600 Reblogs? Wait Guys Keep Going I’m Close

fucking joseph quinn and his pretty fucking doe eyes and his cute little fucking smile and precious little laugh and fucking cute accent like what the fuck

I'm gonna be rude in this ask for the challenge.

Bucky Barnes.

He swipes the parking space you were waiting for.

Bonus points if you make it into A/B/O but either way I am here for it.

okay but this provided me with the perfect meet cute, so i’m not even mad though—

Title: Break lights

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Rating: Explicit

A/N: here goes my second entry into @syntheticavenger’s 5k challenge, located here! this prompt SENT me, because… what am i, if not a corny, horny pile of bones?? please enjoy, and also, i have one entry left, so if anyone wants to send another prompt, my inbox is open, lmao!!! thank you synth for hosting this bomb challenge, and for giving me the best prompts 🥺

MINORS, DNI!

How it started:

You’re a cautious driver—okay, maybe over cautious, but it was a dangerous world, and you had to be. You worked hard at your job at the coffee shop to be able to afford it, budgeting and scrimping and saving—you couldn’t afford major repairs.

Which was why parking on the street in front of work was such a hassle. People zipped by on the busy street, often only just avoiding hitting you as you slowly, carefully backed into whichever spot you’d found. Or worse, they waited impatiently behind you, honking and yelling as your nervousness made it even harder to line up correctly.

Those are things you’re used to.

What you’re not used to, is some asshole driving up into your spot just as you’d begun to reverse. You weren’t used to sitting there in shock as people drove into the other lane to pass you, watching as he got out, looking rather pleased with the great spot he’d managed to secure. He’s big—brawny, with dark chestnut hair. You can’t see his face, not really, but the smug smile is easy to read.

“Asshole.” You growl, your hands tightening on the steering wheel. You should get out and give him a piece of your mind, you should let him know he’s an entitled little—

“Hey lady! Move your ass!”

You should find another place to park.

Shamefully, you put the car into gear and look for a spot of your own. You find one eventually—three avenue blocks away—and trudge back to work. Priscilla is in the back when you arrive, and she throws an apron at you.

“Where’ve you been? It’s a shit-show out there,” she whines. “I told Maurice you were back here but he’s not going to buy that for long.”

“Thanks, Priss.” You reply, shrugging out of your denim jacket and fiddling with the apron ties. The front is slammed, just like she’d said it was, and you slide over to the register, punching your code in. “Hi, can I help you?” you ask, giving a cursory glance to the man in front.

“Americano. Black, please.”

You look up again, and your eyes narrow. The sun glasses are pushed up over his head now, but you recognize the parking spot thief from earlier easily now. Is it just me or is he… bigger? He seems even larger now, towering over you as he smiles politely. You sniff dryly, punching his order in. Alpha. Fucking typical.

“Anything else?” You keep your tone clipped and short, practically snatching his card from him when he offers it.

“Yeah, I’ll take one of those pastries too, the blueberry one.” You grab one, tossing it carelessly into a paper bag before swiping his card. You drop it to the counter and spin on your heel. “Uh, don’t you need my name—”

“No, when I yell ‘parking spot thief,’ you’ll know your order’s ready.” You snap at him, unable to keep quiet a moment longer. A look of disbelief crosses his face, followed by amusement. “Sir, please step aside, there are other people waiting behind you.” You gesture to the growing line of disgruntled people murmuring what you could only assume were disrespectful things.

He does, a little smile on his irritatingly handsome face.

Stupid Alpha. Alphas were always like that, pushing people around just because they could. You’d sworn you’d never settle down, and if you did, it certainly wouldn’t be with some entitled Alpha who never wanted you to do anything but pop out kids and cook his meals.

“Can I help you?” The next person steps up.

“You know, in all fairness, I didn’t know you were waiting for that spot,” he interjects, speaking over the middle aged woman as she tries to order.

“Sir, please. I’m trying to work. Also, who just sits in the middle of the street with their blinker on if they’re not trying to park?” You snap, glaring at him. “I’m sorry ma’am, what did you say?” You can hear Priscilla giggling behind you, like it’s funny.

“I’d like one of those iced ginger teas, and a vanilla—”

“You’d been sitting there like five minutes! I thought you were having car trouble or something.”

“Vanilla?” you repeat back to the woman, ignoring him.

“A vanilla latte, please.” She turns to the big Alpha, leveling him with a glare of her own, and he smiles sheepishly.

“I’ll have that right out for you. And you. If you’re done justifying sniping my spot, could you…?” You make a shooing motion with your hands, and he laughs out loud.

“Okay, okay, toots. I can take a hint, I’m sorry.” He holds his hands up apologetically. “Really. It’s all a misunderstanding.” Priscilla hands you his cup, and you hand it to him, your face heating when you see that she’s written Parking Spot Thief on it in large letters.

“It’s… fine. Have a good day sir.”

“No, no, let me make it up to you. You get a lunch break, right?” You feel your whole body go hot.

“I do but, I don’t think—”

“She’d love to go.” Priscilla chimes in from behind you. “Seriously, I’m not going to watch you eat five day old muffins and get sick again.” You grimace at her. Why would you bring that up?

“How about pizza?” he asks, grinning. “Better than day old muffins, right?”

How it’s going:

“Feel me in your belly, right, sweetheart?” Bucky croons at you, lifting your hips only to let you bounce back down onto his dick. He presses his vibranium hand to your tummy and grins. “Oh yeah. There I am.” It’s pleasurable torture as he splits you open, your slick leaking down onto his thighs and the leather seats of his car underneath.

You’re babbling, half formed words and pleas leaving your trembling mouth as he fucks you stupid in the passenger seat. Tears are leaking down your cheeks as your pussy clenches desperately around the length of his thick cock, and your hands are fisted in his open dress shirt.

