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ojovivo
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
bliss lane
tumblr dot com
$LAYYYTER
Misplaced Lens Cap
EXPECTATIONS
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
izzy's playlists!
blake kathryn
Not today Justin
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Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Andulka
★
shark vs the universe
almost home
seen from Italy
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@chosovixen
ʀᴜʟᴇꜱ | ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ᴀꜱᴋ ʙᴏx!!
©ᴄʜᴏꜱᴏᴠɪxᴇɴ 2022 — ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ, ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ.
**𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔦 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔲𝔭/𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔤𝔢**
𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧
follow me on twitter @/chosovanty
⸻ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 | frank castle x black reader!
✴︎ synopsis :: frank comes back home after being gone for a mission.
✴︎ tags :: MDNI 18+ merc!frank castle, housewife!reader, established relationship (yall married chile), slight fluff, light obsessive tendencies/thoughts, smut: oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, breeding kink, cum eating, praise kink, and mating press.
✴︎ a/n :: is it too early to be writing smut?? NO WAY. i had this thought since literally yesterday and i thank @chosovixen for fueling this and i technically wrote it for her so😛 thangyaaaa sista! borders from: @cafekitsune
ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇꜰᴜʟ, ꜱʟᴏᴡ ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ Qᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ ᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀᴀɴɢ. ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ, ʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜɪꜱ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴋᴀᴛᴀʀᴀ, ɪꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ. ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴛ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴜᴛᴛᴇʀʟʏ ᴡɪᴘᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ.
ʜᴏᴡ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ?
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6
chapter 6! final chapter out now
ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇꜰᴜʟ, ꜱʟᴏᴡ ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ Qᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ ᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀᴀɴɢ. ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ, ʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜɪꜱ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴋᴀᴛᴀʀᴀ, ɪꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ. ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴛ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴜᴛᴛᴇʀʟʏ ᴡɪᴘᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ.
ʜᴏᴡ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ?
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5
chapter 5 out!! one more to go!!
ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇꜰᴜʟ, ꜱʟᴏᴡ ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ Qᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ ᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀᴀɴɢ. ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ, ʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜɪꜱ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴋᴀᴛᴀʀᴀ, ɪꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ. ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴛ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴜᴛᴛᴇʀʟʏ ᴡɪᴘᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ.
ʜᴏᴡ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ?
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5
chapter 4 is up!!
ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇꜰᴜʟ, ꜱʟᴏᴡ ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ Qᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ ᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀᴀɴɢ. ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ, ʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜɪꜱ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴋᴀᴛᴀʀᴀ, ɪꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ. ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴛ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴜᴛᴛᴇʀʟʏ ᴡɪᴘᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ.
ʜᴏᴡ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ?
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5
we’re 3 chapters in!!
ᴅᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴘᴛ.2 (ᴋᴀᴛᴀʀᴀ x ᴀᴀɴɢ x ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʟᴀᴅʏ)
ᴄᴡ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.6ᴋ
They were down to whispers by the time the canyon wind settled. The wood from the fire crackled once, twice—then turned to a soft orange eye that watched the room with them.
Aang laid on his back, hands stacked beneath his head, counting the faint swishes of Appa’s tail outside. The group had learned to sleep again in the last week—no more dark apparitions, no more stress. His manifestations had ebbed to a polite murmur of air, small and obedient, like a sleepy bison. Peaceful was the word Sokka had grumbled that morning, and then, suspicious, like it might be a prank.
Aang told himself it was good. He told himself that quiet meant balance. But the quiet also made room for something else, something he folded and refolded behind his ribs like a letter he wasn’t supposed to have.
Katara rolled onto her side, her outline a soft cutout against the fabric of her nightgown. Her hair fell from its loop like a small tide, and she tucked it behind her ear, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. That tiny insistence—of a touch repeating itself—was the only sign he’d learned to watch for, the only warning he got before she let a thought loose into the room.
“Aang,” she said. His name in the quiet was like a smooth stone dropped in a pond.
He turned his head. “Mm?”
“Do you—” She bit the inside of her cheek, searching for a beginning. The flames made a long gleam across the curve of her lip. “It’s been a week.”
He could have said, since the last storm. Since the village stopped leaving milk bowls on the quay. Since a woman with a red stripe across her mouth stepped out of the fog and took them both in ways only the water remembers. He did not say any of that. He said, “Yeah.”
Katara smiled, as if that counted. “I’ve been thinking about her.”
Aang swallowed, slowly. The breath he took was shaky—as if he knew what she was going to ask. “Me too,” he said.
