#fuck tony x reader

[spookythesillyfella]

remember when i had that dream where you [Y/N] have a sleepover with tumblr sexyman tony and sketchbook where you guys just end up in a polyamorous relationship ??? well . i tried to find a fanfic that would even slightly line up with the description. even if it was only vaguely

but uhhh ....

there were none . so i had to do it myself

[chiefdirector]

Gut feeling | Tony Dinozzo | NCIS

No.4: Hiding an injury

Sinking down into her desk chair, Special Agent (Y/N) (L/N) let out a gentle sigh, relief flooding through her as the pressure on her leg eased. She was somewhat thankful she had worn dark jeans, that paired with the dull lighting in the bullpen at night meant that she could hide the bloodstain coming from the hole in her leg until she could patch it up in private.

She had always been a private person, a childhood of broken promises and disappointments has caused her to close herself from other people, even when she truly wanted to let them in. She reasoned with herself on the way back from the raid the team had undertaken.

Slowly, one by one, the team left. She stayed under the guise of paperwork - it wasn't hard to believe, they did have mountains of it to shift through at the end of a case. Only when she thought the coast was clear did she sfhit her weight forwards, attempting to stand up. It took her a few tries but she eventually found her balance once again, thus beginning the slow limp down to autopsy where she knew Ducky kept af first aid kit for instances like these.

Except for the fact she barely made it two steps before she was grabbing the desk for balance, all the blood rushing from her head, causing the world to spin around her.

-----

Tony wasn't always the most observant, but even he could tell when something was wrong with (Y/N). She was usually so good at controlling her reactions that when she winces as she sat down, Tony knew something was wrong. That and with the look McGee gave him on the way out mean that he wasn't leaving the Navy Yard, not until he was at least sure that you were alright.

He did not pay close attention to most people but when it came to her, he could recall every freckle and replay the sound of her soft laughter in his head indefinitely. He knew that she wouldn't ask for help, so he slinked out of the room, claiming to be going on one of his many sexual adventures for the weekend ahead, but instead of taking the elevator down, he backtracked round the offices until he arrived in the kitchenette.

Tony managed to wait a whole seven minutes and forty-two seconds before he couldn't hold back on checking on (Y/N). He had a gut feeling that could rival Gibbs'; something was wrong.

The bullpen was empty when he arrived back. Maybe she was fine after all, maybe she went home. He thought as he maneuvered around the desks, only stopping when he saw her crumpled form partially hidden behind her own workspace.

With almost superhuman speed, Tony moved down the floor, pulling her head into his lap. He had one hand cradling her leg, and another pushing against where he could faintly see a blood stain on her trousers. He gently shook her. Once. Twice.

Shit. Shit. Shitting shit shit.

Tony could feel time slow down as he tried to wake her. Calling her name, nor moving her seemed to ruse her from her unconsciousness. The gut feeling was right afterall, there was some sick irony in that; the day he finally has an accurate gut feeling is the day where he loses everything.

He didn't know what to do. All of his training, both as a police officer and as a federal agent, were screaming in his head. They were commanding him to do something, anything. But he sat there frozen, panicked by a future where he wouldn't see her sarcastic smile in the mornings, or her sleepy goodbyes at night. A future where he wouldn't share movie nights, or go for impromptu midnight walks. A future where he would never get to tell her how much she had changed his life; a future where she wouldn't know how much he loved her.

Burdened with this thoughts, tony was unsure of what to do so hee shifted her once again, this time until her eyes briefly shuttered open.

"Hey sweetheart, gave me a fright there." He said, trying to bring her attention to him. He needed to keep her awake. "You need to tell me what hurts. What happened?"

"My..." She tried before stopping. She took a moment to compose herself. "My leg. Bastard shot it."

Tony moved slightly to get his phone from his pocket, dialing the emergency line for an ambulance "How'd you end up down here?"

She gave an answer, or at least tried to but the words seemed lost in her mouth, almost as if she didn't know herself. Tony wasn't surprised, by the way her body was she must have hit the ground, and hard.

"No point in worrying now, all you need to focus on is staying awake, getting better."

Tony looked down at her, waiting for her answer, but it never came. He wasn't sure when but her eyes had closed again. Gently he shook her shoulder again, trying to get her conscious for a few more minutes but this time instead of waking, her body fell limp.

Masterlist | Whumptober Masterlist

@ailesswhumptober @callsign-ember @happygirl-0408

[comfortmarvelimagines]

Headcanons request for Tony Stark’s daughter and tony being overprotective when someone says something mean in public when you stim. Thank you

(Except I liked this so much it became a full fic. Can be read standalone or as WYCFTQ)

You truly never understood the value neurotypicals placed on spontaneity. Its opposite, routine was everything that kept you grounded; safe, predictable, generally within your scope of capacity. Your worst days were the ones that were shoved off kilter by a change in plans, a cancellation, a meltdown that threw your timetable for a loop. You went to school, went to the tower, went home. That was your world. Small, but anything bigger felt unmanageable. Even that was barely manageable. So when Tony announced a surprise for you and Peter on an afternoon where school let off early, you felt unbalanced.

“Mr Stark, pleaaaaaseeeee tell us I literally can’t wait. I might die,” Peter, ever-impatient and fuelled by ADHD after his meds had worn off for the day, was literally vibrating with suspense. As opposed to your drained stillness, feeling like the floor had collapsed under you.

“You’ll like it, that’s all I’m giving you. Patience is a virtue, young one,” Tony raised an eyebrow at Peter, feigning a lecture. “And you’ll be fine,” he turned to you. “We’ve practiced using your strategies. We’ll bring stim toys, your headphones, and I’ve asked where we’re going to turn the lights down and music off to make it accessible. And they listened, because I’m me. We can leave as soon as you need, and you’ve got your communication device to tell us if you’re non-verbal. You’ve got this. It’ll be good for you, and for this hyped one over here,“ he ruffled Peter’s hair. “Capische? Good. Let’s go.”

Tony drove, but kept the music fairly low key. Peter was bouncing in the front seat, animatedly keeping a running list of all the possibilities that got increasingly far-fetched as Tony refused even the slightest hint. You had to admit, even through the snowdrift of anxiety that felt like it was building by the second, it was pretty funny. Amusing, even. Eventually, the Audi pulled into the parking lot of a mall and as he swung it in to park in the electric vehicle charging station, Tony pulled a baseball cap on low over his eyes.

“Alright, you ready?”

Peter was already halfway out of the car before the engine had been cut off. Tony turned to you. “Well, clearly someone is”, he gestured to Peter. “You doin’ okay?” At your nod, he continued in a near-whisper. “We’re going to a toy store. There’s Lego and sensory stuff for days, and I promise you’ll like it. But if it’s too much, I’m right here, and you’ve got your device to communicate. You say the word and we leave, no hesitation, okay?” At the mention of where you were going, you started happy flapping and bounced in your seat. Sensory stuff AND lego? Fuck yeah!!!! Some of the anxiety snowdrift melted back down and you got out to join Peter, who still had no idea where you were going and looked like the fact was making him positively implode. It was funny just how different you were, yet how you were both going to love this place.

At some point between the car and the store, you grabbed Tony’s hand. It was grounding, which you needed when the sensory overload of the general mall walkthrough got disorienting. You stopped, fluorescent lights searing into your brain and the beginning of the meltdown urge to run crept up your spine. Peter, miles ahead and oblivious to just about everything except the mystery destination, kept going, but Tony pulled your noise canceling headphones out of his jacket pocket. “You left these in the car,” he said by way of explanation, “And we’re nearly there. You’ve got this.” Resolve strengthened, you pulled the headphones over your ears, pressing the button on the side, hoodie pulled up, determined. If nothing else, you were going to get there for Peter’s sake- he might explode from excitement if it wasn’t soon.

In line with Tony’s promise, the toy store was bliss. The lights were dimmed and corporate music absent (thank Thor, and whatever other gods are out there), and the Lego. Oh my god, the LEGO. Rows of Star Wars and flowers and little city buildings and a huge tub of loose pieces, next to a free play table in the centre of the display. Sticking your hands deep into the cool plastic pieces felt positively heavenly, and in forgetting anyone else was around you were stimming freely in unfiltered joy. Vocal stimming, too.

“Surely you’re too old to be making those sorts of noises. I mean, I’d expect them from my 2 year old grandchild, not at your big age.”

The admonishment came from a woman, somewhere between middle- and old-age, making her way over to you from the baby doll section. You froze. She meant you? You were so happy you hadn’t been masking, not forcing the happy stimmy noises down the way you typically did when in the presence of others.

“Yes, you, don’t look at me all stunned. What are you doing in here anyway? You look too old to be playing, with Lego or with anything else.”

Fear felt like it was shutting down your access to comprehensible thought. Like moving through jelly, you pulled the lanyard around your neck forward to show the woman the pin. It was a green sunflower lanyard, the hidden disabilities awareness kind, and the button read “Please do not touch me. I’m Autistic.” You felt a distressed sound come from the back of you throat, whining, that you just couldn’t push down. Tony Tony whERE IS TONY?

“Hey y/n, have you seen-“

“Oh, so you’re special. That’s nice of your… people… to bring you out like this. You know, into the community.”

“What the fuck did you just say to my kid.”

The baseball cap was off. Tony had come from the back of the store, from the sensory section with Peter, and stepped straight into the middle of the degrading, one-sided conversation you were now trying to practice your breathing exercises through. You’d practiced them a million times, with Tony, Peter, Nat, Bucky, everyone said to practice because when the time came you needed them to work but right now you weren’t sure they were enough because you felt like you were drowning. Special. You weren’t fucking special, not in the way she meant it, you were just Autistic and Autistic is fine, Autistic isn’t bad, you had as much right to be here as anyone else but that word was making your ears ring, and you felt like your head was underwater and you couldn’t breathe and your hands were flapping but not in the good way in the too much bad energy need to get it out way. You needed weight, pressure, grounding, to be crushed, and, no longer paying attention to the conversation between Tony and the stranger, you pulled your AAC forward from its crossbody strap.

“Squeeze. Tony.”

“Okay, kid, yes, squeeze. I hear you.” You basically body slammed him as he crouched down to your level, and you hummed in relief as the hug was all the input your nervous system was craving. He turned to speak over the top of you.

“I need you to leave. Now. You had no right to say what you did. This is a public place, and my kid deserves access in the way that works for them. That includes stimming, and playing, in the way that brings them joy. I hope you learn from this.”

You assumed she left, because he didn’t say anything else. You stayed, tightly held, until you pulled back from the hug cautiously.

“Do you want to leave?” You shook your head. No. As awful as that whole interaction had been, getting here was a task and you didn’t feel you had made it worth it yet. “Want to see the sensory toys?” Yes yes yes a million times yes. Nodding wasn’t enough; with trepidation, a little of the flappy happy hands broke through. Not fully, though. The word ‘special’ still echoed in the back of your mind, unwanted and uncomfortably present.

The sensory toy section was pure magic. There were bubble tubes, tactile fidgets, bouncy seats, spinners, lights, glitter bottles, projectors, a reversible sequin dinosaur, acupressure rings, a cocoon swing hanging from a frame… It was like a goldmine of sensory wonder. As you joined Peter in discovery, little by little the mask you put up melted away and you were spinning, joyfully bouncing on the balls of your feet, happy vocal stims free and unjudged. And if Tony was putting aside one of everything you showed interest in to purchase and bring home with you, well, of course he was. If he couldn’t make the ableist public go away, the least he could do was provide you with the safest, most inclusive and loving home possible.

Tag list

@peggycarter-steverogers

[winters-hysteria]

Tony: *Gently taps table*

(Y/N): *Taps back*

Peter: What are they doing?

Pepper: Morse code.

Tony: *Aggressively taps table*

(Y/N): *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

[tonyslittleprincess]

Just put me in a choke hold already 🤭

[sleepingnova]

Hi starry! Can I please request an x reader with peter Parker?? I just want some thing really fluffy!!! Thank you

ducky, I know it's you 🤫🫣 I'm like a year late but it's ok, we're going to pretend like time is irrelevant here. Also woah me actually posting? ain't no way

Uncomfortable

Summary : Peter Parker is tasked with his final English presentation for the year. Only problem is, it's with you, and he's got a massive crush.

Pairing : Peter Parker x gn! reader

Word count : 1k

Peter Parker hates presentations: he hates how you have to stand in front of a class full of kids who aren’t even listening to what you have to say. He hates it with every ounce of his being.

As the school year comes to a close, he realizes that this is his last speaking project of the year-- and oh my god– he almost jumped for joy when he read that in Mr. Stark’s lab. He catches himself, because how embarrassing would that be in front of THE Dr. Banner and War Machine??? So he does what a normal teenager would do: he smiles at his screen, pretending like he just got a really funny text. 

His expression drops when he realizes it’s a partner project, and both Ned and MJ are being paired with someone else. His heart drops into his stomach when he realizes his partner for the project is you, the prettiest and most popular girl in school! He’s had a slight hallway crush, but he always psyches himself out of talking to you because, hello? You’re way out of his league! So, like any teenage boy, he calls his best friend, spiraling. 

“Hey, Peter, what’s up? You’re still coming over to put the new lego set together with me this weekend, right? Don’t tell me you're about to cancel–” The receiving end gets cut off, by Peter of course rambling on and on. 

