No But There Are Only Facts Here, Steve Going Back To Peggy Completely Destroyed His Entire Character

CHERRY’S RULES PLEASE READ

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professor!character x student!reader, gangbang/cuckholding/orgy, catching reader/character masturbating, daddy!character x little!reader, virginity loss, pup!reader, throuples/polyamory, pregnant!reader/character, sex pollen, sibling!character, touching infront of friends/family, nonconsenting third parties

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Mommy kink, age regression, water works, orgasm denial, hardcore bondage, scat, “master/mistress”, humiliation, anal, foot fetish, age play, hardcore dominate/submissive, knife play (any weapons really), feeder content

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(f!reader x biker!Bucky)

Masterlist

Warnings: creepy old men, unwanted touching, smut, oral sex (m!receiving), penetrative sex, dirty talk, swearing, Dom/sub undertones, unprotected sex, cum play if you squint, cream pie

There’s something about how you stand up for yourself that makes Bucky go feral

“You pretty little ladies have been hogging the pool table all evening. Why don’t you go get yourself a drink and stop playing around?” You rolled your eyes so hard you were surprised by the force of it and Natasha hid her smirk by taking a sip of her beer.

You straightened up, turning around with a bright smile to find exactly what you expected to find. A balding man in his late fifties if not early sixties with yellowing teeth and a beer belly his shirt did nothing to cover.

“You offering to buy?” You asked with a laugh, leaning against the pool cue and looking him up and down twice. “Because I’ll have a beer and so will my friend.”

“A beer for a pretty little thing like you? Shouldn’t you be drinking one of those fruity cocktails?” He teased, elbowing his buddy who snorted a laugh.

“Nah, but my boyfriend is partial to a Long Island Ice Tea if you wanna buy one so bad.” You told him with a shrug and his nose scrunched up, his eyes hard.

“That ain’t no boyfriend baby if he can’t handle a beer.” You’d never understand the hate in some peoples heart over a damn drink but you didn’t let it bother you, shrugging at the man.

“So if you won’t buy me a drink and you won’t buy my boyfriend a drink, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” You told him honestly, turning back to the game of pool you were currently losing.

Bucky was watching you from the bar, smirking at your conversation, idly stirring his drink. You winked at him before taking your shot. You smiled proudly when you potted the ball but before you could stand up there was hands on your waist and hips grinding against your ass making you scowl. Bucky on the other hand looked excited.

You straightened up, turning around and shoving the man back, teeth grinding when he only laughed, raising his hand. “I was just giving you a hand pretty girl.”

“I don’t need one. And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t be asking you.” You spat, shoving the man again, pushing him out of your space. “So back the fuck up before I make you.”

“Gonna call that cocktail drinking boyfriend of yours? I’m shaking in my boots.” He laughed and you smiled sweetly, holding up your right hand.

“Touch me again and I’ll castrate you using this pool cue and the ring on my pinky finger.” You warned and he laughed before stopping abruptly.

“You got a smart mouth, missy. I might have to teach you a thing or two.” He warned, stepping back into your space and you tilted your head to the side. “Put you in your place.”

“Try me.” You smirked. He stepped closer and you made a show of checking your watch before kicking the end of the pool cue, letting it swing up between his legs. He crumpled to the ground and you looked to his friend with raised eyebrows. “You want to get him out of here? Before I decide to get pissed off?”

Old and balding’s friend helped him up and the two of them scampered from the bar, leaving you to return to your pool game. You drained the last of your beer, grinning when another was set in its place and a strong hand grabbed your hip.

“Hey baby.” You tilted your head back, letting Bucky kiss you slowly. “Enjoy the show?”

“You fucking know it, Doll.” He pressed his hips against you and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. “Go wait for me in the back room. I’ll be in soon.”

You did as you were told, passing your cue to Sam to finish the game as you grabbed your beer and shuffled in behind the bar, perching yourself on a keg, waiting.

Bucky didn’t make you wait long, coming in with his own beer, the knuckles on his flesh hand busted. He was sporting a grin, making his way to you slowly.

