “Steve, fuck me against the wall. I want to see your tattoos on the back in the mirror.”

“You’re crazy,” he hoists you up again to slam your back into the wall, he grunts, eagerly rolling his hips into yours. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, against the wall and you’ll watch me in the mirror.” Steve tugs at your clothes, grunting as your dress won’t give in. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Yeah,” you challenge while holding tight onto Steve. He claims your lips again, eagerly sucking your lower lip into his mouth. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“I want to reclaim this pussy and make her mine all over again,” Steve buries his face in your neck to nip at your sweet spot. You are engrossed in watching his back muscles flex, and the tattoos in the mirror, moaning as you love he got a new tattoo, a broken heart, carrying your name. “You’ll take me so well.”

You desperately rub your clothed pussy against his erection. “Please fuck me, Steve.”

“I’m on it, doll,” he laughs as you claw at his back. “Just let me—” Steve grunts as two women enter the restrooms. They start to scream the moment they find you and Steve making out.

“PERVERTS!” You laugh as Steve hastily puts you back down to stuff his cock into his pants. “GET OUT!”

While you pick Steve’s dress shirt up, he apologizes repeatedly. “Sorry, we just…uh—”

“We tried to have some privacy ladies,” you wrap your hand around his wrist to guide Steve out of the restroom to flee out of the mansion and end what you started somewhere else. “Have a pleasant night.”

“Fuck, that was something else,” you collaps on top of Steve, panting heavily. You lie on his sweat-slicked chest, laughing as he moves his hand to your ass to squeeze one cheek. “I’ve missed you so much, doll.”

“You mean you have missed fucking me,” he grins as you lift your head and glance at his lips. “Well, we are even. I love you for yourself, Handsome.” You kiss him greedily, tongue snaking with his. “But your cock is a bonus.”

He sighs as you lay your head on his chest. Steve caresses your neck and shoulders, softly letting his fingertips dance over your skin. “Never leave me again, doll. I wasn’t myself without you telling me what not to do.”

“You need a strong hand, Mr. Rogers.”

“Guilty, doll. How about you keep me in line for the rest of our lives?” he flashes you a smile when you lift your head to look him deep in the eyes.

“You’re lucky that you are cute, Mr. Handsome,” you tease. “That was the worst wedding proposal ever. You didn’t even go on your knees.”

“Not half an hour ago I was on my knees to lick your sweet pussy. If that wasn’t proof enough for you to say yes, I don’t know what you want me to do,” this time you slap his chest. “Doll, marry me. I know my lifestyle is not for you, but I promise to always keep you safe.”

“If you buy me a nice ring, I’ll think about it, Mr. Handsome…”

Tags in reblog.

[reddiamondyeet]

They're flooding my camera roll please help.

[snacobie]

Here have this doodle

[itsalwaysforyou]

there’s blood in the water, there’s blood in the water

kenny ortega, descendants / the crane wives, the crooked, the cradle

[jinkiesmariz]

Thinking about round 6 like… they hit the yaoi pentagon ..

[mattodore]

pets him

[valeriianz]

had thoughts about Dream being able to sleep, how soft and human he would look. for your consideration:

Hob announced his arrival from work with a long sigh, heavy with exhaustion, and leaned into the door as he opened it and stepped into his flat. He dropped his keys in the little bowl and toed off his shoes. He had just shrugged off his messenger bag when he noticed a pair of large black boots in the living room, stark against his off-white rug. They were about a meter apart, like they’d been kicked off or tossed aside without a second thought.

With one brow raised, eyes scrupulous, Hob deposited his bag on the couch and bent down to pick up first one boot, then the other, tucking them together and neatly placing them on the wooden floor next to a bookshelf.

“Dream?” Hob called out, straightening up and casting his gaze upon the room. It wasn’t like Dream, when he paid surprise visits, to not immediately be within eyesight of the door, let alone leave his shoes haphazardly on the carpet.

Hob’s eyes landed on the entryway of the hall, spotting Dream’s thick, long coat in a heap on the center of the floor. Worry began to creep in as Hob slowly stepped up to Dream’s mystical coat, his pulse thrumming under his skin. He stooped down, grabbing it by the collar and brushing it off with his other hand. The material felt luxurious in Hob’s hands, soft like cashmere or shahtoosh, but also durable– something akin to wool or even canvas. Hob’s fingers caressed the fabric, feeling the lip of the tall collar between his thumb and fingers. 

Gently folding the coat over one arm, Hob continued down the hall, stepping softly, carefully. 

Hob’s bedroom door was open, the rays of the setting sun streamed in through the window and lit up the entryway, revealing more dark clothes in a jumble leading into the room.