“You talking to me, kid?” Tony chimes from his desk, his back turned away from Peter as he works on something completely different, a new suit mod Peter presumes.

“Dude, I- what? No, not you, Mr. S- Tony. Sorry,” He stumbles, not missing the way Tony’s finger points backwards at him, almost as if he's waiting for him to correct himself. When he did, he gave a thumbs up and kept working, keeping his ears open. “Okay, dude, we have a problem, like a big problem. Like, you don’t understand how cooked I am. How cooked WE are. I have to work with that really pretty girl in our class for the presentation.” Peter rambles, covering his face at his so-called “problem,�� and Tony almost bursts out laughing, stifling his chuckles with a cough into his fist. 

“Oh yeah, her. She’s really sweet, from what MJ’s told me. Okay, here’s what you do: I'll get you her number and just text her.” Ned rings out from the other end, half paying attention, half doing something completely different. 

“What? No, dude I can't just text her; you gotta have proper text etiquette. What would I even say? ‘Hey, you probably don’t know me, but we’re partners, and I have this massive crush on you, and I’ve been lowkey nervous as hell to come and talk to you’? Like, no. That’s how to scare her away 101. MJ and Liz are really the only two girls I actually talk to.” Tony can’t help but shake his head in disbelief, a faint smile on his face as he tries his hardest not to laugh at the kid as he apparently gets hung up on.

Peter groans, burying his head in his hands, a heated blush on his face behind his hands as Tony stifles his laughs, before finally turning around, a smug look on his face. 

“So, girl trouble, kid? Don’t be embarrassed, it happens to everyone! Well, not me back in the day,” Tony snorts, his eavesdropping making Peter sigh dramatically. “You’re a catch! Great personality and everything. Whoever this girl is would be lucky to have you. Does May know?” Tony asks, to which Peter was quick to shut it down with a “No, she doesn’t. I’m not going to say anything because this is literally just a school crush. She doesn’t even know I exist!” 

“Which is exactly why when you do this project with her, she’ll get to know you. Be your nerdy self and she’ll love you. Hell, in the two years I’ve known you, you’ve grown on me. I wasn’t even a kids person before I met you. When I lost you for those five years, I realized how much you wormed your sticky hands into my heart, or what heart I have left. You’re better than all of us, kid. You have a good heart and a good head on your shoulders; you don’t see that much anymore,” Tony pauses, trying to encourage him. “Just be yourself, kid. I promise you, stay true to yourself and it’ll work out.”

Peter nods and gradually, a week passes. Tony watches as he comes into the lab, noticing the slump in his shoulders, as if the weight of the world was actually picked up off his shoulders. Before Peter could even ask what they were doing today, his question of “what happened with your partner? Did you get her number?” came rolling off his mentor’s tongue, to which Peter could only respond with a whine and a blush creeping up to his cheeks. 

“Jesus, seriously? I can’t even go for a week without you asking.” The dry and defensive response made Tony laugh before he continued with a shy smile. “I did get her number, and an A on the presentation, thanks for asking. She’s leaving for the summer, but we’re going to talk all summer and just see how it goes. She’ll be back in New York every now and then, and I’m going to be working most of the summer, but I’m sure I can make the time.” His last phrase caught Tony’s attention. He turned, furrowing a brow at the brunette boy. As a response, the boy only shrugged. Something about getting a job to help out his aunt, which meant his lab days were going to be cut a lot shorter, but in true Tony Stark fashion, he tuned it out, already cooking up a way to override that.

That day, Peter was left half surprised and half anticipating how his summer was going to go. In his eyes, he aced his final English exam and got to form a blooming relationship with the girl he’s been crushing on from day one. Yeah, he’d tell his “Parker Luck” to go screw itself, because this was a definite win in his book.

okay, did I cook? be honest. I think I cooked. should I make another part to this of how the relationship forms or something like that?

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, and thank you to my #1 proofreader that I keep in my pocket at all times <3

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter eight

well it’s love, make it hurt series

eight: all the better to hold you down

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: You and the Mandalorian wake up after your late night at Axis and have to deal with what comes after your boundaries have been eroded.

Warnings: bdsm, heavy bdsm scene, use of a safeword, delayed aftercare, dom!Din Djarin x sub!reader, soft dom!Din, Din Djarin takes the helmet off but does not reveal his face, oral (m receiving), p in v unprotected sex, impact play, flogging, caning, boot worship (no foot fetish), emotional distress, hurt/comfort, subspace, subdrop, domdrop, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober Days 15&16 - Boot Worship/Genital Worship/Impact Play/Sound Restriction, inspired by @absurdthirst’s wonderful prompt list,

also on ao3

3 ABY - Winter

You wake cocooned by peace and satin sheets. Mando’s warm body is pressed against you, and everything is still dark. At some point in the night, he removed his shirt, and now your bare backs are aligned where they curve. The ebb and flow of his breathing lulls you back asleep.

The world is still coming into the day when there’s a knock at the door. You’re awake enough to feel Mando slip out of bed, to hear the soft murmur of voices, to hear the whisper of the door being carefully shut. When he climbs back in, he moves slow and careful, settling on his side so he can wrap his arm around your waist and curl to the arc of your spine.

You slide your hand under his and weave it in, bringing them up to your mouth so you can kiss his long, thick fingers one by one. He groans his contentment, pulling you closer, and you nestle into his warmth.

Your head is empty, filled with fog and candy floss. It’s strange, how normal the moment feels. At home—or, well, on the Crest, you share a bed but do not linger. Mando is an early riser, and you don’t usually handle stillness or silence well.

You feel languid. Heavy, like a thick wool blanket, your limbs unspooled elastic. You can’t remember a time when just existing was so easy.

Mando’s breathing has slowed again as he walks the edge of sleep.

There’s pounding at the door again.

Mando groans and rolls over. You push up to your elbows and watch as he gropes around on the floor and then shoves his tunic at you.

“It’s Mara, with caf. She said I better have proof of your well-being when she got back.”

You tug the tunic over your head, smiling.

When you open the door, Mara is indeed waiting with a tray, mugs, and a carafe. You reach for it, but she pulls it back.

“You look well fucked,” she says bluntly.

You blink at her through sleep-heavy eyes and realize you must look ragged. You flush, and she grins.

“Everything okay still?”

“Yeah,” you say, and smile. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Good. Madame said you can hang around as long as you’d like, as long as you say goodbye before you leave.”

“We will. Thank you.”

She finally lets you have the tray and goes to leave, but turns around. “Oh, and Madame said to tell him that she made a call and found another lead.”

You nod, expecting the gears in your head to start whirring about the bounty, but there’s nothing. The thought comes and goes.

You make two cups of caf, both sweetened with a little milk. He may drink black caf most of the time, but you know he has a sweet tooth.

He’s lounging against the headboard now, watching you.

You raise an eyebrow when you go over to set his cup on the nightstand.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding his head at where his tunic hangs on your body.

“It’s not the first time I’ve worn your clothes,” you say, taking your cup around to the other side of the bed.

“Looks good every time,” he says. He watches as you settle on the floor, back against the bed, facing the wall. “What’re you doing down there?”

“I thought maybe this way you could have your caf? I promise I won’t turn around. That way, neither of us has to have cold caf, but I can leave the room or—”

He takes pity on your nerves and cuts off your rambling. “Thank you, cyar’ika.”

You hear the hiss of the helmet seal and freeze. You can hear him shift on the bed and pick up his cup, taking a deep inhale and equally deep drink. Sipping at your own, you become very interested in the wood grain, searching out where the incidental black smudges form faces or creatures if you stare long enough.

When he’s done, which is too quickly, you think, for him to have fully enjoyed it, he replaces the helmet and reaches over to comb his fingers through your hair.

“A sweet drink, a sweet girl. You’re going to kill me, cyar’ika.”

You lean your head back to catch his hand, seeking the comforting cradle of his warm palm. Your brain has gone all fuzzy again, like it was only capable of coming up with the one plan today, and now it’s done.

“You still feeling under a little?”

“Mhm,” you close your eyes and set the cup to the side.

“You want to stay there, or do you want me to help you up?”

You know he doesn’t mean the floor. There’s the smallest of tugs in the back of your brain, like a little flashing light on the Crest’s console out of the corner of your eye. You look away from it and reach for him.

He helps you climb back up into the bed, and brings you to his chest. You run your hand through the smattering of hair there and press soft kisses to his skin. He lets out a deep sigh and leans his helmet against the headboard.

“You’re so sweet and obedient this morning,” he muses, running a thumb back and forth across your bottom lip. You let them part but don’t seek out more. “Look at that,” he’s whispering now, voice catching on something you can’t identify. “Is that what you want? You want to just lay there and let me take?”

You hum noncommittally. It sounds wonderful, but serving him caf had opened a yearning in you. You want to please him, but more than that, you want to offer yourself up as sacrifice, want to bleed for him, want to deserve the reverent way he’s talking to you now.

It seems too heavy to put into words.

So you don’t.

Later, you’ll sit on the floor of the fresher and weep, knees pulled to your chest. Later, you’ll give that feeling a name that feels like acid in your throat. You’ll try to purge it, as if you could cry out a toxin, and let it seep through the drain to be reclaimed as something nonpotable.

But for now, you look up at him with wide eyes, hoping he can see everything you can’t say.

Somehow, he seems to. He strokes your cheek and softly says, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll make it hurt.”

The rush of gratitude and relief spreads through you, warming you from head to toe. You’re shaking a little, and he rubs your arm, staring at your face for a few moments longer, watching as you hold steady. You don’t have to fight the urge to hide from him at all—it isn’t there.

Later, when he sits outside the fresher and listens to you cry, having all but physically pushed him away, he’ll wonder if that was his point of failure. That he should have recognized you were too far gone in your head, that the wound you wanted him to tear open and climb into was festering.

But for now, he sees the devotion you’re aching to share with him instead of the desperation that lurks behind it.

And he takes.

He presses his helmet to your forehead, knowing you don’t know the meaning, but secreting it away for himself. He stands up and gets dressed, peeling the tunic from you with gentle fingers, and enrobing himself in full beskar’gam. Rarely does he wear it with you, but he knows you like it. Knows you like the way it makes you feel small and vulnerable. He crosses the room and prepares to indulge in his desires, beckoning you over with two crooked fingers.

You get off the bed, chilly now, but mourning more the spice and musk of him than the warmth. You take half a step before he shakes his head.

“Get down and crawl.” His voice comes out even raspier through the modulator.

You sink to your knees and obey.

He takes a shaky breath, shuddering. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.

When you reach him, you wait for no orders. Your heart is calling the shots, and something is screaming inside you to prove yourself, to earn his attention, so you prostrate yourself at his feet and give in.

When you press a kiss to the tip of his boot, he sucks in a breath. He has never asked this of you, never imagined you’d let go of your need to feel tough for anything like this.

His chest heaves, but he doesn’t move. He watches as you shudder against the heated floor, pressing your lips to him again and again. Your breathing is heavy now, too, and you rest your forehead against one boot.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs.

You whimper and finally look up at him. You look up at his face and then drag your eyes down to his cock. “Please,” you whisper. You rise up on your knees and nuzzle your face against where it lays beneath his trousers, straining against them as if reaching back out to you.

He says nothing. He can’t. His throat is tight, and all his muscles tense.

You continue your ministrations, nuzzling and kissing him through the rough fabric. The movements become sloppier, frantic.

He reaches down and cups your chin in one hand while undoing his pants enough to pull his cock out. He holds you there for a moment, centimeters from it, and he can see the strain as you wait.

When he lets go, you lunge. You’re clinging to his thigh, now, fingers scrabbling for purchase. You bury your face in him, needing the coarse hairs against your cheek and the smell of him flooding your senses.

At first, it’s the same, rubbing your cheek against him and kissing delicately on the tip, at the base, on each of his balls. You hover there, pressing in, smothering yourself in his heady musk, tinged with a hint of you.

By the time you start worshipping him with your tongue, he’s shaking. His cock twitches, straining to seek you out and take what he needs, but he doesn’t want to break whatever spell you’re under.

All the gentleness goes away when you bury him in your throat. There’s no buildup; you need to pull him into you until there’s nothing else left, pushing until you’re at the root of him. His curls tickle your nose, but you know no sensation but his cock.

It’s far messier than your pride usually allows. You’re holding yourself down; everything narrowed to the point where the fat head of his cock is hitting your throat. You don’t even notice that your body has other plans, that you’ve begun rubbing your cunt against the boot between your legs.

It’s not enough. You can’t possibly wrap yourself around his leg any tighter, can’t get the tip of his boot any deeper, can’t spread your jaw to fit more of him in.

He loses control when you choke yourself, trying to lick his balls with his cock all the way down your throat. It doesn’t quite work, but the tip flicking out in your single-minded focus almost takes him over the edge.

He yanks you off by your hair. “I thought you were going to take what I give you.”

“I’m sorry,” you yelp. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be good.” You’re nearly in tears.

He crouches down by your face and strokes your cheek. “You did nothing wrong. This is not a punishment. Understood?”

You nod, but it shakes a few tears loose.

He uses your hair to tilt your head up until you meet his eyes. “Get up on the bench.”

You scramble to obey. He’s set up what you thought was a padded table so you can lay your stomach across the long support. It’s not unlike a dining hall table, except the benches are meant for your arms and legs. It’s angled downward, pushing your ass in the air, with a raised rest for your head.