“Did he cry?” You asked eagerly, tipping your head up when he took your chin between his metal fingers. He leaned in close enough that you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Like a baby. Begged for his Momma too.” Bucky assured you, finally lowering his head to you, pressing your lips together. “Was still walkin’ funny when I got out there. Called you a bitch.”

“I am a bitch.” You mumbled against his lips and he smiled. “I’m your bitch though.”

“Exactly, so no redneck with an attitude problem is gonna touch you and get away with it.” He assured you. He cupped your jaw gently, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip.

“I can take care of myself.” You grumbled and he laughed cruelly, pushing his thumb into your mouth to hold your tongue in place.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I know for a fact that if he got any more touchy you would have made good on the castration threat. But nobody touches what’s mine.” He told you, watching you drool over his thumb and down your chin. “‘s why I let you kick his ass before I did.”

He pressed down harder on your tongue and you closed your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks like you knew he wanted you to. “That’s it, baby. You gonna thank me?”

You nodded your head slowly, sucking on his thumb dutifully and he grinned, using his metal hand to unbuckle his belt, pushing his pants down past his thighs and taking hold of his cock. The tip was red and leaking, evidence of how long he’d been hard. “Makes me so fucking hot seeing you stand up for yourself.”

He removed his thumb from your mouth, gripping your chin tightly. “What you hit him for?”

“Putting his hands on me.” You mumbled, pushing against his grip, meeting his intense stare. “No one can put their hands on me.”

“Except?” He asked, his hand traveling from your chin to your throat, flexing slightly.

“You. Because I’m yours.” You told him and he groaned, pumping his cock twice before pressing his tip to your bottom lip, spreading his pre-cum over your mouth. You flicked your tongue out, tasting him before accepting the tip into your mouth.

His hand around your throat tightened just slightly as you began to bob your head back and forth, taking as much of him as you could and he groaned loudly. You ran your tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock and he flexed his hand, causing you to gag.

“That’s it baby, choke on my cock. Show me who owns you, baby.” He groaned and your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of him beginning to thrust into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat over and over. Tears dropped down your face when you blinked and Bucky grinned. “Such a hot fucking mess for me. You gonna let me fuck that tight pussy of yours, remind me who owns it?”

You nodded as best you could with his dick in your mouth and hand against your throat. You moaned against him, the vibrations causing him to shudder. He pulled out of you roughly, hoisting you up off the keg and turning you around, pressing your ass to his cock. “Bend forward baby and hold on tight. I ain’t lasting long.”

You groaned, bending at the waist to support yourself on the keg. Bucky pushed your jeans and underwear down, landing one sharp smack to your ass. He gave very little warning, swiping his tip up and down your pussy to gather you wetness before pushing in one long stroke. “So fucking tight, every time.”

“Cause you’re so fucking big.” You groaned, arching into his thrusts. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the back room and you delighted in it, knowing the others at the bar could probably hear you both. “Gonna fill me up Bucky? Remind me who owns this tight cunt.”

He loved your mouth, always fucked you harder when you talked him through it. Sometimes he fucked all sense out of you so all you could do was babble nonsense at him. “Feel so good, baby. Swear I’d sell my soul for this pussy. Can’t believe that fucker put his hands on you. Almost came when you knocked him in the balls.”

“Didn’t want his hands on me. Just wanted yours.” You moaned, rocking with every thrust. “Hate when anyone but you touches me.”

Bucky threaded his flesh hand in to your hair, gripping tightly and the other to your clit, rubbing wide frantic circles. “Come on baby, cream all over my cock. Make a mess for me.”

“Fuck Bucky, gonna cum.” You groaned, arching into his touch on your clit and then back to meet his thrusts. “So fuckin’ good, almost there. Gonna cum in me, Buck? Gonna fuck your cum into me until everyone knows I’m yours?”

Bucky came seconds before you did, thrusting through your orgasm until he collapsed over your back, supporting you both with one hand around your waist, the other on the keg. “You never disappoint.”