Swallowing, lips parting, Hob bent down once more to collect Dream’s t-shirt, his pants and, following the line of mayhem, his socks, taking them all into his arms. Hob wasn’t sure what he expected to see when he finally straightened up and turned, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Hob almost dropped all the clothes he had spent carefully collecting, his mouth going dry. 

There was a considerable, person-sized lump in Hob’s bed, buried under his thick gray comforter. The only indication that it was indeed Dream laying in Hob’s bed, was the mane of wild dark hair poking out from the mass of linens.

Hob took a step forward, then another, crushing the pile of clothes to his chest as he walked around the bed, his gaze transfixed to the top of Dream’s head– a smattering of black ink spilled on his white pillow. He held his breath as he finally came to face Dream, the only part of him sticking out was his nose and eyes, Dream’s impossibly long lashes draped down, threatening to brush the tops of his cheeks.

Hob felt his jaw drop, lips parting in wonder at this ethereal creature in his bed.

Dream was sleeping.

Or… it looked like he was sleeping. The shape of him steadily rose and fell, imitating breath that Hob knew Dream didn’t need. Hob didn’t think Dream needed sleep, either… or was even capable of it. Was Dream sick? Had he been injured?

Hob quietly deposited the bundle of clothes into a wicker chair in the corner of his room, turning back to Dream and leaning over him, slowly pressing one hand into the mattress next to him, and bringing the other up to lay it against Dream’s forehead.

Hob immediately felt foolish, of course Dream didn’t get sick, he’d nearly beaten it into Hob by now, how Endless never fall ill (not in the way humans do, apparently), but Dream did actually feel quite warm. Hob moved his hand from underneath Dream’s soft fringe, grazing his fingers down the side of his head, brushing the shell of his ear, cheekbone, and across his pointed nose, unable to get any further with the blanket folded up tight around half his face.

With his heart lighter than it’d felt in a long time, Hob couldn’t resist carefully hooking his fingers around the edge of the comforter, leaning in close as he pulled it down to expose Dream’s lips and chin. He looked softer, like this– human and vulnerable. There’s a trust here, Hob knows, his chest tightening, as his knuckles caress down the line of Dream’s jaw, free of blemishes and marble smooth. Hob swallowed again, his eyes flicking down in unrestricted interest at the line of Dream’s concealed body, cocooned in creamy grays. He looked back up, focusing on plush lips that are too red for Dream’s alabaster skin, like they’d been bitten.

Hob’s own teeth pull on his bottom lip, moving his hand to press a thumb against that mouth, barely touching, like a paint brush, dragging it from corner to corner.

“What are you doing?”

Hob huffed a surprised laugh, but didn’t remove his hand. Dream’s voice was lower than usual, thick, and rumbly, pulled from a deep slumber.

“Checking your temperature,” Hob answered in a whisper. His breath caught in his throat as Dream’s eyelids fluttered open, crystal blue eyes focusing right on him.

Christ almighty, he was gorgeous. Hob still couldn’t believe it sometimes, that he was allowed to see this, to be regarded by such beauty, such a divine entity. That he could call Dream his, and be confident in the knowledge that he was Dream’s, too. Hob felt himself begin to shake, his thumb was still at Dream’s lips, which had parted slightly when he’d spoken, his hot breath hitting Hob and causing something both carnal and pure to race through his blood, something devotional.

“You’re quite warm,” Hob tried again. Dream hadn’t spoken, only watched him, like he was waiting for something.

“Yes,” Dream’s voice ran over Hob in that velvety way of his; a warm tide crashing over him and lifting Hob up.

“I was seeking warmth. You weren’t home, and I know how pleasant you are after a long rest.”

“Pleasant?” Hob’s lips curled in a smile, distractedly pressing his thumb a little harder against Dream’s bottom lip.

“Tepid.” Dreams amended, parting his lips and allowing Hob’s thumb access.

Hob gasped softly as Dream bit down, his eyes blazing now, the black of his iris growing so there was no more blue. Hob hummed, his fingers curled around Dream’s chin, tilting it up.

There’s a tongue that swipes the tip of his thumb and Hob knows he’s lost, feigning nonchalance was never his strong suit when it came to this entity in his bed. His heart crashes against his ribs and Hob’s sure Dream can hear it, can hear the desire there.

A bare arm slips out from the pile of gray and latches onto Hob’s bicep, pulling him down. Hob goes along with a smile, getting one knee up on the bed, then the other, dislodging his fingers from Dream’s face to steady himself.