His gentle hands help you find stability and comfort, and he ties your hair back out of your face. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he started carrying a few of your elastics in a pouch on his belt; it feels like they were always there, part of his equipment. Gun - check, detonators - check, hair ties - check.

“I want you to be quiet for this, okay? Unless you’re crying. No words, no sounds. Do you want a gag to help, or do you want to try on your own?” he asks.

“I’ll be good, I want to be good.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. If you need to use your word, you do it. Promise? It doesn’t count as making noise.”

“Promise,” you say.

“Good girl.” He rubs his thumb over your cheek once more before stepping away to strap you down. There are thick leather cuffs for each wrist and ankle and another strap that he secures over your back.

He runs a gloved hand over your shoulder blades. “Still doing okay?”

You nod, afraid to break the rule. He rewards you with a soft smack on the ass.

When he comes back into your field of vision, he’s holding two implements not quite like you’ve seen before, but can easily figure out.

One has a thick leather handle and a dozen small strands, each knotted at the end. The other is a thin wooden rod. “Right now, you can talk. I want you to tell me how you feel about these.”

You don’t know what to say. He clearly wants to use them, so you do too. “Okay,” you settle on.

“Here,” he says and extends the flogger so you can grasp the ends with your bound hand. After, he trails it lightly down your back, and you shiver. Heat spreads through your body.

“Want to see how it feels?” he offers, and you nod.

The first hit is soft but teasing. The knotted ends spread the sensation like fireworks, so unlike his hand that you gasp. You open your mouth to apologize, and freeze because you aren’t sure you can.

“S’ok, I told you. Noise is fine right now while we try it out.”

You hear the swish as he pulls back, this time, a little harder. It’s incredible. Your cunt clenches around nothing, on full display to him.

“You like that, cyar’ika?”

You nod.

“No, I need to hear it out loud.”

“Yes, sir. Please.”

He grins. He gives you one more test strike, harder than before, and it knocks a moan deep from your chest.

“Fuck,” you whisper. If it all feels like that, you’re not going to be able to be quiet.

He sets the flogger down and comes back over to show you the cane. It’s rigid, unbending when you try. You get chills when he takes it away to test it, but the first strike isn’t bad. It’s not good, like the flogger, but you’ve already caught on to the game, and you know this one is supposed to hurt.

But you hold still and quiet, and the sting fades fast.

The medium-weighted strike is much worse. You jerk in the bonds and scream into the headrest. His hand is on you instantly, bare and soothing. He must have taken his gloves off, just in case. You relax into him, steadying your breathing.

“Too much?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, I can take it.”

“Alright. Ready?” He rubs his hand up and down your lower back, feeling you melt at his touch. He rubs his hand against your cunt, and you arch a little, biting down the moan.

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll play fair,” he promises. “Repeat the rules.”

“No words. No sounds. Except crying and my safeword.”

“Good girl,” he says, and brings the flogger down on your ass.

You buck in the restraints but don’t make a sound. He goes easy on you for the first few minutes, with light flicks of his wrist, just to build up the tension.

You squirm and jerk a little as your cheeks start to turn redder. You’re soaked, and he hasn’t even really gotten started. His cock throbs, and he has to resist the urge just to plunge into your hot, inviting cunt.

You start to struggle more when he puts more power behind the swings. You’re making little huffs of air, but he doesn’t count those against you.

He aims a little lower, several of the knots finding your cunt. You lurch forward against the straps, hands balling into fists. You’re panting now.

He can’t resist. He does it again, obsessed with how your labia are turning red and the way you’re shaking with the effort to be good.

The next hit lands hard enough to make a wet slapping noise, and you convulse a little. When it settles, you can’t stop moving. Wiggling and trying to grind your hips against the bench.

He watches your face, evaluating for any distress, but instead, he gets to see as you realize that you can’t ask to cum. Your lip trembles.

Mercifully, he switches back to your ass, giving your now-swollen cunt a break. It feels hot, and your clit is throbbing. It’s only slightly less torturous since he lands harder hits, bringing the thick knots down with enough force that you suspect you’ll be bruised tomorrow.

The thought makes you wetter, and you can’t hold still anymore. Unfortunately, the way your ass hangs off the pad means you can’t get your cunt close enough to make contact with anything, and you’re doomed to hump against the dry fucking air.

His next hit breaks you. He abruptly switched back to your pussy, harder than he hit before, and you cry out, pushing back desperately to reach him. But he pulls back.

“That’s one, sweetheart. You want it now or save them all for later? You can answer me.”

“Now,” you sob.

“Okay. Be brave for me.” He hadn’t missed your reaction to the cane; he knew you didn’t like it in the way you liked his hand or the flogger. But you weren’t supposed to like punishments, anyway.

He brings the cane down with a light flick, just enough bite to get your attention. Your whole body tenses, and he soothes the pain away with his hand, crooning praises as you relax.

When he resumes his efforts with the flogger, it’s clear that you’re not going to last as long this time. He tries to build you up slow, but right before a hard hit, he gives you permission to cum.

It’s too much. You don’t hear it, too much rushing in your ears as you fall apart, but you feel the cry leave your throat. “No, no, no, no, no,” you whisper, thrashing against the table.

“I’ll count that as just two,” he says. He pauses. “Check in, please.”

You gulp down air. “M’fine, I’m good, I can take it.” You still mean it this time. You’re mad at yourself for speaking right after you fucked up, and you want the pain.

He gives you both in rapid succession, the second hit landing before the first has a chance to bloom. His hand is back on you immediately, rubbing, but you’re starting to feel raw.

“You’re doing so well, cyar’ika.”

The words are a better balm than his hand, and you relax a little.

You don’t know what goes wrong the next time. He brought you to your climax again, and you thought you choked down the moan, so when he tells you “one” after, you begin to sob.

He stops. “Check in, please.”

You try to tell him you’re fine, but the racking gasps and tears are a garrote.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’m going to unbuckle these now.” He moves to unhook your wrists.

“No!” It comes out broken.

He freezes. “No, what?”

“No, no, no,” you sob, jerking against the straps like you’re a toddler having a tantrum. “I can take it. I can be good!”

“You’ve been so good,” he says, moving again to unbuckle you.

You keep sobbing, telling him to “just fucking do it, don’t do this to me, I want to be good.”

When he unfastens you, he goes to help you up, and you sob harder, slamming a fist at his chest. He catches your wrist in his hand before you make contact with the armor.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

“No, no, no. I didn’t do it, I didn’t tap out, please.”

“I am. Rancor. I’m tapping out.”

It startles you still. “What?”

“I’m using the safeword. I need to stop.” He sounds raw, under the helmet, and the horrible thought that he might be crying occurs to you.

You don’t know what to say, so you just sniffle and look away.

He carries you over to the bed, and you sit and wait as he removes his armor. He climbs into the bed and reaches for you, but you flinch. The sound that comes out of the modulator is like you punched him in the stomach, but it only makes you wrap your arms tighter around yourself.

“Talk to me, cyar’ika.”

You shake your head. Truthfully, you don’t think you can. Your throat feels raw, and your brain isn’t cooperating.

“Then come here, please? I need—I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I want to go home.”

He sucks in a breath and waits for a second, pushing down the way the panic creeps up. “What'd you say, cyare?”

“I want to go back to the Crest. Please.”

Relief blossoms through his veins. He doesn’t love the idea of leaving this way, of walking back without talking about this, but he gets it. If it’ll make it easier to be somewhere you feel safe, he’ll do it. And he's selfishly pleased whenever you call the ship home.

“Let me make sure you aren’t hurt, please. And then we can go.”

You step onto the floor and hold very still while he checks you over. There’ll be bruises tomorrow, he’s sure, but from the flogger and not the cane. No other damage, and though he wants to put something on it for the bruising, he’s willing to wait until you’re home to do so.

He goes to help you dress, but you’ve already snatched up your clothes and gone into the fresher, shutting the door. By the time he’s done putting the armor back on, you emerge. He suspects you stuck your face under the cold faucet because the splotches and swelling from your tears have mostly vanished.

“Oh, the Madame has a lead for us,” you tell him, voice steady. He can see the way your hands tremble but lets you pretend you’re back to normal.

“Okay,” he says. Shutting the door when you’re both out of the room feels wrong, like he’s leaving the unfinished business inside.

If Mara or Anissa notice anything off about you, they don’t say anything. He doesn’t think they’d let him leave if they had suspected anything was off. You were very good at stepping into roles and controlling your emotions. He takes the coordinates from Anissa and promises it won’t be another decade before he visits again.

You don’t talk to him on the way back. You pull away when he tries to take your hand. He gets the message and keeps an extra step behind you. You finally speak when you’re back on the ship, the ramp sealed, and the world quiet.

“I’m gonna—” and you point at the refresher.

He nods, and you disappear behind the door. He sinks down to the ground, fully armored, and waits.

He doesn’t know how long he’s there, head leaned back against the wall, listening to you cry. All he knows is that he’s glad he didn’t move when he hears you softly call out to him.

You’re so quiet, too ashamed of how deeply you need him, that you almost hope he doesn’t hear. But of course, the door is open just a minute later.

He shed his armor right there in the hall and was stripped down by the time the door was shut. The lights were already out (his heart ached at the thought of you breaking down in the dark, alone), so he ripped the helmet off and ducked under the stream with you.

He had to feel around for a moment, but eventually found you sitting, arms around your knees, tucked against the cold metal corner. He sat up against you, reaching an arm over your shoulder and closing his eyes in relief when you practically leapt closer.

The water is frigid. Even though he assumes it's run cold, he reaches for the handle to find it set to the lowest temperature. He yanks it up, not all the way but just enough. For a moment, he feels dangerously nauseous.

“Why were you in here in the cold?” he asks.

You shake your head furiously, wet hair smacking against his chest.

“You can’t do this,” he whispers, holding your head against him. “You can’t punish yourself.”

You start to cry again. You feel ragged, like you’ve been tracking a bounty for six days across a mountain range.

He pulls you onto his lap, and you fold into him, hands tucked against your chest, letting his broad arms pull you back together.

He knows you can feel his shoulders shake, and the way he buries his face in your hair, letting the burn of his tears wash away under the water.

When you’ve both settled, it’s a silent thing. He’s not sure it’s a good idea, but he doesn’t stop you when you reposition yourself and guide his cock into you. The water is actually starting to run cold now, but neither of you moves to turn it off. Instead, he holds your hips gently, and guides you as you ride him.

It’s slow. He’s exhausted and content to let you rock yourself, holding onto his shoulders.

“Cyar’ika,” he starts.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. He knows you can feel it, even if you can’t see him.

This is the first time you’ve been this close, with his helmet off and your eyes uncovered. The darkness is inky and smooth, no possibility of being seen, and he’s not afraid of that. He’s afraid of what it means that he’s doing it at all.

“Do you hate me?” you ask suddenly.

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because you had to use your safeword. Because I wasn’t listening to you when you wanted to stop.”

“That’s what it’s for, cyar’ika. And you did listen. As soon as I said it. I’m sorry I let it get that far.”

“It was fine, I was fine. It came out of nowhere, I wasn’t lying.”

“I know. I know you weren’t.” He presses your foreheads together, gasping a little as you grind down on his cock. “But there were signs. I should have noticed.”

“Stop,” you whisper. Your hips are moving a little faster, a little harder. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Later. Please.”

“Can I take care of you, pretty girl?” he asks, and when you nod, he slips his hand between you to rub your clit.

“There you go,” he murmurs as your hips stutter. “Can I fill you up?”

“Please,” you gasp into the darkness.

You find your pleasure together, and he kisses you right before you cum.

As you come down from your mutual high, he pulls you in against him. You nestle up, still breathing heavily.

The silence is warm, now. You know you’ll have to talk about it more tomorrow, but it feels like everything is okay. There are no bad feelings between you.

He knows it for certain when he tucks you into bed. You'd fallen asleep in the hull, waiting for him to come down from setting the nav. He carried you to the bunk, and you stirred but snuggled right up, fingers tangled in his shirt.

You know it for certain when you whisper goodnight. You're both almost asleep, but you hear his soft breath beneath the helmet.

"G'night. Love you."

You don't remember it in the morning.

*title from "New Again" by Taking Back Sunday

[malcolm-reeds-pineapple]

Hi I’m completely and utterly deranged and wrote a self insert about Tony Markovich from shameless. Sometimes you have to make the art about the TV Extra that you wanna see in the world. Rest in peace to everyone but I’ve decided to focus on myself and write about the cop from Shameless being in love with me

[slamminslamminmcgill]

lalo punishing his puppy PLEASE i’m drooling

LMAOOOO okok ill only post hcs for now bc im planning on doing a longer fic w/ this concept >:33

anatomical terms: pussy

you literally cannot convince me lalo wouldn't own a collar and leash for this exact reason. im sorry but you can't.

yes he will tug on it. he loves having you in his grasp and he loves how you yelp whenever he tugs on it unexpectedly. (same thing w/ your hair >:3)

i think the whole drive of petplay for him would be obedience and praise (ORRRR punishment and degradation on the flipside of that) so he'd be very talkative. always making sure to let you know how much of a good (or bad) boy you are.

i don't think he's the type to yell but he'll always be very firm with his commands. he'll speak gently to you but he'll always have that "don't bullshit me" edge to his voice when giving orders.

yk how you can insult a dog but if you sound like you're praising them they'll get excited? yeah that's how lalo talks to you

"¡bien hecho, perrito! (good job, puppy!) you took that so well! i knew you would, though. i mean, it's all you're good for, no?"

if you've been good expect him to pet your head and ruffle your hair. lots of physical contact as a reward <3

if you've been bad he'll spank your ass raw (or your pussy 😳) w/ a belt. you need discipline don't you? he can't have a naughty little mutt who doesn't listen.

he'd love making you get on the floor on your hands and knees and look up at him while you wait for his next command 🥺 so needy for him. he wants you to want him (and you do)

will not let you talk. he'll make you bark bc he's mean. and yes he will laugh at how pathetic you sound when you do. it's cute!!!

also every session ends w/ him fucking you doggy style and breeding you. obviously.

things he'd call you/say to you: "good boy", "bad dog!", "puppy", "perro/perrito", "chico/chiquito", "mutt", "you're mine.", "siéntate (sit).", "dame la mano (shake, "give me your hand")." "speak.", "ah! no words.", "cállate (be quiet)."