“You knock any of his teeth out?” You asked as he pulled out and went in search of something to clean you up with. He raised an eyebrow when you pulled your underwear and jeans up, shooting him a filthy smirk.

“I like the thought of you leakin’ outta me.” You told him with a shrug.

“At least two teeth, knocked ‘em down his throat.” Bucky pulled you close, kissing your forehead. “You okay?”

“Better now that my big brave hero fought for my honor.” You laughed and he rolled his eyes, pushing you out the door in front of him. He landed a smack to your ass right when you stepped out the door causing his guys to hoot and holler at you both.

How big is fuckin’ big?” Steve asked Tony when you walked past and you laughed, smacking the back of his head.

“Shut up, Rogers.” You warned. “Or I’ll set him on you next.”

He’s so fucking hot omfg

Druig fighting against a Deviant:

• unfazed (has probably faced this before)

• good at combat + shooting at weak spots

• not afraid to bait it towards himself

*gifset made by me, pls credit if you repost

I’m FERALL THIS IS SO GOOD

knuckle velvet

synopsis. he walks you home, then lets himself in.

pairing. logan howlett x f!reader. tags. [18+] dubious consent, vaginal penetration, female receiving oral sex, spitting. honey don't feed it, it'll come back type beat.

Some deep part of Canada, where everything was white. Snowstorms that swarmed through the sky, and the only warmth you could find came from the bottom of a bottle.

The wood floor of the sticky bar you worked in was soaked from frost covered boots – haphazardly scraped across the welcome mat, owners preoccupied with getting their first drink than keeping the place tidy.

You existed there, behind the bar that patrons lent against, like a metal cage with leering onlookers. They paid in drinks, but you took the money home as tips, your warmth stoked in a fireplace.

How you’d ended up there in that forgotten part of the world, you didn’t know.

Perhaps you’d followed a narrow path, one strung out with thorns and rubbish, but the money was okay.

When it got slow, and there wasn’t much else to do, your boss let you read a bit, too, while you sipped on your endless supply of Coca-Cola.

At the end of your shift, your teeth were fuzzy from all the sugar. 

An easy existence, but some nights, the patrons got too friendly.

They were fresh off their trucks, looking for some place warm to bury for the night, but you weren’t offering.

So, you’d peer at them, watch them make a fool of themselves as they spewed putrid words in your general direction – alcohol and lack of sleep causing the floor to sway from beneath their feet.

It was always the new boys who would try it.

Risk it all for a chance between your thighs, unaware of the hound sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a whiskey and a vendetta.

The first time he fought for you, the air had changed. Gone cloudy with the chance of a brawl – that sixth sense that all bartenders have switching on.

“Lady said no, ain’t she?” he bellowed from across the bar.

The voice thick with smoke and alcohol, you recognised him as the guy who’d been drinking whiskey all night, but he was as sober as a nun. No stumble to his step, or slur to his cadence, either.

He was built like an oak tree. You noticed when you served him. Slid him his drink and gazed at the sheer bulk of him. At the weathered, handsome age to his face, to the spray of grey in his brown hair.

His thick arms were snugly buried under a button up shirt, and you didn’t see, but rather imagined, the way his muscular legs were stuffed into jeans, and the way his size 12’s rested against the hardwood.

His eyes though, were hiding something. Milky brown concealing his curiosity – easily done with the hard panes of his face.

You imagined letting him take you home, and you thought about being friendly, before a whisper in the back of your cranium told you to back off.

Perhaps safer.

You didn’t know where this man had come from, let alone where he’d been. So, you continued to serve him drinks, and tried to ignore the quiet hum of his presence, until the hum turned to a crash.

The patron was scorned. He paused, and turned to the end of the bar, where the brown eyed stranger was waiting. “What’s it to you?” he slurred.

But the man with the whiskey wasn’t looking to him. He sipped his drink, and said, “she said no. You don’t remember your manners?”

The bar adorned an eerie quiet. Nerves sat low in your belly, heart picking up speed.   “This guy serious?” he asked you.