They lift the comforter together, allowing Hob to crawl in next to Dream. The shock of the sudden temperature hike against Dream’s bare skin makes Hob’s breath catch, desperately wishing he’d taken his clothes off first.

“Christ, Dream it’s like a furnace under here.” He’s never felt Dream radiate so much heat before. He truly was learning something new about this man– Endless, every day.

Dream’s long arm pulls the blanket back down, going around Hob’s middle and tucking it under him, coaxing Hob to be flush against his sinew body, usually firm with restrained strength, now soft from sleep. Dream’s chin tilts down, lips brushing Hob’s forehead.

“Could be hotter,” he murmurs, lips traveling down, his sharp nose nudging against Hob’s face, encouraging him to meet him evenly.

Hob is already panting, he’s sure he’s already sweating too, but he meets Dream’s mouth eagerly, pressing hard, getting his hand back on his face to cup Dream’s jaw.

“Well,” Hob pants as Dream wetly breaks the kiss, pressing his lips instead up Hob’s face and into his hairline. “I certainly wasn’t expecting this today.”

Dream hums, the sound reverberating down his body and tickling Hob’s senses. 

“I’m pleased I can still surprise you.”

[chrollohearttags]

and lemme touch y’all’s hand when I say this…when I say you are not special, I mean that. Meaning I don’t write or reblog with ur feelings in mind. This is my blog where every insane, intrusive and inappropriate thought can come spewing out at any given moment. Where my stories are a love letter to myself and the other blk women I write for. I am not a machine meant to constantly pump fics out for your enjoyment. I am a regular girl who uses this as my lil safe space of the hellscape we call the internet. Some of y’all got the game fucked up in thinking that being a writer is who we are and not just something we do. If you don’t like the way I or someone else uses this space, then leave the same way you came. I suffer from ADHD burnout horribly and I may go for days at a time without posting actual work bc my brain is in a fog and I can’t focus. When it begins to feel like a chore, I back out for a few days and if that’s not acceptable, then I truly don’t know what to tell you. Not apologizing for that shit.

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

💗This handsome hunk truly radiated in this era💗

[the-unfortunate-ly]

collapse with your art

[naelmasn]

⛎️⛓️ The World Sundered

A post-apocalyptic AU in which both Themis and Erichthonios survive and live in a destroyed star with large and dangerous creatures roaming about. They're taking a break from hiding...

[skitskatdacat63]

The brainrot this literal 2 second clip had given me is insane

[reddiamondyeet]

My birthday gift to myself: whatever this horrible thing is.

[snacobie]

I told you guys this is all I’m gonna be talking about for a while lmfao

[being-luminous]

Here's your monthly(?) reminder that I'm not dead. From a fun little au inspired by Don't Lose Your Head

- - -

“How old is he, anyway?” Ron asks as he scowls down at the invitation he plucked from Harry’s hand, at the note scrawled near the bottom that requests his continued presence after the festivities’ end. He tosses it away, angled suspiciously for the fireplace. “A hundred?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry scoffs, snatching the invitation from the air before it can land in open flame. “Of course he isn’t one-hundred years old.”

“Harry’s right, Ron,” Hermione begins, "Lord Voldemort can't be one-hundred—"

“Thank you,” Harry says too soon.

“—He doesn’t look a day over fifty.”

“Hermione!”

Ron snorts, crosses his arms. “Oh, my mistake.”

“I’ll have you know,” Harry said, cheeks growing hot, “some men like that sort of thing.”

“And you’re one of them, are you?” Hermione asks skeptically. She exchanges a look with Ron, the kind Harry should really be used to inspiring by now.

“Of course he is. Can’t you tell from his extensive history in dating the elderly?”

“Piss off.” Harry tosses the invitation back at Ron, aiming right for his face. Then, because he can’t help it, he snaps, “Fifty is hardly elderly.”

“Seriously, Harry.” Hermione summons the invitation before Ron can return fire. “Are you sure about this?”

“Am I ever?”

“Harry.”

He sighs. “You worry too much, Hermione.” Then, before she can inform him that she worries precisely the required amount, thank you very much—as she always does whenever he protests—he adds, “And besides, what do you actually think is going to happen?” He gestures toward himself, adds a sarcastic little flourish just to be really drive his point home. “He’s running an entire country. I’m just…me.”

Ron frowns again. “Harry—”

“It’ll be a bit of fun, that’s all,” Harry says, and this time, the confidence isn’t faked. Because why would it be? He’s seen the sort of person who’s usually found in Lord Voldemort’s company—bewitching, shining. Beautiful. Harry probably won’t even last the week. “You’ll see.”

[desktopmermaid]

Observing mannerisms from this

King (he/they lesbian)