[spookythesillyfella]

hey guys . heres my fair share of doodles from the magma i drew on with my big bro @chamom1le-t3a

[tony-caito]

A cute, clingy, Tony x Reader commission by my dear friend @mxiisy

[winters-hysteria]

basically tony gives reader something that takes away their control over their body and makes them follow orders (experiment, it was consensual and reader offered). then they see a package that says "so good it'll make you want to dance on the roof" so they do. on of one of the tallest buildings in the city. so basically they're up there dancing and everyone's below them freaking out

"here you go, kid." tony handed bruce and i the drink with the "control juice" mixed in. he was testing it to see if he could actually control someone. i took it from him and gulped it down, shivering at the cold. bruce sipped his cautiously, wondering if it really worked.

"yeesh, next time don't make it quite so icy, tin man."

"speak for yourself kid, ice is nice." he paused, thinking. "hey! ice, nice, that rhymes!" he earned a snort from thor at the stupid dad joke, and turned to me grinning. "how ya feel?"

i rolled my eyes at him, then looked at my arms. "i don't feel any different than i did two minutes ago." i sniffled, looking at him. "i'm gonna go to the store and grab some costanzo rolls since-- *AHEM* --BUCKY didn't get any even though it was written on his arm."

"(Y/N)! i'm sorry! jesus!" the ex-assassin gave me a playful half-lidded glare, licking his lips at me.

"iM sOrRy, JeSuS!!" i retorted, hiding the soft blush that dusted my cheeks. "i'll be right back. steve, rhodey, you got babysitting duty." i snorted, hearing tony's noise of distress and steve's noise of protest. "i'll be back in twenty."

"yeah yeah, just hurry." i grabbed my sweatshirt (it was really bucky's, but i steal everyone's stuff if it fits me.) i threw on my cons and opened the door, heading out into the brightly lit, bustling city. "how can a place be so busy at night?" i wondered to myself.

i found the grocery store pretty easily. it wasn't too far away from avengers tower, and it was a small store, comfortable and safe. i quickly made my way to the rolls, picking up two bags. i turned to browse the other aisles for perhaps some chips, or a different snack, when it hit me. and it hit me hard.

all the sudden, i was on the inside looking out. i couldn't control my own hands, dropping the bags of rolls i held in each. i mentally panicked, but it didn't seem to do anything to my body. i moved through the aisles, looking for my next command, when i saw a box with a slogan that said "so good it'll make you want to dance on the roof!"

that seemed like a good idea.

back at the compound, steve started to get worried. "why are they taking so long? it's been almost an hour."

"not sure cap, but i think they'll be okay. my kid after all. knows how to fight for themselves." tony was tinkering with a little robot he'd made to wake (Y/N) up in the morning because it was so hard to.

"you know, i think your 'control juice' works, tony. bruce has been sitting here for a while, right after i told him to. that's not normal." nat's voice floated in from the other room, striking anxiety into tony's heart. "rhodey! turn on the news! (Y/N) is apparently on it."

rhodey grabbed the remote and turned the living room tv on, then tossed the remote to nat. "there you go."

on the screen was a live feed of a person dancing on a roof. a roof of a really tall building, and they were dancing right at the edge of it. "tonight we bring you the avenger's (Y/N), who seems to have lost their mind." the news reporter's voice faded out as tony focused in on the way they were dancing. "...we are trying to bring them down. more at 11."

"holy shit." steve whispered.

every single person in the room except for bruce looked at him and said "language!"

"oh my god, you guys are never gonna let that go." tony shook his head in response, and looked around the room. "we gotta go get my kid."

(your pov)

i was panicking. my body moved like water, landing in all the right steps, but i held so much fear that i would fall. i could see red and blue lights flashing beneath me, their spotlight trained on me, but i couldn't stop moving. i wished that someone would come save me. i pulled myself into a backbend, feeling my spine pop every time i moved further. i cried out in mental pain, my body jolting. i immediately went limp, realising the effects of the juice were wearing off, but i could end up falling if i didn't just let it happen.

then something slammed into me a lot harder than i would've liked and i screamed. i heard sam's voice in my ear though, telling me it's just him, and felt relief flood through my veins. "holy shit sam, i can't move my legs."

"i know! the control juice works!" he yelled, finally landing on the ground outside the compound. i fell to my knees, right in front of bucky. he laughed.

"didn't know ya wanted it that bad, doll."

i groaned at him, rolling my eyes and taking sam's outstretched hand to help myself up. "uh-huh, you wish."

"i do, but we can all dream, huh."

"BUCKY!" i shrieked, laughing. "you can't just say that!"

"alright doll. but let's get you inside, your dad's having a coronary worrying about you."

"okay!" i replied. we went back inside. i was safe, and i could control my body again. now i just had to watch out for my dad's drinks.

[krewekreep]

Im so sorry I can’t actually cause people are taking this advice 😭 im just gonna have to be an « asshole »

Let’s go in reverse: I agree the trend of mature, 18+, gritty/graphic, ROUGH, « dark » fanfics are a problem! But why? It’s an opportunity for larger conversation about the fact TOO historically « women’s literature » (don’t get annoying about semantics this is how historically women dominated genres are referred as… cause yall sensitive and don’t know shit to actually disagree💕) . HISTORICALLY!!! WOMEN’s LITERATURE IS RAUNCHY, NAUGHTY, HORNY, etc.

If you don’t know, now you do…hey! Women don’t get to enjoy ANYTHING in a public facing forum…so those dark horny thoughts gotta go somewhere…and that’s quite literally aspects of the origins of the « romance » genre in general…

Now back to BLACK PEOPLE. Again, old tumblr hoe—celebrated ten years of my OG blog 2023…I’m 25…I went to an arts school and am published in a Harvard Journal (Transition Magazine #121 & among other things had FICTION published and acknowledged by scholastic in high school…my story is included in the purchasable edition of Best Teen Writing of 2017 Scholastic…)

Im only giving SOME of the resume cause people LOVE to debate and in this instance this is just someone with more awareness and actual training clarifying some inadvertently HARMFUL advice…

BLACK PEOPLE BLUSH! IM A DARKER MEDIUM TONED BLACK WOMAN WITH RED UNDERTONES AND I HAVE BEEN EMBARRASSED IN MY LIFE (like the white girls) and had my blush VISIBLE AND POINTED OUT! That was just a weird and annoying thing to see someone STAND ON? You saying someone lightskin…WHO IS BLACK…can’t blush? Like I know I’m being nitpicking but you can’t give advice if you can’t also take someone pointing out it’s weaknesses…😩🫤 that makes zero sense right?

*The Youthforia foundation example is the ELITE example now to scientifically prove and disagree with folks who say black people don’t have undertones…yes we can blush

Nooooooo nice intentioned people in the replies « flushed » « blushed » « mewled » whatever the fuck like just use the damn word 😭 someone is gonna suddenly STOP and close your fanfic cause damn…the black girl blushed? UNREALISTIC! Like im sorry yall take the internet too serious onfg 😭😭

Respectfully…the portion about hair…is to each they own cause everyone gonna call texturism or some weird shit when no! A lot of black women across the hair curl spectrum can…maneuver their hair however…if you are black and not…projecting your experience onto everyone else…like I went to a black school in a black community…in New Orleans…I’ve seen all kinds of hair and the things you can do…this is with the UTMOST respect to my sisters but like your hair issues are not universal and I can’t wait for black women to stop doing that about our looks, bodies, hair, etc…

FOR NON BLACK WRITERS: Baby if it’s too out of bounds how about you just don’t write black characters? From the girl who has sat in front of white published authors who visited my arts high school with terrible narrative attempts at USURPING black narratives for their own….i know how to challenge actual bad faith writing. Look my loves…if you know someone black ask them to read it—if you don’t know anybody black respectfully besides diversity points and seeming to woke id challenge you to give me a reason you need a black character…heart of hearts it’s gonna be just because…so let’s also too check our need to be « inclusive » just coming off as hand fisted diversity…ANYWAY!!! LMAOOO

For my black writers: When did we all become the same? I’m so confused? Maybe cause I’m very GROWN and act like it I don’t get and am growing tired of the necessity for their to almost be prescriptive RULES on how to BE black and engage with blackness…write my loves. That’s why so many people end up like SpongeBob with a fantastically designed « THE » and nothing the fuck else…you gotta fall to figure out riding a bike right? Just WRITE AND SHARE IT! discord, Twitter but find spaces just for that! Waiting on acknowledgement from tumblr, Twitter, wattpad (I don’t know wtf yall are on now fr anyway) is why yall stay in a insecure headspace too…too hungry for the likes and love but can yall admit that??? just fucking write bro 😭 before you literally continue your unchecked compulsive nature to not be disruptive or a problem…(cause yall tryna make the internet a safe space and it’s the internet like stop and go find community in real life no tea no shade I swear) just write…it’s inconsequential TUMBLR SMUT LIKE STOP THIS ISNT SIGNING THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE WE ARE ALL COLLECTIVELY HORNY, CURIOUS PEOPLE IN LOVE WITH REAL LIFE AND FICTIONAL PEOPLE WE WILL NEVER BE WITH!

IF JUNGKOOK MAKES THE BLACK GIRL FUCKING BLUSH SHE FUCKING BLUSHED! IF NANAMI RUNS HIS FINGERS THROUGH HER HAIR EASILY DAMN MAYBE HER LEAVE IN JUST THAT GOOD!!! IF SHE WANTS TO BE HELD DOWN IN THE DARKNESS UNTIL SHE CANT BREATHE AND BROUGHT BACK TO THE LIGHT BY THE SAME *INSERT* LET HER!! ITS FAN FIC YALL 😭🫡

for fanfic writers and readers

as a black girl who loves a lot of different movies and shows, fanfic allows me to read stories that put me in the middle of my favorite things. however, fanfic often (unintentionally) excludes girls who look like me.

i am so sick and tired of reading a fanfiction and having to rewrite it in my brain because a character description immediately implies that the reader is white. if you don't know what i mean, here are some examples.

"your skin turned pink" or "you blushed": black girls and women with darker skin tones CANNOT blush. our skin does not just turn pink

"pulled your hair into a messy bun": my 4a hair cannot be pulled into a messy bun at random. i may be able to do a ponytail if i have braids in, and i might be able to tie it up if I have an old twist-out, but a "messy bun" is often not possible.

"he ran his hands through your hair": yeah...unless my hair is in a silk press (and an OLD silk press), that's not happening

there are a plethora of other examples that would make this post insanely long, so let me get to the point. there are very easy ways to make fanfic a bit more inclusive; all you have to do is tweak a few character descriptions. OR, put in your pairing or warnings that the reader is implied to be white.

and finally: please, please stop tagging your DARK fanfictions "xblack!reader." i am tired of searching for fluff under the black reader tag and finding non-con, dark themes, etc., ESPECIALLY when the fic ends up being for a white reader💀.

the goal of my page is to create a safe space for black girls who love reading fanfiction. i am only one person, so if you'd like to help, here are some ways to do that!

send me fics (preferably marvel and stranger things to start) that are with a black reader

comment some other things in fanfics that imply that the reader is white or that make the fic a little less accessible

REBLOG FICS BY BLACK WRITERS

[wonderlandoflifeobsessions]

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Toni and Ryan podcast

Tarp post from Instagram

Thought about Trafalgar Law immediately

[thewidowsledger]

Toothbrush

© thewidowsledger 2024 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Pairings: Nerd!Natasha Romanoff x MILF!Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Tags | Warnings: +18, AMAB!Natasha, beefy and super nerdy Natasha, MILF!reader, reader is 39 and Natasha is 22, dating apps, Tony being a good and a bad friend at the same time, lying about age, reader has sons, dirty talk, switch r & Nat but more like a top!Natasha, breeding kink, mommy kink, breast sucking, riding, teasing, rough sex, creampie, squirting, overstimulation, fingering (r receiving), ghosting (kinda), unintentionally stealing clothes👀 (?)

Author’s Note: I know I said I am going to post this tonight but my daimonion is telling me to post this right now, lol. This fic is inspired from this request, but I changed it like a lot lot I guess...I hope it's fine for whoever requested it🥹 the title is inspired by DNCE's song: Toothbrush I am currently banging with this song for weeks now.