You went to say something, but he was already throwing words at the stranger.

“She yours or something?” “It matter?” “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” The stranger scoffed, and brought his drink to his lips, “whatever bub.”

“We got a problem?” the man uttered, stalking towards him, but his friend took him by the arm and whispered something in his ear, forcing him to deflate.

You wondered what he’d uttered. Whether there were rumours about the guy – a reputation you didn’t know about.

Brown eyes didn’t bat an eye when the man and his buddy slid out the door, cold filling the room before the door slammed shut.

The bar exhaled.

People went back to their business, and you thought about it, you really did. Thought about leaving him alone. Going back to your measly existence. Your home – the pit for all of your things.

But it didn’t win over in the end.

You topped up his drink. He took it, and glanced at you, brown eyes ringed with mystery.

“That happen often?” he uttered, voice a gruff grunt.

You put the bottle down, and looked away, thinking back to last week when you nearly fought a guy for staring for too long. You glanced back to him. “Sometimes.” “Your boss is an asshole for letting you work here alone.” “That so?” you laughed, shocked at his candour. He nodded and downed his drink, eyeing you from over the rim.

Finished, he put the glass down on the bar, and shrugged his jacket on. He got up to leave, and you felt a chasm begin to open up in your chest.

You went to say something. Anything, to make him stay. But he paused and looked over his shoulder.

His jaw was clenched when he tentatively offered, “be safe.”

When you locked up, he was waiting for you. 

It didn’t scare you. Really, it should, but when you left the bar and saw him standing there, toking on a cigar in the cold, all it did was make you pause. He stood there, gazing at you, eyes clouded by smoke. 

“You waiting for me?” you uttered, making it real, even if the light drift of snow was giving the world a dream like quality. 

He shrugged. “Just waiting.” 

You nodded, and put the bar keys in your bag, ignoring the chasm get wider. If he was going to rob the place, he’d have to get through layers of receipts and tissues to get in. But you knew the bar wasn’t what he was after. Something about his posture, the luring look in his brown eyes — curious, like he was trying to figure something out. 

You began to walk past him, but when he didn’t follow, you paused. You peered over your shoulder, and he was still looking at you. 

Taking you in. “Well,” you started, hitching your bag up your arm, “you gonna walk me home, or what?” 

He followed you in comfortable silence.

Just you, the night, and the crunch of dirt under his boots. His cigar smoke drifted by, and it wafted through your subconscious, followed by pine, and crisp scent of the snow.

He sounded like the noise of the woods — ever present in these parts. A comfort, if one had adapted to its unpredictability. When you got to your familiar walkway, you opened the gate, but he didn’t follow you through.

Instead, he stood by the entrance, watching you unlock your door like he’d just dropped you off from a date. it was when you were halfway through that he spoke up. “You work every night?”

“Yeah,” you started quickly, looking to him. “Apart from Wednesday and Sunday.” He considered you, then gave you a sharp nod, and turned to leave.

That’s how you ended up with a wolf at your door.

Every night, he was the last one left, then he silently walked you home.

Some nights, you’d find him leaning against the entrance, and he’d quietly peel away from the door and follow you. At first, he simply walked closely behind, a looming shadow, until he began walking beside you.

Then one night, you let him in.

Made him a cup of coffee to fight off all the liquor he consumed, and he sat at your kitchen table, and drank every drop.

Watched you in the low, fluorescent lighting, and you did the same. Curiously studied him. He looked different in your home. In your kitchen. Looked a little softer around the edges, even if he couldn’t relax completely.

It went like that for a while. It was on one of these nights that he gave you his name, followed by a shitty cup of coffee. Sometimes two. Maybe a biscuit, or a piece of cake. Leftovers turned into home cooked meals. Sat at the kitchen table and watched him eat. Roast beef. Mashed potatoes. Lasagna. Sipped at your cup of tea as he slopped up his pasta, using the back of his hand to wipe the sauce off his mouth.

