Omfg!!!!! 🥰😘🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

Fucking love this

Fanfiction Club: The Rules

This idea came to me when I woke up first thing this morning.

I swear the things I would let him do to me!!!!

CHRIS EVANS by Mark Segal for Esquire US (April 2017)

oh my heart

Siri!! I hope your week has been better!!! 😘😘😘 and, so do these menaces 😵‍💫🥴

That Ari GIF will never not make me thinking of him about to tap it from behind 😂😂😂 Liiike, any time, any place, beefcake sir 🥴 And thank you, beauty! Hope you’re doing well 😊❤️

oh god!!!! i want him so bad

CHRIS EVANS for The Hollywood Reporter,2019.

So….today is my birthday, which I already hate, but a few people managed to ruin it even more when I was actually in a decent mood about it. Just know: your writing managed to pull me out of that negative headspace. I hope you are told constantly how wonderful it is. Now, back to your regularly scheduled hoe down

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 🥳🎈🎉❤️ I’m sending a few GIFTs your way:

I’m sorry you had a shit day and people can suck but please know that I am sending you the biggest hug and birthday cake and fun horny energy 🥺❤️

What do you think about exhibition kink ? And who do you think would have it, Buck or Steve?

👀

Pairing: Personal trainer/beefy Steve x reader

Warnings: Smut, Minors DNI, Steve is 6'4, praise kink, exhibition kink, degradation kink

A/N: As always do not copy, translate, rewrite or repost my works.

Co-owner of the infamous gym, the Brooklyn 107th and part-time boxer Steve has a huge exhibitionism kink.

A few weeks ago, he had the windows of his gym covered with a transparent plastic film that allows for his customers to work out without being seen by people on the street.

At least that's what he told everyone.

Really it's because he loves to fuck you in front of the ceiling to floor glass windows during your personal sessions.

He adored your body the second you stepped into his gym, asking if he could help you get in shape. He never offered personal training sessions until you.

And you were the only one who received his very special attention.

Your training sessions started off tame but the more he touched you, the more he craved you.

Soon your one-on-one sessions began to happen later and later because he wanted to spend time alone with you.

You made him nearly feral every time you worked out together. He couldn't stop thinking about all the filthy things he wanted to do to you.

The first time you softly grunted, the sound nearly sent him over the edge. He spent the entire hour hiding how hard he was.

Steve waited until you were in the parking lot before locking the doors, barely able to control himself before he reached the showers. His hand wrapped around his aching cock as he thought about how soft you felt as he helped you squat.

At night he dreamed about those sexy little grunts you made when you boxed or lifted weights, only in his mind you were making them because of him.

Steve tried to maintain his professionalism until one day he was in the middle of stretching your legs and he saw the wet spot forming on the crotch of your leggings.

His heart raced at the thought of you being as affected as he was.

You couldn't even feel embarrassed because he stared at it, at you with such lust you almost came right there on the yoga mat.

His eyes drifted up to your face and he bit his bottom lip as he gazed at you. Then his lips curled into a wide smirk. "Y'know I really should stretch all of you sweetheart."

Your hands slip, the pristine glass smudged by your sweat.

“God, please Steve, fuck fuck fuck fuck, I can’t.” The glass fogs up from your harsh, frantic pants, the condensation growing with each sob ripped from your throat. “Pleaseplease Steve.”

Steve growls in your ear, the feral sound making you whimper in response, another please falling from your lip.

“You can take it, you’re okay, take it, sweetheart.” Steve grits his teeth, his damp blonde hair plastered to his forehead. He’s never been in such a tight wet pussy, you have to take it because he can’t get enough of you.

You lean forward, pushing your forearms flat on the window, and pull yourself up on your tiptoes. No, you can’t, you can’t take anymore. It’s too good and fuuuck you can’t, you just need-Taking in a deep breath, you cry out in relief when your swollen cunt slides to the tip of his throbbing cock.

Your head lolls back and your pussy clenches down when you see his dark blue eyes glaring at you. Oh please, Steve. You thought you couldn’t get any wetter until you had 6’4 of pure tatted muscles behind you, his deep voice ringing in your ear “you better not run again sweetheart, take this cock like a big girl before I fuck you stupid.“

His wrapped hands grab your waist, his scarred, calloused fingertips dig into the soft dips of your hips, and he drops you back on his cock.

Pleasure bursts through your body so hard and fast, your legs collapse, your hands sliding down the window as you keen. Steve laughs when you wail his name, the thin high cries with each thrust making his cock even harder. One large, thick arm wraps around your waist and he pushes your body into the glass.

Steve’s hip snaps into yours over and over, the salacious sound echoing through the nearly empty gym. He slams his hand on the glass and grabs your chin with the other. Your dazed eyes rake over the busy street. The thin pane of glass is the only thing separating your naked body from the lunchtime rush of people outside.

“Look at them,” he pants in your ear, “wonder if they know what a cockdrunk little slut you are for me. My sweet little slut, so fucking good for me. “

Steve knows you love it when he talks to you like this, making you take every thick inch and praising you for doing so good. Your greedy pussy clamping down on him tighter and tighter with each filthy praise.

He slides his fingers down to your clit and rubs your aching bundle of nerves so softly, a sharp contrast to the way he’s pounding into your cunt.