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⧗

“F-fuck please be bad Mommy.” Natasha whined.

“No mommy wants to be bad to their baby…”

⧗

“What do you want Tony?” Natasha chuckled as she saw her best friend on her apartment door at 7 o’clock early in the morning, standing there holding a pizza box. “Really? Pizza? Early this morning?”

Tony rolled his eyes and pushed his way inside, shutting the door behind him. “Well, thank you for the warm welcome,” he teased. “Before I go to my asshole of a father’s place, I want to do one thing. Something purposeful for you, my friend.”

Nat raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what would that be?” she asked, as she led him to the living room of her small apartment.

“Let me see your phone,” he said, taking it out of her hands.

“Hey, wait!” the redhead protested, but Tony was already fiddling with it. “What are you doing?!”

“Setting up an account on a dating app,” he replied, typing away.

“Wow. So this is your grand purpose? Setting me up on a dating app? I’m touched.” She said sarcastically. She watched him, a box of pizza on his left hand and her phone on the other, seriously typing whatever it is that is asked to fulfill the account—he is really serious about setting her up on a dating site.

“You gotta be kidding Tony…”

“Nope. Enough robotics Romanoff before you turn into one.”

Nat’s eyes widened as she suddenly realized that she told Tony her plans. And a wave of regret washed over her. She had meticulously scheduled out her entire summer break even though it hasn't started yet, she intended to spend time working on her robotics project every single day of the summer break. But now, with Tony in the picture with her phone in his hands, she could already imagine the chaos that was going to ensue.

The dating preference section came up and Tony immediately, with no hesitations, clicked women. It had been common knowledge among their friends that Nat had a strong liking for girls. He chuckled to himself, thinking about the kind of women the app would likely recommend for her.

“Let’s make things spicy,” he said under his breath as he set the age range for Natasha’s profile.

With a few taps, he set the age preference to 30-50 years old. “You’ll thank me for this, Nat,” he said with a sly grin on his face.

Every time he and Nat would pass some women on the street, Tony would stealthily observe Nat’s reactions. Whether it was a woman walking past them with her kids or a lady jogging in tight-fitting leggings who he was sure was around 35 to 40, the red head is drooling already. Tony had taken note of Natasha's undeniable interest in women—women who are old enough to be her mother.

The last step came, he only needed to pick a photo of Natasha and it's all done and set up, ready to swipe left and right. So he went through her gallery to find photos of her, but her gallery is just full of screenshots about freaking science.

As Tony sifted through Natasha's gallery, his mood grew more impatient and bored.

“Seriously Nat, you’ve got like a million screenshots of scientific articles and memes about space, and when you do actually take a photo, it’s of some historical artifact in a museum. This is like a grandma’s photo album…” He grumbled, scrolling further.

“Okay, that’s enough.” The redhead stood from the sofa but Tony backed away not even looking at her, too busy to smile like an idiot with whatever he saw on her phone.

“Damn, Nat,” he muttered under his breath, a smirk forming on his face. “I had no idea you were hiding this much muscle under those baggy clothes.” He came across a couple of mirror shots that Natasha had taken in the gym. In these photos, she was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and some baggy shorts, showing off her muscular arms and strong physique.

Tony chuckled, his eyes still glued to the photos of Natasha’s flexing arms. “Yeah, definitely milfs will absolutely love these shots.”

Nat couldn't help but blush, both at the compliment and at the mention of milfs. “You really think so?” she asked, a hint of shyness in her voice.

“Oh yeah, they would swipe right in a heartbeat,” he said, chuckling. “These are juicy…”

“Okay, you sounded perverted. Gimme that…” Natasha was finally able to get her phone back and Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just trying to get some good pictures of you in there. You gotta give the ladies something to look at, you know?”

Tony watched as Natasha went through the app, “You just need to click confirm, and it’s all set up…but it’s still your choice. And…I gotta go, mom’s gonna call me.”

Natasha paused and looked at Tony with relief and confusion. She was grateful for the break in the conversation, but she also didn’t want him to leave just yet. “Okay...go ahead. Can’t keep mommy waiting.” She said jokingly.

“Okay now that sounded perverted coming from you, Romanoff.” Tony pointed a finger at her while walking backwards towards the redhead’s apartment door.

“I’m just kidding,” Natasha let out some giggles as she walked Tony off her apartment, “Don’t kill your father, Tony.”

“I’ll try not to, I can’t believe mom wanted me to spend half of my summer with him. I love her so much that I’ll do anything she asks of me even though it’s spending some time with the man who hurt her.”

“You’ll be fine, just don’t get your hand bloody like last time.”

Tony chuckled and saluted her back, then turned to leave. “I make no promises, Romanoff.” He sighed, Natasha just gently patted Tony’s shoulder and when she was about to close her door, her best friend's foot stopped it from closing.

“Goodluck with the milf hunting.”

⧗

For the next few days, Nat found herself thinking about the dating app and Tony’s playful attempt to set her up. She would secretly open the app every now and then but couldn't bring herself to swipe in any direction. She thinks all these women are deserving to be dated, but she could only pick one of course.

Finally, one night, Natasha couldn't resist the temptation any longer. She sat on her couch to browse through the potential matches. She’d take her frustration out on her pillow, mumbling to herself about how ridiculous this all was. But she continued, her heart raced as she began swiping through the profiles. Her cheeks flushed with a hint of embarrassment as she came across various women who fit her preference—older, attractive milf, thanks to her best friend who knew exactly what her type is.

As she read the bios, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by some of their descriptions. They were confident, successful, and had a certain allure about them that made her even more flustered.

She should've swiped right to have more chances of winning like what Tony advised her, but Natasha continued swiping left through profiles. Yes, she noticed that the women she saw were undeniably beautiful, however, she wanted to see something different, that's why she started swiping left. It wasn't because she found them unattractive, but rather because they didn't quite match the image she had in mind.

She was so intimidated, all these women looks so powerful—like how women should be. So far she'd seen woman who's a pilot, CEO, business owners and many jobs that she for sure puts a lot of zeros on their bank accounts. Not that she didn't want that and she's definitely not opposed to the idea of being a sugar baby, but...she wanted someone who's simple, domestic yet can lead her.

Each profile she scrolled through brought a mix of excitement and anxiety, yet curiosity pushed her to keep searching for that one woman who would make her heart skip a beat.

“Y/N, 44 years old, mother of two, loves gardening, sketching…” she read to herself, trying not to blush as she looked at your photo. Most women she had seen in this app either had a picture with the Eiffel tower or a selfie inside the high premium car—no offense, she loved everything old women do but you, you had a picture of yourself in a beautiful garden she thought was in your place, surrounded by lush greenery. Your genuine smile and a sparkle in her eyes stood out to Natasha.

“Just 4 hours drive away from here…”

Natasha's heart raced as she nervously swiped right on your profile, her hand trembling a little. The moment she did it, she immediately slammed her phone shut and threw herself onto her bed, her heart pounding in her chest.

The thought of you potentially seeing her profile and possibly matching with her made her stomach flutter. The redhead buried her face into her pillow, unable to wipe the redness of her face.

She stood and immediately put on her glasses to distract herself from the constant nervous feeling of seeing a notification from the app, Natasha threw herself into various activities to keep her mind occupied. She deep cleaned her apartment, organized her cluttered drawers, and even got started on her robotics project.

Days passed, but there still wasn't any notification from the dating app. And Natasha actually forgot about it, the robotics project she's working on consuming and occupying every time she had for the day.

Natasha was deep in thought, working on her project, when the sudden notification sound from her phone jolted her from her focus. Startled, she picked up her phone, expecting it to be an email from the agency she applied for an internship or her sister asking for some 5$ on cash app.

However, when she looked at the screen, her heart almost jumped out of her ribs when she saw the dating app icon. She shakingly and immediately opened it.

You: Hi dear

Natasha found herself biting her lower lip, wrestling with her thoughts. She’d faced down debaters, cracked numerous codes, and aced countless exams and quizzes. But responding to a simple “hi” from an older woman had her completely flustered. It was a ridiculous feeling, but she couldn't deny the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of conversing with you.

She typed and deleted various responses, unsure of what to say, until finally, she decided on something simple yet respectful at least.

Natasha: Good evening, how are you?

You: I’m good, just finished cooking some dinner. You?

Natasha: I haven't eaten anything yet, I was working for a project.

You: That's not good for your health and for those massive muscles of yours.

Natasha felt her cheeks grow warm as she read your reply about her muscles. Tony was indeed right when he said milfs will definitely like those. She hadn't expected you to notice that detail, but reading it brought a smile to her face.

Natasha: Massive muscles? I think you're exaggerating a bit.

She typed, trying to downplay your compliment, yet secretly loving the attention.

You: Exaggerating? Not one bit, love. Your biceps are godly💪🔥

You responded, clearly amused by her attempt to deny your compliment.

Natasha felt her heart rate increase at your playful banter and the cute emojis you used. She couldn't help but feel the pain of her cheeks from smiling with your attention and the nicknames you’re calling her.

Nat: Thanks :)))

You: So…where exactly do you live in Brooklyn?

⧗

“Y-you should... probably stop that…” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I-I'm not... I'm not good at…”

You slowly start to grind your hips against Natasha, feeling her body tense up beneath you. Her eyes dilate, and she licks her lips nervously.

Despite her protests, you continue to grind against her, feeling her hips instinctively buck up to meet yours. Natasha’s face turns a deep shade of red, and she lets out a soft whimper as she feels herself getting hard beneath you. “P-please... stop…”

And you did, you pause, lifting your hips away from her but you were still straddling her—kneeling straightly where your tits were right in front of her. Natasha whines softly at the loss of the friction, her hips bucking forward as if seeking more. You smirk mischievously, leaning in close to her ear. “I’m stopping because my baby told me to. Mommy has to listen to what her baby says, mommy doesn’t wanna be bad.”

“F-fuck please be bad Mommy.” Natasha whined.

“No mommy wants to be bad to their baby…”

Natasha lets out a frustrated whine again, her hips bucking forward again as she chases the friction she was just denied. “B-but... Mommy... it feels so good…you’re so good…” she whimpers, her eyes filled with need and puppy-dog sadness. “Please... just a little more…”

You slowly unbutton your top, revealing your bra. Natasha’s eyes flick down to your chest, watching intently as you unhook the bra and let it fall to the floor. Your bare breasts come into view, you guide Natasha’s face to your chest, gently cupping the back of her head. Her mouth parts slightly, and you can feel her warm breath on your tits. “Be good and suck Mommy’s tits,” you whisper, your voice laced with desire.

Natasha like a good baby she is, eagerly obeys, pressing soft kisses to your breasts. She kisses and licks, her touch gentle and reverent. You can hear her breathing grow heavier, feel her body tensing as she gets more aroused.

“That's it, baby. Be so good for Mommy…”

Her mouth finds your nipples, and she begins to suck and lick enthusiastically. She moans against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. You can feel her hands gripping your waist tightly, her nails digging in slightly.

She continues to suck and lick your peaks, her cold glasses press against your warmth against the skin of your breasts, the temperature difference sending goosebumps across your flesh. You moan softly, your fingers tangling in her hair to keep her head in place as she paid attention to both of your tits.

After several minutes of shared attention on your tits, you guide Natasha's face back up to yours. You lean down and press a soft, passionate kiss to her lips finally settling back down to her lap feeling her hard once again.

Your hands gently stroking Natasha’s braided hair. You reach out and slowly move your hands towards her shorts, immediately feeling her hard cock through her boxers. Her eyes widened as he realized what you're doing. You then pulled out his cock spring free.

“Guess who’s being bad, hm?”

“Please…p-please mommy.”

You carefully shifted to position yourself on Natasha’s pointing cock. You guide her hands to your hips as you slowly lower yourself onto her. You can see the shock and pleasure on her face as you envelope her with your warm walls. “Y/N…” she stammers.

“That’s not my name baby.”

“Mommy, please!”

You bit your lower lip and began to move, taking her in and out of your warmth, Natasha’s head lolls back, her mouth opening in a silent 'O' of pleasure. Her hands on your hips tighten, her fingers digging in slightly. “It's...it's so tight, Mommy…you’re so…”

“Mhm, yeah?” You pant condescendingly, “Mommy’s what baby?”

“So good! So tight!” She cries.

“Oh yeah?”

You lean down, your breath hot against her ear. “That's because Mommy’s special hole is made just for my special baby. Only for you…” You punctuate each phrase with a slow thrust, taking her deeper.

Natasha’s breathing grows faster, her chest rising and falling rapidly against yours. Her hips buck upwards to meet your slow, languid movements. “Mommy...it...it feels…so good…” she moans softly, her voice barely a whisper. “I... I think I'm... I'm…”

“Are you good?” You asked, but the redhead didn't answer, her eyes shut closed behind her fogged glasses and was too focused on her pleasure and you loved it.

“Are you good, Natasha?” Now you calling her on her first name caught her attention.

“Y-yes…”

Your hands gripped her shoulders as you continued to ride her. “Then hold it, baby. If you're good you’re going to hold it until Mommy says you can come…” You increase the pace slightly, your own pleasure building as you feel him throb inside you. “That's it... just hold on…”

Her face scrunches up in concentration, her hands bruising your waist. “M-Mommy... it's...it's too much...I can't... I can't hold it…” she whines pitifully, his voice filled with need and desperation. “Please…”

“No, baby. You hold it. You can do it. Mommy knows you're strong…” You lean back further, grinding down onto her, your abdominal muscles flexing, “and you’re good, you can do it baby.”