You left him finishing off his plate to get ready for bed, and it was when you were sorting your hair out, that he came into your bedroom and began taking his boots off.

You stood at your mirror and watched him place them near your door.

Then he reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.

One by one, you watched his thick fingers reach the bottom. He took it off, revealing a white tank off and broad chest, and hung the shirt up on your door frame.

Jeans next.

Popped the button and shucked them to his feet -- threw them with his boots and dragged himself towards your bed.  

You went to say something. Anything.

But he looked so exhausted as he crashed onto your frilly bed, that all you could manage was, “You lock the door?”

Logan nodded. His eyes were already closed, and he was hugging the pillow when he uttered, “you coming to bed, or what?”

You let him stay the night.

Maybe it was raining, maybe he was too tired – it didn’t matter. All that mattered, was that he was warm, and sometimes, when you woke and felt the terrifying ache of being alive, he’d be there to quiet the pain.

Hush you with the soft swell of his lips and wandering hands.

You’d come with a hushed whisper, hot and sticky over his calloused fingers -- drowsy from how high he took you. Then he’d kiss you, fix your clothes, and go back to sleep.

Always the middle of the night. When it was dark and quiet out, and it felt as if you were the last people alive.

His skilled hands bringing you to the brink, a soft kiss, then back to bed.

You would wait for it. Watch him nurse his whiskey at the end of the bar, the night dragging with every drink you poured. Then, he watched you lock up.

Waited at the door for you, so you could walk home together, wordlessly taking the familiar trail.

He’d eat, you’d watch, then leave for your room.

Once, you woke to his head between your thighs. The night was quiet, room dark – slither of moonlight from your window cutting a line through your bodies.

You were slick with sweat, and as you flexed your taunt muscles, they fizzled and singed. Hot heat pushed low in your belly, rooted between your thighs.

Logan hummed, and you reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, whimpering his name to grab his attention.

He had palm fulls of you. Fists of your thighs, soft of your belly, leaving marks with his desire – desperation. The first thing he did was apologise. Muttered a hoarse, m’sorry, into your soaking cunt, but continued tasting you.

You used his hair as leverage, and hitched your hips up an inch, causing his nose to bump into your sensitive clit, and you hissed, as if in pain, but the sound trailed off into something similar to his name, and Logan grunted, moving your hips further up so he could twist a thick finger inside.

You took all he gave.

Moaned into the pillow beside you as you rocked your hips against his face, soaking his nose and mouth. Said shit you didn’t mean, but meant all the same, and Logan got off on it.

This mysterious man who had taken over your life, grunted your name like it belonged to him. Made you come on his thick beard and puffy lips, then made you taste yourself as he kissed you.

You hugged his sweat slick frame to you, fingers scratching his scalp, mindlessly grinding against his clothed cock. You were content to just kiss him, until he dragged his fingers between your thighs again.

You startled, gasping into his hot mouth, but Logan hummed, near smiling against your lips.

“’think there’s another in there for me,” he drawled.

When he fucked you, there was so much of him that you went blind with it. Eyes half lidded, delirious as he pushed inside, making himself fit. Stuffing you full, then pulling out, just to feel it all over again.

Again and again. You moaned his name into his soaked, scarred chest. Felt yourself leave your body, so hot, so wet, that it was all sensation. Just the slap of his hips against yours, the feel of his hands on your tits, in your mouth, telling you to open wide.

He spat, and when he missed, he smeared the mess off of your chin and rubbed it into your cunt.

Made you come, then filled you with his own. Leant back, and watched it drip out of you. You were so consumed by him, that you didn’t have enough energy to feel self-conscious.

No, when he had his wild eyes on you, you reached between your thighs and stuffed it back inside.

The next evening, and he was back at the bar, waiting for you to bring him his whiskey. When you placed it in front of him, those wild eyes were on you again.

Waiting. Always waiting.

Waiting to play out your usual routine.

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Last one standing..