“Want me to open one of the windows and let them see how good you are, taking my cock like the good fucking girl you are. You want that, sweetheart?”

You feel his deep laughter on your skin when you moan in response, too far gone to form coherent words. You’ll let him fuck you in the middle of the ring before his next match if he keeps doing that. More broken pleases, for him to stop, go deeper, just please Steve. Fuck you, don’t know what you want, only that it’s too much and you want more.

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s how you take my cock, so fucking proud of you sweetheart, now let’s-“ Steve places his hand on your back and forces you into an arch and he hits a patch just inside your pussy and you see stars.

The windows rattle when you slap your hands on them, you don’t notice the people turning their heads in your direction, too overwhelmed by the sweltering heat blazing through your belly, the knot fraying and unraveling as you sob.

His name a chant on your tongue as you come hard, so hard it nearly hurts.

“Good girl,” he praises, groaning when your walls flutter around him. “That’s my girl.”

You slump against the cool glass as Steve continues to fuck you, his hips slapping into yours two, three more times before warmth coats your spasming walls. He kisses along the back of your neck, murmuring more praises as he pulls your trembling body from the window.

“Good warm-up sweetheart.” He nips your shoulder, his hands sliding around your belly. “Now it’s time for your cardio.”

i fucking love this!!!!!!

Take It All Off

Summary: Chris does not want you wearing another team’s jersey in his house. In fact, he doesn’t want you wearing anything in his house.

Pairing Chris Evans x Reader

Word count: 2K

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, Chris (he’s a warning. No plot lives here on Sinday

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A/N: Little drabble for a nonnie. Hope you like it

Do not copy, rewrite, translate or post my work anywhere. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work. 

Music booms through the lower level of the house, the waning scent of pizza and mozzarella sticks from the earlier hour-long break wafting through the living room. Boxes stacked neatly in the hall, you’re  standing in front of a small tower, searching for one in particular. Turning the stack around with your foot, the black writing on the side comes into view.

You scan down until you find the one with your t-shirts and sweats; you wiggle the box out and head upstairs. “Chris, I’m going to get changed, I’ll be right back.”

“Darlin’ we don’t wear clothes in this house,” he yells from the couch, sorting through your books.

You scoff, jogging up the stairs, dodging more boxes on the landing. That man is incorrigible, he’s already tried to tell you he has a “must wake Chris up with sex” rule and a “must sit on Chris’s lap during the game” rule. He already talked you into taking your pants off when the movers left.  

Incorrigible.

In fact, if he could keep his hands to himself for more than five minutes, half your stuff would have already been unpacked. And your shirt would not be covered in marinara sauce.

Who finds eating mozzarella sticks sexy?

 Christopher Evans, that’s who.

He kept trying to kiss you while you ate, causing you to spill the sauce down your shirt. Which led to him licking it off your exposed chest while you playfully fought him off. You smile softly thinking about how he offered to let you lick some off of his chest. 

Three hours into your first day officially living with him and you love him even more.

You push the bedroom door open with the corner of the box, setting it on the end of the bed. Ruffling through it, you find one of your favorite old worn t-shirts, setting it on the top of the pile, you pull your stained shirt over your head.

“Damn,” Chris groans from the doorway, “take it all off, baby”. He openly ogles you, biting his lip. He can feel himself getting hard seeing your soft half-naked body in his room.

You roll your eyes, tossing the shirt in the wicker hamper by the door, you grab your t-shirt shaking out the wrinkles before pulling it over your head, “down Chris,” you joke.

Chris pouts, pushing his plump bottom lip out, his bright blue eyes despondently watching your chest disappear under the fabric, “aw c’mon, baby we got an hour before the game, we can finish getting your–,” he cuts himself off when he spots the offensive logo on your perfect body.

You look over at him, brows furrowed at the sight of his narrowed eyes. Chris places his hands on his hips, his black shorts clinging to his ass, his muscles popping out of the dark shirt with the patriots’ logo painted on. He walks to you slowly, his nostrils flaring, a faint flush on his cheeks.

He pokes you in the middle of your chest with his long index finger, “what the fuck is this?”, he asks, his voice deepening.

You glance down, confused by his sudden mood change until you see the logo under his finger.

Oh.

Your eyes flicker up to his face, you can feel the resentment and indignation rolling off him in waves. 

And you like it.

Since you started dating, you learned what buttons to push to get Chris to do what you want, but there’s nothing like discovering a brand new one.

You flutter your lashes innocently, keeping your eyes on him, and shrug, “they’re my favorite team,” you bite your lip, pushing his finger away to touch the logo reverently, “I thought you knew that”

Chris glares at you, holding your chin between his warm rough fingers, “since when?”

“Since that time they kicked your team’s ass,” you smirk. You don’t know if or when they played against the Patriots, but when the flush on his cheeks deepens, you know you made a good guess.

“Take it off,” he spits out, leaning so close you could count his long eyelashes, his plump lips almost touching yours.

You grab the waistband of his shorts and retort, “Make me Christopher,” mocking his tone.

God, his eyes burn with passionate fury. That look blazing through you, making you wet and throb so much it almost hurts when you see the veins in his neck pop up.

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