Natasha lets out a high-pitched whine, her body trembling as she tries her best to obey. “I-I'm trying...Mommy...I'm trying to be good…” her body stiffens, her back arching slightly as she struggles to hold back.

You lean in close, your voice dropping to a low, soothing tone. “That's my baby... You're doing so well... just a little longer…”

Her face flushed with heat, her pupils dilating as she watched you with an agape mouth, riding her. Suddenly, her expression turns defiant.

“Fuck...maybe I wanna be bad,” she grips your hips tightly and begins to thrust up into you, ignoring your command. “Fuck, mommy I wanna be bad.”

You’re taken aback by her sudden defiance, your eyes widening in surprise. “Natasha... baby, no...oh! ” Your voice trails off as she continues to thrust into you deliciously.

“Shit baby, fuck you’re so strong!”

So now, it's you who's trying to hold back, but Natasha’s sudden burst of strength is overwhelming. She's too powerful, too determined. Her thrusts become brutal, pounding into you with relentless intensity. You're trapped, pinned on top of her dominant form, unable to escape the force of her desires.

“Natty…baby stop…”

“I can't stop, Mommy…” she moans, her body tensing as she reaches her limit. “I... I'm gonna...I'm gonna come...I'm gonna come inside you…” she throws her head towards your shoulder, her movements become erratic, her hips bucking wildly as she empties himself into you. You're left shocked, gasping, trapped on top of her as she finds her release.

“Turn around...get on your hands and knees…”

“Wha—”

Your shocked expression quickly turns into one of pleasure as Natasha’s dominant commands wash over you. You scramble to obey, turning around and dropping to your hands and knees. Natasha stands up, her hands gripping your hips as she holds you in place. “Good...my good girl... Now stay like that…”

As Natasha starts to move behind you, you feel a surge of emotion. Shock, awe, and a touch of humiliation mix together. You never imagined that she would take control like this, especially after she’d seem like the one to submit. Now, the roles are reversed, and you’re the one being taken.

Natasha's grip tightens around your hips as he begins to thrust into you from behind. The angle is different, deeper, and you can't help but let out a moan. “You like that, hm, Mommy?” she growls.

“You like being on the other end, don't you?” she thrusts deep, her hips slapping against your ass. “Answer me…” her hand reaches around, finding your most intimate spot. “Answer me or I'll stop…” she teases you mercilessly.

“Yesyesyes!”

Natasha suddenly pulls out, lifting you up and carrying you to the edge of the bed. She sits down, easily manhandling you over her lap. Your back rests against her chest as her hands held your thighs, keeping your legs wide open as she slides her cock back into your wetness.

She spreads your thighs wider, her knees pushing yours apart as she continues to pound into you. Her touch is unyielding, her rhythm punishing.

“Hold your thigh…” she took your hand and put it to keep your thigh up. “Hold...hold the other...hold both…” she commands, her breath hot against your neck. You comply, your hands gripping your thighs tightly as her strong hand comes down to string your throbbing clit.

“Oh God...Oh God, Natasha...Please... I can't...I can't take it anymore…” Your cries fill the room, your tits bouncing as she pounded inside you.

You threw your head back against Natasha's shoulder, exhausted from your struggles. She reaches up, her hand cupping your jaw and turning your head. Her mouth descends on yours, swallowing your moans. Her tongue slips past your lips, dueling with yours as she continues to pound into you.

You try to wiggle away from her relentless touch, but a strong hand wraps around one of your thighs, pulling you back. “Oh, no you don't…” Natasha's voice breathed in your ear, her hold was strong to keep your legs apart.

Her fingers never stop their relentless strumming on your clit and her cock pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, mama…” she whispers in your ear, her voice dark and commanding. “Squirt all over my cock…”

Her words send you over the edge. With a loud cry, you laid your head on her shoulder, your body convulsing as you came undone. You squirt all over her, your juices gushing out as she continues to thrust into you.

“That's it…” Natasha's own release hits her hard. With a final, brutal thrust, she buries herself deep inside you, her body shuddering as she comes. Her hot seed fills you up, spilling out around her still-pulsating cock. You can feel her hot cum mixing with your own fluids, the combined liquid slowly leaking out of you. You can't help but moan at the sensation, your body continuing to spasm when her cock bumped accidentally in your clit.

“You’re so good for me, mama.”

⧗

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside. Blinking your eyes open, you find yourself alone in Natasha’s bed. You stretch, wincing slightly at the soreness between your thighs. A quick glance around the room reveals no sign of the girl.

You sit up, rubbing your temples as a wave of guilt and self-disgust washes over you. Post nut clarity hits hard.

“How could I have been so stupid?” You chide yourself, your voice barely a whisper. “I drove four hours just to...to sleep with a stranger on a dating app.”

“Am I really that desperate for a good fuck?” you whisper harshly to yourself.

Panicked, you start searching for your clothes, but they're nowhere to be found. “Where are my clothes?” You mutter, your heart pounding in your chest. Your gaze falls on a large, plain shirt draped over a chair. You grab the shirt, smiling as you read what was printed on it

“The physics is theoretical but the fun is real.”

You quickly slip it on, the fabric swallowing you whole. It reaches down to your mid-thighs, the hem fluttering around your bare legs. You realize with a blush that you're not wearing anything else—just the shirt and your damp underwear.

You decide to take in the surroundings of the woman you slept with last night, it wouldn't be bad wouldn't it? The first thing you notice is how clean and organized Natasha's room is. The walls are adorned with intricate diagrams of solar systems, planets, and stars, each one meticulously labeled and colored. You spot a few custom-made lamps on the desk and shelves, their shapes resembling various celestial bodies that you thought she made herself.

The lamps cast a soft, warm light over the room, their glow mimicking that of distant stars. You see a bookshelf crammed with books on astronomy, physics, and electronics. A large whiteboard takes up one wall, covered in complex mathematical equations and diagrams.

Your gaze drifts downward, landing on a piece of paper on the floor. So you bend down to pick up the paper, smoothing it out on the table as you sit down. At first glance, it appears to be an application of some sort. Your eyes scan the page, taking in the details of information you see.

“Natasha...Alianovna Romanoff,” you smiled as her name tumbled out of your lips. “Beautiful name to moan to...”

“December 3,” you frowned, tilting your head slowly as you read the detail, “2002…” you felt your heart dropped to your stomach.

“22 years old?”

A sound of footsteps and a humming echo from outside the room made you alarmed. Panicked, you gripped the paper and rush towards the door, slipping out just as it creaks open. And there you saw Natasha who was cooking some breakfast.

She looks up as you exited her room, her eyes widening briefly as she takes in your appearance. Your hair was a mess and you're wearing her clothes—her favorite one, the oversized t-shirt clings to the curves of your breasts, revealing the outline of your hardened nipples. The hem barely reaches mid-thigh, revealing your bare legs—and your nude colored panties she herself took off last night.

You march towards her, barefoot, brandishing the application paper like a sword.

“You're 22?!”

“Wha—”

“Your bio says you're 28!”

“Wha—I-I didn't kno—”

“That's bullshit!”

“And I was like...God! I slept with someone who's the same age as my sons.” You mimic the same line you said as you recall the events of what happened weeks ago, sharing every detail with Thena, your best friend. She was in fact, the one who told you to try going on a dating app.

“At least you had a good fuck,” Your eyes widened with Thena's vulgar words but you hesitate for a moment before nodding, your face burning with embarrassment. Because, well, it's true...

“Yeah...it was…” You trail off, unable to meet her gaze.

“Good? Good?” Thena asks pulling the words out of you as she noticed you being hesitant.

“She was so gentle at first, almost shy...let me lead her but once she got going...whew!” You whistled softly, fanning yourself as you laughed.

“And you ghosted her…” You pause mid-laugh at your best friend's reply, you felt like she just slapped the reality across your face.

“I...” you raised your brows, palming your chest as you looked at her, “I didn't, okay, I just left. What would you expect me to do? She lied.” You defend, leaning down to your chair as you glance at your best friend who was eyeing you like she knows all your secrets. And she does though, but not this one.

“She's young, Thena,” you reason, “She'll move on. She'll meet someone new.” You dismiss the idea of Natasha being hurt by your not so sudden disappearance with a wave of your hand. “It's not like we had any emotional attachment or anything. Hell, maybe I am the third girl she had in her apartment that week. Who knows?” You chuckled humorlessly. You really wished you weren't.

“Hm, just fucking.”

“Exactly, just fucking,” you say, mirroring Thena's crude language. “We both needed that at the moment.” You nod confidently, convinced that's all it was—a simple physical need fulfilled, nothing more. But as you continue to talk, a small, secret part of you whispers that it was more than just a physical need. You felt a connection, a spark, something that went beyond the surface level. But you quickly silence that voice, deciding to keep your true feelings buried deep inside because there is no chance on getting back, you had deleted the app so there is no more way to contact her. But going to her place is a different conversation and there is no way in hell you're going to do that.

Sighing heavily, you rub your temples, trying to ward off the sudden headache that's formed.

“Besides, what would my sons think if they knew I was dating someone their age?” you muse aloud, looking at Thena with concern and embarrassment. “They'd probably be disgusted, Thee…I swear…”

“At least you're not robbing the cradle or y'know. It's not like she's underage or anything.”

“Okay, enough, stop justifying her age. She still lied, which I didn't like. I wouldn’t date someone who's the same age as my son and someone who’s younger, period.” You said with a finality making your best friend laugh at your now serious face, she’s really not used to you being like that.

“Gosh, they wouldn't even let me date anyone,” you sighed, slumping back in your chair dramatically, making Thena laugh even harder.

“You’ve got some overprotective babies there.” Thena chuckles between giggles.

You can't help but agree with your best friend, nodding your head in agreement. “Yeah, they are pretty overprotective. I swear, sometimes I think they forget I'm an adult too.” You smiled, remembering that your two sweet boys are coming home today for summer break.

⧗

You are excited and all jumpy thinking that every sound you hear is a knock on a door.

You started preparing for their visit, tidying up your home and making sure everything was just right and in place, especially with their bedrooms. The clock ticked by, and soon enough, finally, you heard a real knock towards the door.

With a quick glance in the mirror to make sure you looked presentable, you went to the door to open it. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, and then swung the door open.

There they both stood, a cocky smile on their face as they greeted you with a casual “Hey, Mom.”

“Hello my babies.” You almost cried on the spot seeing your grown sons.

“Whatchu cookin’ mama?” your eldest, Mark asked, kissing your forehead before entering the house.

“Your favorite beefy creamy mushroom, baby!” You shout.

“I love you so much, ‘ma!”

Before you could even reply, an arm wrapped around you in a tight embrace, and before you knew it, you were being lifted off the ground, your feet dangling in the air. You squirmed playfully, laughing as you tried to put your weight back down.

“Put me down, you little devil!” You scolded lightheartedly, playfully pushing against your son’s broad shoulders, though secretly enjoying the sweet gesture of your youngest.

As he finally set you down gently, a wide grin still plastered on his face, he let out a sigh and looked at you affectionately.

“I missed you so much, mom.”

“I missed you too, Tony.” You cupped his cheek and pestered him with so many kisses making him giggle.

“I...uhh mama, I hope you wouldn’t mind, I am sorry for telling this to you right now. But I brought a friend over, if that’s fine?” you placed your hands on his shoulders, as he looked at you with his usual puppy-dog eyes, “I owe her big time, I was the reason she’s heartbroken and why her favorite shirt is stolen.”

“Yeah, yeah...” you nodded encouragingly to assure him that it's okay to have some friend over, and the mention of a stolen shirt made you laugh—it was silly you thought.

“Yeah, sure baby…you ca—” you trailed off, your world stopping as you saw the friend your son brought over, standing just few steps behind him.

The friend your son brought over was none other than the person who haunted your dreams every night, the same woman you shared a night with many weeks ago that gave you the most earth-shattering orgasm that not even their father could give.

And you found her looking back at you, her gaze trailing down the shirt you’re wearing that was in fact hers.

“Mom, this is Natasha.”