Stanley Jobson x reader (neighbor!au)

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜ଘ(˵╹-╹)━☆ 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 ＆ 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘭, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘍𝘓𝘐𝘙𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘦̂𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘴, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘺, “𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺”𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘴, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 -3- !!－， 𝘏𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭😭

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦ଘ(˵╹-╹)━ ♡︎ 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑑𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐻𝑒’𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑟𝑢𝑏𝑖𝑥 𝑐𝑢𝑏𝑒, 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒．．．．𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑚 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟．．．

@cherrywineisawaltz said something first😭

_ _𝐑𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟.-_ 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨_/-𝐜.𝐨𝐧_𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨}} 𝐧𝐨-/_.𝟐

.♥︎.

You couldn't give in. It felt like the legacy of damn near feminism itself was counting on you.

It was all HIS fault.

A frown creeps on your face as you recall what- or rather who seemed to coast in from Texas bringing not only himself but his unconventionalness with him while also single-handedly being responsible for the position you’re currently in. And to make matters worst, you hadn’t even done anything to catch his attention.

To your knowledge (the apartment grapevine) you’re one of the few strong soldiers still standing who haven’t fallen to his charms. You never thought you’d live to the day where you’d be mentally cursing a 6’3 man with short hair as messy as his life, unfairly bright under eyes, perfect teeth, dimples, the most clutchable forearms you’ve ever seen and eyebrows that just won’t quit.

Fucking Stanley Jobson.

You shake your head- no you’re not fucking Stan. Even though since about three and a half weeks ago, he’s been driving you crazy trying to get you to go out with him. The last time you saw him he was guaranteeing that “you’d have a great time pretty” and from the suggestive flick of his brow as he looked down at you, head tilted, you tried to fight the warmth crawling over your body at the picture his words painted you. It didn’t work though because almost immediately you were swarmed with images of him. Laying naked in Stanley’s bed, nails digging into his broad shoulders before raking down his equally sculpted back, big arms wrapped around you as he stretched you out, rolling his hips into your slick heat over and over moaning raggedly into your mouth-

Stan’s gentle questioning hum breaks you out of your daydream and you stare back dumbly into his eyes before taking a deep refreshing mind clearing breath of crisp completely sane air before giving him a tight smile, turning around and promptly getting the fuck out of there.

The more you avoided him, the more he seemed to haunt you. Physically and metaphorically.

Another incident was when you were using the complex’s washing machine. Usually you’d go to a different laundromat but it was pouring and you needed clean underwear. Again, thanks to your shit luck, you ran out of laundry detergent half way through and the free stuff was on some high ass shelves above the machines that you couldn’t climb because they were old as fuck and just as unsafe which left you to the tried and true method: tiptoes and jumping.

You still couldn’t reach and for some reason it filled you with such a rage that you consider knocking all the shit there over but before you could throw your fit, a large hand holds your waist along with a solid chest to your back while his other hand reaches up to grab the soap powder, placing it softly in your hands then resting his chin on your shoulder.

“How are you cute even when soap has you all pissy?” Stan huffs out an amused chuckle, the air tickling your cheek. You catch yourself rolling your eyes fondly, tilting your head back a little.

Maybe you could entertain him a bit.

Relaxing in his hold, you try to calm your racing heart. Stanley was so big and he smelled so good and you can’t even think about his voice and all the dirty things that would sound heavenly coming from him. Especially right now, standing pressed flush to him with no panties on under your shorts.

“That’s because I wasn’t getting pissy-“, another chuckle from Stan, “I was getting annoyed. The difference is key.” You retort sassily, feeling him nod on your shoulder. “Yeah, sure you were baby.” The petname makes your heart skip hard as heat blooms to your chest and you swallow. Goosebumps raise on your arms as Stanley rubs them up and down, softly humming as he does. You wish you were unaffected but unfortunately you need to stay strong.

Clearing your throat, you ask aloud: “what are you doing?” He runs his hands up to your shoulders, applying firm pressure as he starts to massage the tension there. “Helping. This whole week whenever I saw you, you always look so stressed…”

Qué?? Your brain shuts down and suddenly you have a second heartbeat as the hottest man you’ve ever come in contact has your resolve crumbling by the second. His thumbs drag across a particularly sore part of muscle and a relieved gasp spills from your throat. “I- yeah?” You say, trying to concentrate but the deep hum in your ear scatters your thoughts again, Stanley clouding your senses.