“I didn’t know how to bring it up.” The corner of her mouth quirked. “Which feels silly, when you’ve seen me bring up… everything.”
He chuckles softly, the corners of his mouth now twitching into a smile. “So what are you saying?”
Katara’s cheeks flush slightly—a soft pink hue spreading across them. “You know what I’m saying,” she whispers.
“I want to hear you say it though,” his voice is low, in a way that has Katara’s whole body shuddering—as if it had taken a screenshot.
“I want her…here with us again, Aang.” She looks away shyly. It was just her and Aang, yet it felt so taboo.
“We can’t just summon her for that though…seems a bit selfish, don’t you think?” He let the words rest, not too heavy but realistic. He had learned the difference between calling and yanking. The week had taught him the weight of not asking the world to do cartwheels just because he could.
“Yeah,” Katara mumbled softly before her head dipped lower and she closed her eyes. “I just keep replaying that afternoon in my mind and—,” she lets out a shaky breath, almost as if she was stopping herself from letting the thought reignite a fire in her core. She looks back up at Aang. “Can we at least talk to her?”
Aang nods, the motion slow and deliberate, then pushes himself upright in the bed. He folds his legs beneath him, grounding through the mattress. Across from him, Katara mirrors the pose with quiet precision, her hair falling forward as she reaches for his hands. Her palms are warm, familiar; the moment their fingers lace, a quick, bright shiver runs up his spine.
Eyes closed, he draws air deep into his lungs, then lets it slip free. Again. And once more, until the clutter of thoughts recedes to the edges. He sets aside the noise, tucks it behind the door of his mind, and focuses on the simple rhythm: in, out; gather, release.
His next exhale spills into the room and seems to linger, a thin ribbon of sound that brushes the stillness and fades into nothing. The night listens back. An owl calls once beyond the window, a soft question hanging in the dark.
Aang opens his eyes. Shadows hold to their corners; the small shapes of their things sit exactly where they should. Nothing stirs. Katara tilts her head, puzzled, and scans the room with him.
Then hands—soft, confident—sweep over Aang’s chest, mapping muscle and breath, gliding over warm skin until they come to rest low on his abdomen. A mouth hovers at his ear; not quite a kiss, but the heat of it lifts the fine hairs along his neck. His eyes flutter. He tightens his grip on Katara’s fingers, anchoring in her steady pulse.
Katara whips her gaze back to him—and sees her. The Painted Lady stands within the hush, moonlit and river-cool, veiled smile brightening as if a current had turned. Their eyes meet and hold. “I was wondering when you’d call for me again,” she whispers against Aang’s ear, but her attention is fixed on Katara, hunger old as tide.
“You came,” Katara breathes, the words thinned to almost a whisper.
The Painted Lady straightens, one hand resting lightly atop Aang’s head, the other lifting her wide-brimmed hat and setting it on the nightstand with a soft, deliberate tap. “Would there be a reason for me not to?” The question lingers in the stillness, as cool and weightless as mist. Katara gives a small shake of her head.
“So… why did you call for me?” the spirit asks, her voice smoothing into the hush as she eases onto the edge of the bed. Fabric glides and settles around her, the dress catching the moonlight and hinting at movement beneath—Aang tries not to stare.
He shifts, a ripple of nerves crossing his features. “To talk,” he says, the word coming out careful, almost too even.
A low, musical chuckle escapes the Painted Lady. “I am a part of you,” she says, tapping his chest with a single, precise finger. “I know what stirs in that mind of yours. You’ll need a better lie.”
“If you already knew, then why ask?” Aang mumbles, eyes dropping, then flicking back up.
One brow arches. “Still sharp-tongued,” she observes, a playful growl woven through the words. Aang mirrors her with a mock glare that makes Katara’s quiet laugh rise and fade like water over stone.
“We don’t want you to think we’re just… using you,” Aang begins again, voice softening into something earnest.
The Painted Lady laughs—lighter this time, amused rather than cutting. “Please,” she says, tilting her head. The simple motion sends a new glimmer across her veiled smile. “We both remember how last time went. Or should I remind you of who was crying?” Her tone hums at the edges, velvet-smooth, the hint of a purr resolving into warmth rather than heat—making Aang blush with embarrassment. “Right,” she smiles.
“Now, I’ll ask again. Why did you two call me here?” Her voice was dripping with dominance and a slight hint of teasing.
Katara and Aang looked at each other before looking back at the Painted Lady—the way she laid across the bed as if it was her own, as if she fit perfectly into their lives without even realizing it.