[velvrei]

logan dating tony starks daughter !!! like he wants to dislike you soooooo bad because he automatically assumes you’re some spoilt brat who’s always gotten anything and everything that she’s wanted without having to lift a finger but after being forced to spend time with you (probably because of missions) he can’t help but fall head over heels for you!!! that stark charm is definitely something to be in awe of (ur dad and him still despise each other tho)

the other stark

pairing: older!logan howlett x stark!reader

summary: logan finally meets you, tony starks daughter at an avengers gala. as much as he thinks you are a stuck up brat who has everything handed to her, he couldn’t wait to have his hands on you.

warnings: smut, age gap (legal), somewhat forbidden romance, slight degradation, praise kink, cowgirl position, face riding, oral (f receiving), kinda slow burn, kinda enemies to lovers, really filthy smut, intentional overuse of the word fuck at the end, tony is pissed when he finds out

word count: 5k

a/n: don’t look to closely on the gif cause you’ll find the part where i didn’t try

nsfw below the cut!

logan was not looking forward to attending the avenger’s ‘met gala'. mostly because he knew he would be meeting the folks he was supposed to despise the most.

tony stark invited the x-men as a way of trying to mend the rip between the two groups; it was always avengers vs. the x-men, never avengers and the x-men. tony wanted to change that. logan didn’t.

as everyone arrive, there was a little red carpet where several photographers stood, flashing pictures in the hopes of capturing good shots of each of the visitors.

the x-men limo slowly approached the curb, with spectators surrounding the vehicle as everyone exited.

logan huffed and climbed out the door, disregarding the fangirls that surrounded him, eager to get the night over with.

he walked up to the carpet alongside his team, each member getting a solo shot. when it was logan’s turn, he rested his face and let the camera take pictures of him, stood up straight.

he was wearing dress pants, a button up, with the sleeves rolled up just above his forearms, and a black vest over his button up. the shirt easily displayed his muscles, which he claimed was unintentional, but it was vastly intentional.

the paparazzi turned their cameras as another limo pulled up, and out came peter parker, and logan rolled his eyes knowing it was all the younger avengers.

logan couldn’t help but watch as peter stepped to the side, holding his hand out as he watched a woman get out. he gulped, seeing who the woman was.

it was you, tony starks daughter, or so he heard from his team. he had never actually met you. as much as he wanted to persuade himself he wasn't drawn to you, it would be a complete lie.

you were wearing a long, form fitting dress. it was a dark red, almost maroon. you wore gold heels and chunky gold bangles and necklace along with it, making sure it wasn’t just one color, which was something logan noticed.

peter stood at your side and it made logan a bit curious as to what your relationship with him was, but once he saw you two begin bickering he quickly realized it was more of a sibling relationship.

logan felt like he was going through the five stages of grief as the two of you walked over, followed by some others that exited the limo. you walked in front of peter, walking up to the red carpet.

logan was still stood in the middle, he quickly turned his attention in front of him, looking at the camera for the picture.

“logan! pose with tony’s daughter!” one of the men behind the camera shouted. peter shot you a protective look, however you just shook your head, silently telling him to calm down.

logan almost huffed as you walked up next to him, even though you had never met the man, it would be more embarrassing to turn down the offer in front of millions of people.

“logan.” you say.

logan questions the fact you know him, wondering if he should’ve done his research beforehand.

“y/n.” he responds. he knows your name, and that’s it. he knows nothing else about you, and he is almost sure he doesn’t want to know.

the more he stood next to you, the longer he saw how many times you posed for the camera, wanting to roll his eyes but holding back knowing that would definitely get caught on camera.

you gave a small smile to the camera, turning to logan as you stood next to him. the two of you stood together, nothing more.

logan saw it as awkward, while you thought nothing of it, walking off the red carpet as he followed, quickly finding his team in attempt to avoid speaking to you any longer.

…

it had been an hour and logan hadn’t seen you again sense the introduction. he knew he was bound to be brought back to you again, but he didn’t want to be the cause of it.

logan finally spotted wade, approaching him, trying to pretend that wade wasn’t his comfort person.

“well hello my second favorite furball! i’ve missed you.” wade’s words make logan roll his eyes.

“missed ya too, bub. i barely know anyone here.” logan admits, quietly. he looks around the room to see if he saw anyone else he was comfortable with, but he just saw you in the corner, casually chatting with thor.

wade gasps, beginning to speak loudly on purpose. “the wolverine doesn’t know people-” wade starts but logan covers his mouth, staring daggers into his eyes.

“shut the fuck up. now is not the time.” logan says rather quiet, seeming a bit panicky as wade furrows his eyebrows.

wade goes to say a muffled remark but catches where logan’s distress is coming from. logan slowly lets go of wade’s mouth, watching as wade’s face brightens as if a light bulb had just been placed over his head.

“is billionaire bitch still your opp?”

“stop fucking talking like that.”

wade couldn’t help but giggle. “is it because of tony? he’s trying to make amends, stud muffin. i don’t know why you’re stressed.”

logan goes to respond, but takes a second, actually processing. “i- i don’t know why i’m stressed either if im being honest.”

wade smiled, appreciating the fact that his friend was actually processing his feelings instead of pushing away. that was something wade had taught logan, which was something wade had learned from his therapist.

“logan, you can’t hate the avengers forever. we’re gonna be forced to work with them. and as much as you may hate the starks, i’ve already looked at the first mission list and you’re partnered up with stark’s daughter.”

logan practically chokes on his champagne as wade speaks his last sentence. logan didn’t know whether to be curious or incredibly annoyed.

“oh, fuck me…” logan complains, rubbing his forehead.

wade holds back a giggle, “oh, i’m sure she will.”

with a smack to wade’s arm, the two boys noticed you and your father making your way over to them. logan almost cussed out tony in his head.

tony walked up, you not far behind your father, you have wade a side hug and gave logan a hand shake, that was strangely quick. tony smiled his millionaire smile. “thank you guys for joining us tonight. so glad you could make it, and i’m so happy we can finally kill this little rivalry.”

you knew your dad was being fake, but it wasn’t your place to say anything, especially when it was against wolverine and deadpool.

logan spoke the words, “i’m happy to be here,” but his face showed different, which earned him a smack in the arm from wade.

“i bet. we have a lovely spread of finger foods and you’re more than welcome to help yourself to some more champagne. would’ve told you how expensive it was before you decided to chug it all, however that’s okay.”

logan literally bit his tongue to stop himself from retaliating. if it was really okay as tony offered, tony wouldn’t care of the price.

after a few more dreadful minutes of banter between the two, and many side eye looks between you and wade, tony walked away, leaving just you, wade and logan.

which wade quickly saw himself out. “i’m gonna go find the woman with the magic hands, been dying to meet her. you two fartknockers try not to kill each other, okay?” his voice seemed so sarcastic but wasn’t, which made you almost smile.

wade walked away and left the two of you there. logan sighed as you started talking.

“you know, you don’t have to avoid me, logan.”

logan’s eyes shot up into yours. he wasn’t avoiding you. was he? “excuse me?”

you almost huffed, watching as his body tensed up. you stood up straight, even though you were still a bit shorter than him. “logan. i am not my father.”

your words cause logan to scoff. logan knew you weren’t your father. he just saw you as an exact replica of your bloodline. he didn’t want to say that right to your face, but you noticed he was processing a response, so you ignored the awkward silence and let him get his thoughts in order.

“obviously, you’re not him. your father is a 55 year old billionaire with a mustache. however you two are more similar than you think.”

his words make you think for a minute, deciding to keep the conversation a bit flirty, as much as you convinced yourself it wasn’t a good idea.

“listen, my father and i are just like you and wade. one is the caustic, sassy fighter who never knows when to quit. and the other is the hot one who simply follows the other's example.” your remarks force his brow to furrow.

out of the long phrase you just said, logan only processed one thing. “did you just call me hot?”

you smiled, batting your eyelashes before answered. “no, i called myself hot. you just happened to assume we’re similar, proving my point.”

logan hated how self centered you were. key word, hated. logan slowly realized how attractive your confidence was, but covered it up through his grunts and complaints of how stuck up you were. you weren’t wrong at all. you were hot, and there was nothing he could do about it.

logan rolled his eyes, “of course. you evil woman.” his words were half sarcastic, but you smiled, quickly remarking to his comment.

“you can call me evil, lo, but you can’t call me ugly.” and with that you walked away, leaving him there in his thoughts for the second time that night.

logan huffed. he would be lying if he said your words didn’t get to him. but he couldn’t. he was over half your age, and your father was the one person on this earth he couldn’t stand.

…

the first mission was the hardest. you and logan didn’t agree on much, the two of you couldn’t even decide on what food the team should get after the mission.

with each mission, logan felt his hatred for you slowly slipping away. as much as he tried to keep it because of who your father was, he couldn’t help but secretly adore you. your confidence, your skills, your remarks.

when you shared missions, logan was always paired with you. wade was sometimes there, but sometimes it was just the two of you. logan was the muscles, while you were the brains.

as much as he hated that, each mission he found it easier and easier to protect you. at first, he almost didn’t want to, so that way you could possibly learn your lesson.

then, by the third mission, he was protecting you like you were his own. you noticed those changes, knowing you were slowly getting to the man.

it was the aftermath of the fifth mission. all the avengers and x-men rented out a hotel through tony’s card. it was a smaller one, but was able to fit everybody. each partner was neighbored, but thankfully for logan not in the same room if opposite genders.

so logan was lucky enough to have a room to himself, however, that meant sleeping on his bed, knowing yours was on the opposite side of the wall. the walls weren’t exactly thick, which made it harder for him to keep himself together.

he felt filthy as he listened to your phone conversation with one of your friends. he refrained his interest and was just laying in his bed, reading a book when something you said striked his interest.

he assumed your friend asked about the person you were partnered up with, because as soon as your name left his mouth he couldn’t help but listen.

“yeah, i’m with logan.” he perked up, placing a book mark into his book before placing it onto his nightstand. he felt creepy listening in on your conversation, but convinced himself he had every right because he heard his name.

he heard nothing but mumbles from your friend, before he heard you speaking again.

“yeah, i can’t even lie, everytime i walk past him i just… there’s just something about him being my dad’s least favorite person that makes me want him even more.”

logan was at a loss for words. you wanted him? no. you couldn’t. he was practically forbidden. he felt like a pervert at the fact that his pants were tightening.

the friend laughed, and logan was not tuned out from your conversation, wondering what should be done from there. he quickly reminded himself that was your private conversation that he wasn’t supposed to hear, so what he knows must remain a secret.

…

logan usually wasn’t one to get much sleep, especially during the nights during missions, and especially only hours ago he found out you had the hots for him.

it was around two in the morning. he tossed and turned, trying to figure out what he should do.

he paused, throat feeling dry. he stood, throwing on his pajama pants, not bothering to wear a shirt before he left his hotel room, walking down the single set of stairs to the mini den, where there was a small kitchen and some lounge chairs.

he unintentionally scanned the room, catching you sitting in one of the lounge chairs, book in hand and your reading glasses sat low on your nose.

he swallowed his spit, walking over the the cupboard and grabbing a small glass, filling it with clean tap water from the sink.

the noise of the water running through the sink brought you from your reading trance, you took your glasses from your face and set your book down, finally noticing logan’s presence.

you slowly stood up, and logan tried to ignore your actions. looking out the window above the sink and quickly downing his water.

before he could leave the room you stopped him. “got somewhere to be?” your words made him sigh, head falling down as he turned his body to you.

he shook his head, realizing his attempt to avoid you was unsuccessful. you gave him your signature smile, not breaking eye contact even though he was tempted to.

“just tired.” his eyes tell different. he wasn’t tired at all. just couldn’t sleep. he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to now that he was down here with you.

“why are you lying to me? why are you avoiding me?” your words slow down as you mention him avoiding you, making sure your sentence really sinks in to his mind.

you couldn’t help but eye his shirtless figure, noticing how defined his abs we’re and feeling yourself become wet because of how manly he looked.

he notices your eyes and gulps, you watch his adams apple bob, and he suddenly realizes he needs to not look like a fucking pussy, even though he feels like one.

“why do you care?” his voice is back to his usual raspy. there’s your boy. you smile, finally recognizing he was back to the grumpy man you know and forbiddingly wanted.

“am i supposed to not care because my dad doesn’t? because i’ve told you many times. i am not my father.”

logan couldn’t help but search your body up and down. his act of checking you out, which you caught, makes your smile grow. “clearly not.” logan murmurs.

you eyebrows raise, your eyes never leaving his. “is that flirty comment leaving your mouth?” your words make him almost stutter but he takes a deep breath to stop himself from being vulnerable around you.

“no. it’s only flirting if you take it that way. i’m not flirting with you. i can’t.” logan’s last words make you curious. was he not flirting because he didn’t want to, or cause he couldn’t?

“you can’t? cause of my dad? fuck who my dad is. as much as i love him he’s gotten in the way of almost everything i’ve wanted that didn’t follow his path for me. i’m not letting him ruin this for me.” his breath quickened as you continued, “sometimes a girl needs to be taken care of. no matter who it is..”

your words make his eyes widen. he didn’t even know what to say.

we’re you flirting with him? he knew based on your phone call earlier that you wanted him because of the thrill it brought. but was that the only reason? did you actually want him?

“is that right?” his voice is low, trying to hide his desperation, and his words make you realize you’ve got him. he’s slowly letting down his forbidden barrier.

which is exactly what you wanted.

you step closer to him. “exactly right.” you were so close to him, only a few inches from his face, his husky breath fanning your face, you were able to smell his minty toothpaste from when he brushed his teeth just a few hours before.

you smiled, trailing a hand down his arm, watching satisfied as he shivered beneath your touch. “feels good, doesn’t it?”

logan backed up, finally letting his head reprocess what was happening. “no. y/n. we can’t. we can’t.” he repeats, and you can’t tell if he’s convincing you, or himself.

"why not? cause of my dad? don't you want to anger him? make him mad? isn't that what you've always wanted? well his daughter is standing right here, begging you to take care of her, to show her how she deserves to be taken care of."

logan almost moans at the thought. you step closer to him again, hand running down his arm.

you watched as he shivered, but instead of stepping back this time, he leans into your touch.

he sighs, your touch calming his nerves. he looks down at you, jaw clenching. "i'm.. too old for you. you deserve someone younger."

his words almost make you scoff in disagreement, and you couldn't help but disagree more with him.