“Yeah…and y’know I could fix that..help you relax..” He trails off but god you know exactly what he means, biting your lip to keep from accepting immediately. You should stop. Back up off him and come up with some nonsensical excuse to leave before you kiss him but you don’t. Instead you ask-

“…how?”

You won’t repeat the things he whispered in your ear.

Only that they had you running back to your place to do something- anything to distract you from the ache between your legs. Leaving your laundry altogether.

Okay, so you shouldn’t have flirted back but experience is important. Now you know that letting the stupidly built man you’re fighting tooth and nail to resist hold you is a bad idea. You live and you learn.

But….all these encounters are starting to take a toll on you and Stanley is wearing you down. You can’t recall when he even started to be this big of a problem for you. When he first moved in, you didn’t see him much but heard a lot. Excited talk about some gorgeous guy and disputes over if he had the perfect nerd or fireman look until you saw him and understanding dawned on you. You won’t lie, there was no point: he was fine. Standing in grey adidas track pants with a tight sleeveless tank as he helped an elderly lady carry her things to the elevator with a effortlessly gracious smile but from then on you decided that was it. Guys like Mr. ‘Pregnancy is only 9 months’ were nothing but trouble. Plus seeing just about all the women in the building vying for his attention, you knew what you weren’t going to do: him. Until you see him one night standing in front of the mailboxes holding a childrens drawing with a look so sad it made you mourn with him. Walking up to him, placing your hand on his arm.

“I don’t know who she is but I’m sure she understands.”

A longing sigh leaves Stanley’s lips and he’s silent for a beat. “…she- Holly- is 10. I had to send her away again this week. We talk and stuff but my work always has me runnin’ off somewhere n that’s hard n just…”, there’s another sigh and you know what he means because you miss your own folks sometimes, “I miss her. I don’t want her to think she’s not apart of me because we’re not always together.” First step to comforting someone: don’t cry. You rub his arm in soothing motions, nodding gently. “Well technically, you aren’t apart. She’s in your blood, you’re not a lonely man.”

The way Stan snapped his head down at you, staring into your eyes with a tender look was definitely the first warning but did you listen? No, all you did was stare back before softly bidding him goodnight. Leaving behind your perfume and the warmth of your hand.

After then, he was steadily more different towards you. More open, even more charming, but you willed yourself not to go there with him. If you were any other woman, you’d have bit his dust a long time ago. Hell, you know a plethora of women who already did which leads to what do you do now? You’re both getting closer but you’re trying to stay friends. If you start, it might never end so you keep tiptoeing..

Solid knocks at your door break you out of your brooding, slightly confused because you didn’t order anything and you weren’t expecting company. Padding over to the door, you swing it open and your eyes widen as your heart leaps up your throat. Stanley stands looking as yummy as ever smiling down at you. His shoulders seem even broader and you can’t think clearly with his aftershave in your face.

Fuck your life and the horse it rode in on.

Suppressing a deeply inconvenienced sigh, you grin tightly at him. “Yes Stanley?” The sound of his name from you makes his already glowing face positively blinding. “You and me, 7:30 tonight. Let’s paint the town. What do ya say sweetheart?”

“What about Holly?”

As if summoned, you hear the little things voice from way down the hall and you poke your head out to see her. She’s all toothy grins, waving excitedly as she poorly holds a familiar looking dog with one arm. “Emmie and me are having a slumber party tonight! And look! Isn’t he cute?!” She explains before thrusting the dog forward and while cute, you do feel bad for him because that can’t be comfortable. Emmie is the daughter of one of the military men next door. You see them around and they’re always nice. Just as quickly as she appeared, she’s gone again, back in the door to go play with her friend. A soft laugh leaves you as you turn to look at Stanley but he’s already looking at you. And closer. You gulp.