“God, ah, oh fuck, please, please, please—”

“Need me to make you cum, sweetheart? Show you how sorry I really am?” Bucky grunts, his hips snapping up into yours as he forces his cock as deep inside you as it’ll go. You don’t know how long is left on your lunch break, and quite frankly, you don’t care—Priss’ll cover, right? You think fleetingly, your hand burying itself in his hair as you keen. “Fucking shit, toots, do that again,” he growls, his lust dark eyes locking in on yours.

You do, threading your fingers through the silky strands of his hair and pulling. He hisses and leans forward, scraping his teeth against your throat. The feel of them rasping over the gland at the base of your neck makes your pussy constrict violently around his cock, and he curses.

“Mother fuck, you are tight.” He licks a stripe from your collar bone to your throat. “Toots, this is—ugh, fuck—gonna have to keep you, you know that, don’t you?” He’s rolling his hips into yours, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he mumbles all the things he’s going to do to you, all the ways he’s going to make sure you remember the feel of his cock.

“Oh fucking God,” You wail, sobbing as you throw your head back. You’re cumming so hard you can’t think, can’t see—staring blindly up at the roof of the car as you feel the base of his cock thicken and swell. Bucky presses his face between your breasts, his curses muffled by your skin as he sheathes himself tightly into your cunt, holding you in place as he cums. You can feel the hot, hard jets of his spend against the abused walls of your pussy, feel it leaking out around the base of his knot.

He leans you back against the dash, staring admiringly down the plane of your body to where your pussy is stuck fast on his cock.

“Is this how you always apologize?” You ask after a moment, gulping air down into your bereft lungs.

“No,” he admits, laughing as he smooths hair out of his face. “But I dunno, I could make a habit of it.” You smile dopily back at him, feeling your hindbrain release it’s death-grip on your consciousness. Oh fuck.

“Shit, what time is it?” You sit up, wincing as his knot pulls at your cunt while you search for your phone. You hope you’re not late—Priscilla having to fend off Maurice twice in one day was not the fate you were hoping to leave your best friend to.

“1:45,” he answers, pointing behind you to the dash. You sigh with relief—fifteen minutes till you’ve got to be back at work. “Late for something?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to be back at 2.”

“Hmm.” You feel him roll his hips into yours experimentally, and you moan, biting your lip.

“What are you doing?”

“I think I’ve got time to apologize again, don’t you?” He puts his hands on your hips, the metal one cool against your heated flesh. Bucky grins at you lopsidedly, licking his lips. “And if you’re free for dinner later, I can apologize again then too.”

WHAT DO YALL KNOW ABOUT REAL LOVERS ‼️‼️‼️

What do yall know about real lovers

doja is valid 💯

I’m bout to go down under yall

just!!!!!want!!!!!!to!!!!sit!!!!on!!!!his!!!!!lap!!!!!!

they were so quick to call Peggy Carter “Captain America” on twitter while she’s reppin’ the UK flag and the “Captain Britain” title in Marvel’s What If yet Sam Wilson still fights for his rightful title of Cap…

hmmm…..

dating apps are the trenches

MINORS DNI

NOTES: fuck me Logan PLEASE. As always, I need him, so! Very short as always

WARNINGS: car sex, nicknames, Logan knows who you are before the deed but you don’t, getting folded in half by Logan (hope ur flexible), porn (technically) no plot?

Dofp!Logan is coming to find you the second he gets to his young selfs body. Okay, maybe not the second, he does still have to get Charles and Hank, but there’s a day in between events, where nothing happens and he’s not needed for the sake of the universe and he takes it. And when Charles and Hank ask where he’s going, he just tells them he has someone he needs to see.

Honestly it’s a little too easy to find you. And it’s just as easy to get you all folded up in the back of the Buick, his cock sheathed inside you with your heels scraping the roof, head nearly hitting the car window with each thrust. He was always too good at getting you right where he wanted. You didn’t even know each other yet, no, you and Logan don’t meet for at least five more years, but you’re younger and just a bit sluttier and you’re not exactly banging your hands on his chest after he asks to take you out back after an hour of laying it on heavy at the bar you were working at.

“Look at you, baby, so fucking pretty—mmph—and all for me, isn’t that right?” You nod quickly, skin sheening with sweat, clawing at his shoulders while you’re absolutely gushing around his cock. You might have been embarrassed putting out so easily if every word coming out of his mouth didn’t send a warm tingle down to your cunt.

Your ankles bob on either side of his head where he’s got his eyes craned down to look at where he’s pushing in and out of you, like he’s mesmerized. He pulls out half way, then pushes in half way, just to fuck with you—at least that’s what you think. You have no idea how much he’s savoring the sight of your pussy wrapping around him, how twitchy and pretty she is. He laughs when you writhe and buck beaneath him, but he’s got your hips pinned down to the seat, and god this guy is fucking strong. He growls—fucking growls—when he finally bottoms out, and he looks at you like he could absolutely eat you alive, “So perfect for me, just wanna feel good don’t you, sweetheart?”

It’s hard to answer, especially since he’s sinking over you now, bringing your legs with him, ankles on his shoulders while he’s leaning over you driving even deeper than before. The tinge of pain of being nearly entirely folded in half is lost in every thrust that knock’s repeatedly into the soft spongy spot inside you. His breath fans over your face, and you think he might kiss you but he just looks at you, and then turns his head to kiss the side of your ankle, “Sorry sweetheart,” he groans, “If I kiss you—mmh—there’s no way in hell I’m leaving ya.”

You think to ask what he means, but then he’s got a thumb on your clit and his cock is shoving impossibly deeper, and every one of your thoughts is immediately leaving your pretty little head.