"younger? all the guys my age are either assholes or taken, logan. i need someone older, to take care of me, to show me what it's like to be treated right, and fucked good. wouldn't you rather that that be you, rather than another man your age?"

it's like you knew just what to say, because he was standing there, as his dick hardened in his pants at your words.

he wanted you so bad. he didn't know what to say. he wanted to protest, for your sake, all he knew is that he wanted you so fucking bad.

your name tumbles from his lips, trying to think of what to say next.

“don’t tell me we can’t. because we can. we can do whatever we fucking want. we’re adults, aren’t we, lo?”

he sighs as the nickname slips from your mouth, he bites his lip, looking down at you, searching your eyes for any hesitation. he found none. just pure lust. he almost moaned as you gazed into his eyes, pupils dilating slightly.

“we are.” is all he says, eyes looking from your pupils, down to your lips. he licked his, eyes sharpening as he perked up.

you smiled up at him, batting your eyelashes, practically daring him to make the first move.

you decided to tease him a bit more, knowing exactly how to irritate him.

“i could always, go find another older guy to take care of me.” your words caused him to growl, slightly, jaw clenching at the thought of you with another boy, let alone an older guy.

“hell no. you’re mine.” his words make you smile, your expression still facing away from him as you turned your head, raising your eyebrows at him.

“i’m yours?” your words slightly questioning him, “prove it.”

at that moment, logan felt all his control slipping away.

the moment he’d been waiting for had finally come, he could finally devour you the way he had dreamed about many nights before.

you started to walk away, but he grabbed your arm, pulling you back in his direction and turning you around.

his hand wrapped around the back of your neck, his other on your waist, bringing you closer and finally connecting your lips with his.

he moaned into the kiss, knowing this was the moment he’d been waiting for. his lips were hungry, he was hungry.

logan let his hands roam along your body, both going down to grab your ass, squeezing and chuckling as you squealed into his mouth, taking that as his chance to slide his tongue into your mouth, touching yours.

he couldn’t help but moan as your lips wrapped around his tongue, sucking on it.

your eyes looked at his. causing his body to tremble at how dirty you were being.

he quickly squeezed your ass again, as the two of you continued to kiss, spreading your legs and picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“who knew you were so fucking naughty.” he whispered against your lips, pecking them after speaking then setting you onto the counter.

he stood in between your legs, hands running up your thighs, noticing how short your sleep shorts really were.

he kissed you again, kissing your jaw and continuing down your neck.

he made out with the sensitive skin just below your chin, panting as your head fell back gently against the cupboard.

his hands slowly went under your t-shirt, nails running against your torso, and up to your chest, squeezing, hearing as you moaned, quickly bringing one out and covering your mouth.

“gotta stay quiet, sugar. wouldn’t want your father hearing and getting curious.”

you moan into his hand, and he just chuckles at you, enjoying how needy you’re being just for him. he’s grunting against your skin, his hand moving faster than his brain.

he tries to ignore the fact his dick is practically leaking in his pants as his hand runs up your thigh, closer and closer to your core.

his face is still in your neck, as his hand pushes your shorts and underwear aside, his other still around your mouth to silence your sounds.

he quickly slips a finger in your pussy, smiling into your neck as he feels you moan into his hand. he pressed a kiss against your neck, as he wasted no time, thumb rubbing against your clit as his finger penetrated your hole.

he stuck another finger in, loving the fact he had you trembling under him. his two fingers curved inside of you, watching as your thighs shook at his unexpected action.

you whined into his hand, almost biting down onto his fingers.

he noticed that and removed his hand for a brief second before slipping his fingers into your mouth.

his lips moved from your neck to your ear. “god, look at you, letting my fingers stuff two of your holes,” he moaned around your fingers, smiling to himself as he shoves them down your throat.

his fingers leave your mouth after making you gag, his other set of two fingers still inside your pussy.

his other hand went to your neck, holding it as he licked a long stripe up and kissed it, nibbling on your soft skin.

“fuck, if your dad walked down right now and saw how much of a slut you’re being for me. would piss him off so bad, wouldn’t it, sugar.”

his words made you bit your lip, holding back your whimpers and whines as his fingers relentlessly pounded into you.

you finally let out a whimper, causing his smile to grow, his fingers leaving your pussy, leaving you slightly stretched out.

he placed a sweet, quick kiss to your lips before slipping you off the counter and into his arms, carrying you bridal style.

he walked you upstairs to his hotel room, kicking the door open then kicking it closed behind him.

“sweet girl couldn’t handle being quiet, felt too fucking good didn’t it?”

he set you down, forcing you to stand, sitting himself on the bed. he unintentionally manspread, holding himself up on his elbows. “come on sugar. strip for me.”

his words only encouraged you, smiling as you took off your shirt in a teasingly slow manner, leaving you in your lace bra and skimpy pajama shorts.

he bit his lip, eyeing you up and down. normally you’d feel intimidated, but you’d been waiting for this moment for weeks. there was no time to be intimidated by him.

you smiled as you slowly slid your shorts down your legs, revealing the matching panties, causing his head to fall back.

“a matching set? you planned this, didn’t you?”

all the dots connected in his head and he couldn’t help but moan at the thought of you planning to seduce him, and the fact you wanted him that bad to make a whole plan.

he brought his hand up, using his two fingers to signal you closer. without a word you stepped closer to him.

you straddled his body, leg wrapping around his waist, before you move his elbows and push him back onto the bed.

he moaned as you did so, looking up at you with wide eyes. “oh? is that how we’re feeling, sugar?” his words only made your confidence grow, palms resting on each of his pecks.

you tilted your head slightly, bringing one hand down to his pants, slowly palming the sensitive area you were sitting on.

“yeah, don’t act like it doesn’t turn you on, either. i feel you through your pants. your little friend here’s practically screaming for me to touch him.”

your hand palms him, slowly gaining speed as logan feels his breath hitch, heart skipping a beat. the friction of your hand manipulating his clothed dick only made him harder, head falling back onto the bed, as his back arched like a slut.

the material of his pajama pants stimulating his cock in all the right places.

at this point your cunt was sticky, logan could almost feel it through the two articles of clothing, forgetting the fact yours was extremely thin.

“feels good, doesn’t it? you were already so fucking hard, lo. does it turn you on that i’m so much younger than you? that this is forbidden?” your words only make his hips buck into your hand, mouth falling open.

you smiled grew, biting your lip as you watched his desperate. “god, it does, doesn’t it? you gonna let me ride you?”

logan moaned and nod his head, “if i’m not inside you within the next ten seconds i’m flipping you over and fucking you myself.” his words made you moan, losing your dominance, feeling the sudden need for him to demolish you.

“really, you don’t want me to sit on your face?” logan’s mouth watered at your words, quickly changing his mind.

he moaned, “wait, fuck yes. give it to me. come here and sit on my fucking face.”

you stood off him, slowly taking off your panties, then bracing yourself and climbing back on top of him, slowly making your way up to his face. you smiled, seeing logan’s desperate expression, as if he needed your pussy in order to live. he yearned for you, and it made you wetter at the sight.

you slowly hovered over his face, lowering onto his mouth, moaning as soon as his nose rubbed against your clit.

his tongue immediately went to your hole, tongue fucking you. you couldn’t help but squirm, moaning again as you felt his arms wrap around your thighs, holding you onto his face.

logan is loving the desperate way you try to bite your lip to keep yourself from being too loud, as if anyone was up at this hour.

"eating me so fucking good," you moan out, feeling as logan moans against your cunt, your words were like fuel to him, and he found himself bucking his hips at nothing because of how beautiful and desperate you sounded.

you adored how eager he was for you, causing you to scream as he moved his tongue quicker, eventually moving his entire face after noticing your liking for his nose on your clit.

he was getting so into it, being so messy, pussy clenching around his tongue, but he slowly removed his arms from your legs, lifting you off his face, then down to his abs, uninstall sitting your clit onto his hard abs, causing you both to moan.

“fuck, need you to cum on my dick, you can cum on my face later. i need you now. need you to ride me so good.”

logan moaned out as you quickly moved down, pulling down his pants and boxers, and with no warning, quickly sinking onto his dick.

logan moaned out slightly louder than you, making your smile grow.

you slowly took your hair out from the ponytail it was in, letting it fall down. logan looked up at you in awe, watching as you started to ride his cock.

“i’ve imagined this so many times, and god, nothing is better than it actually happened. you’re so fucking beautiful.”

you smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, cupping his cheek before placing your hands to his v-line, using his hot body to brace yourself as you rode his thick cock.

as you began to bounce, logan was a moaning mess. he started fucking up into you, “come on sugar, ride it.”

his words of encouragement made your moans become louder. he smiled up at you, his hands now holding your hips, holding you in place as he fucked up into you.

“that’s it, baby. take it, take my fucking cock. so fucking tight around me.” he eyes moved from your glowing body, down to your pussy, practically sucking his dick in.

“look at you, sucking me in so good, like she was made for me. fuck.” he looked at your stomach, practically seeing a bulge move in and out of you.

“can see me in your tummy, fuck,” he points out, and you look down and moan. you smiled at him, watching his glistening body, as sweat droplets formed on his forehead.

“god that’s so hot, you’re so fucking big. told you i needed an older guy to take care of me.”

his name tumbles from your lips, he sees you in your desperate state. the two of you both feel your climaxes reaching closer, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer if he kept talking to you like that.

“good fucking girl.” his voice was so low and raspy, you couldn’t help but moan.

logan enjoyed the fact he had tony stark’s daughter currently bouncing on his cock, begging for more. it was forbidden, and the thought alone almost made him cum.

“you keep talking to me like that i’m gonna cum,” your voice is desperate and needy, and that turns him on to the max, slowly feeling himself reach the edge. he grunts, jaw clenching, feeling himself go almost animalistic, he grunts through his teeth.

“come on sugar. that’s it. cum on my fucking cock. riding me so fucking good i’m gonna cum myself. want you to moan so loud tony hears you from the floor below and knows his arch nemesis is fucking his daughter. wanna see my cum spill out of this sweet little pussy of yours.”

his words carry you over the edge, as he continues to talk you through it. “that’s it, bub, i’m so fucking close. this pretty little pussy is sucking me in so good, yeah i feel you clenching. dick so good it has you trembling, huh, sugar?” you cum on his cock, legs shaking as you stop bouncing, but logan grabs your hips and drills into you, chasing his own climax.

you feeling extremely overstimulated, you couldn’t control your whimpers and whines and how loud you were. logan finally came with you, mouth falling open as he grunted, moaned, and even almost whimpered.

your eyes scrunch shut, when you finally are able to open them you see logan under you, body glistening in sweat, his eyes closed shut and his head pushed back into the pillows, holding your hips so tight, like if he lets you go you’ll leave.

you smile as you come down from your high, logan quickly following you, his smile growing as his eyes meet yours again.

“that what you meant when you said take care of you?” his cocky words make you smack his bare chest, slowly pulling off him, your cum and his cum slowly spilling out of you, getting both of your attention.

“fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” logan mumbled under his breath.

you almost moaned again, feeling empty as you pull his cock out of your pussy, the cum dripping onto his v-line and abs, making your smile grow.

“yes, this is what i meant. fucked me so good.” you giggled, going to get up but logan flipped you over gently and pushed you down onto the bed.

“lay here, sugar. i’ll clean you up.”

logan grabs a damp, warm rag from the bathroom of his hotel room, bringing it to you and wiping up the cum, once you’re fully clean he tosses it into the hamper across the room. he goes to his bag, grabbing one of his shirts and walking over to you.

he smiles and carefully brings it over your head, finding your tired state adorable.

once you have the shirt on, you lay down in the bed, pulling the covers over you sleepily, as he puts his pajama pants back on, climbing back into bed next to you.

…

the next morning, logan isn’t in bed with you, you check the time and it’s about 10am. your mission didn’t start for another few hours, so you decided to go downstairs and get yourself some of the hotel breakfast.

you slipped on some sleep shorts and slowly walked out of your room, down the stairs and into the kitchen where breakfast was being served.

you walked over to the counter, putting waffle batter into the waffle maker and turning around, trying to find your dad within the many avengers and x-men sat around the mini tables, but when you saw almost everyone staring at you, some with their mouths slightly open, you became confused.

you turned to see your dad, tony, sat at a table with steve, thor and bruce.

tony almost gasped as you turned around and continued making your waffle, not caring how loud he was.

“why the fuck does the last name on the back of you shirt say howlett.” as soon as your dad reveals that information, you avoid turning back around to face him.

logan smiles from his seat, watching as tony slowly turns to look at him at the table near him.

tony’s eye twitches as he looks over at logan. logan unfortunately cant hide his amused expression, almost giggling at the situation, watching as wade walks into the room, also noticing the back of your shirt.

wade jumps up and down, clapping his hands together. “is that logan’s shirt! omg, they finally fucked!”

bruce and thor can’t help but giggle to each other, as steve holds in his laugh.

tony eyes shoot from wade to logan, practically shaking from how mad he was. it was something logan wanted to take a picture of and remember forever.

“you stuck your dick in my fucking daughter!?” tony’s loud, obviously unhappy voice made you slowly turn around, you and logan making eye contact trying not to break into laughter.

“am i the only one furious at this? why the fuck are you all fucking laughing!?” tony shouts, standing up, almost spilling his coffee all over the table.

…

a/n: don’t forget to comment and tell me your thoughts ;)