“Well, I would but-“

“Scared you’re gonna have fun?”

His playful jab riles you up in the way that’s always been easy for him because it’s him and you rush to wipe the smirk off his aesthetically pleasing face. “Actually I’m scared you won’t be able to keep up with me.” Stanley looks stunned for a second before chuckling lowly, biting his lip as he nods slowly and the air shifts. “How are you so sure I can’t keep up if you don’t give me a chance?” The air feels hotter and you roll your shoulders to try and shake it off but the images are back and it’s so not your fault. Stanley gets closer. “If anything…,” his breath washes over your face like mint and lemon sweet tea, “you’ll be breaking to keep up with me.”

Oh.

“And what if I can’t? Do you go find someone who’s more your speed?” You ask coyly, going for a different approach entirely so you don’t yank him to your lips. “No, I help you keep up. For as long as you’ll let me.”

That’s it.

Silently, you back up a few steps into your apartment because you know he’ll follow you. When he does, you motion to the door with your hand and Stan looks amused but closes it anyways, coming to stand in front of you when you crook your finger for him to come closer.

Burly arms wrap around your midsection, pulling you completely against him and it feels so good you’re dizzy, reaching up to loop your arms around his neck but Stanley’s height makes it hard and you groan. Knowing how you can get (laundry incident) Stan lifts you, arm around your waist with the other hand splayed across your ass then your legs around his waist. The feel of his warm muscles under you make you throb and suddenly breathing is slightly harder. Biting your lip, you run your hands up his corded neck then back down to his chest, letting your imagination run wild. Stanley just lets you as he clears his throat to get your attention.

“You wantin’ something from me, baby?” You would have said something smart back but you don’t have it in you. Instead, “just kiss me already-“ and then your mouth is immediately consumed by his.

Like the rest of him, his lips are warm and you’re burning up, moaning the second he slots his mouth over yours, sending shivers down your spine as he licks along the seam of your lips, making you tighten your legs around him and kiss him even harder.

Stanley groans at your roughly sucking at his bottom lip before licking hotly into your mouth. His tongue coaxing yours into his, languidly sucking at the wet muscle and you melt down, dripping from your cunt, soaking your underwear and the need to be naked becomes urgent. The wet smack of your kissing makes you both heady as your grind yourself on his abs, gasping wetly at the friction and you tug the hem of his shirt with a needy whine.

To your dismay, Stan pulls off from the slick of your mouth, dragging you slowly down his body, watching with blown pupils as your pouty mouth drops open when your clit catches on every ridge of his stomach and the tent of his erection through your tiny shorts, until you’re set back on your feet, glaring at him. He pecks you on the lips to soothe you but you’re feisty. “I’m hard, you’re hard. Why’d we stop?” Laughing at the whine in your voice will only frustrate you further so he stamps it down, taking your hands in his.

“Because, we need to go on our date first.” You pout despite the warmth in your cheeks and nod. “Right. Tonight at 7:30.” This time he does laugh, the sound making you smile as he nods. Bringing your knuckles to his lips to kiss them, then your cheek. “You got it, pretty.”

You walk him to the door and motion him down, kissing him sweetly one more time, bathed in the warm way he looks at you.

“See you then…”

It ended up being the best date of your life.

Reminder for when he “saves” it. He was the one who wanted this, and now he gets to be the hero and win favour with young constituents. Don’t give him the credit for fixing his own problem.

Steve : Rob, did you maybe .. I don’t know, Feel straight in the upside down ?

Robin : What.

Steve : You know, because everything is flipped ?

Robin : It doesn’t work like that Steve.

Steve : I don’t know, the way Eddie was staring at me.. I felt pretty gay.

Y’all I wanna fuck Joe Goldberg so bad

Lock me in that glass box idgaf

you gotta out crazy the crazy, pull a love.

lock joe in the box. stalk joe instead. make him fear you.

I love the irony of the universe, they called him Namor and then we saw him and collectively decided that his new name is 'Mi Amor'