“We wanted to see you again,” Katara’s voice is thick. Aang nods along. “We wanted to feel you again—but that’s only if you’ll let us,” she adds quickly.
An explanation was never needed. The Painted Lady knew why they called and, in fact, had been waiting for it. She yearned for their touch and tenderness while sealed away—she just wanted to hear them say it.
Without another word, she slowly begins to undo her dress—the fabric falling from her body. Her smooth skin on display. She lets the dress pool at her waist, then slides it lower, a slow, deliberate reveal, the fabric brushing against skin like water over reeds.
Katara's breath catches. Aang's fingers twitch in hers.
The Painted Lady rises to her knees on the mattress, and the dress slips the rest of the way free. She is bare and unashamed, her body a thing of soft, impossible curves, the moonlight tracing the hollow of her throat, the dip of her collarbone, the full swell of her breasts. The red stripe curls at the corner of her mouth like a secret she's been keeping.
Katara makes a sound—small, involuntary, the kind that escapes before the mind can catch it. Her grip on Aang's hand goes tight enough to hurt, but he doesn't pull away. He can't. His mouth has gone dry, and his pulse is hammering somewhere behind his eyes, and the air.
The atmosphere had thickened, turned warm, and charged—the way the sky does before a storm breaks.
The Painted Lady looks at them both with that patient, unhurried expression. "Come here," she says. Not a request. “I don’t bite.”
Katara moves first. She crosses the short distance between them on her knees, nightgown swishing against the sheets, and stops close enough that her exhale stirs the air at the Painted Lady's throat. Katara lifts her hand and touches her face, thumb tracing the red stripe from corner to corner, slow and wondering.
The Painted Lady covers Katara's hand with her own—holding it there, pressing her palm flat against her cheek. Her skin is cool, pleasant against Katara's body heat. She turns her head and presses her mouth to the center of Katara's palm. Katara's eyes fall half-shut.
Aang watches from two feet away, sitting very still, his hands open on his knees. He is trying to breathe evenly and failing. His heartbeat has migrated to the base of his throat, insistent and embarrassingly loud to his own ears. He watches the Painted Lady's mouth move against Katara's palm, watches Katara's fingers curl involuntarily around the kiss like she's trying to hold it.
The Painted Lady's gaze slides sideways over Katara's shoulder and finds him there.
"You're very far away," she observes.
"I'm right here," he says. His voice comes out lower than he intended.
"Then act like it."
He closes the distance. His knees settle behind Katara on the mattress—close enough that his chest nearly touches her back, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off both of them at once, the layered warmth of two very different beings. His hands find Katara's waist through the thin fabric of her nightgown, and she exhales at the contact, a slow, released sound. His large hands then slowly move higher—cupping her breast and squeezing ever so slightly.
A soft whine escapes Katara’s lips—needy and grueling. Aang’s grasp becomes firmer against Katara, rolling her hard peaks between his fingers through her nightgown. “You like that?” He whispers in her ear, only for her to hear—she nods. “Speak to me, baby,” he says.
“Yes,” she gasps. “I love it.”
He smirks against her ear before kissing the lobe gently, his hands continuing to massage her soft mounds. The Painted Lady tugs the hem of Katara’s nightgown upward, and for a brief moment, Aang’s hands leave their post to help slip the nightgown over Katara’s head.
Once the nightgown pools on the floor, the room feels quieter somehow—more intimate, his hands find purchase back on her breast. The Painted Lady settles back against the pillows, her dark hair fanning out around her like ink in water. She watches Aang and Katara with soft, wandering eyes, like she still can't quite believe she's here, with them, welcomed so completely.
Her hands smooth down her body—between the valley of her breast, then lower till she’s reached the trim of her panties. A soft cotton material that she slowly slides down her thighs, kicking them off to the side.
Katara and Aang stop their movement to look over at her. She looked like the embodiment of sin itself, lying between their sheets. Something in Aang's throat catches as he swallows hard. Katara wastes no time and pulls herself from his grasp to hover over her—spreading the Painted Lady’s legs with her own. She settles between her thighs, their bodies the same but different altogether in a way. Katara leans forward, cupping her cheek and kisses her slowly, with the kind of patience that says I have all the time in the world for you.
Aang watches in excitement, discreetly adjusting himself as these two ladies get off on each other. He can feel himself growing painfully hard—aching and needing to be touched.
In the midst of their steamy makeout session, hands roaming over each other’s bodies—the Painted Lady flips Katara onto her back, now between her legs and pressing her firmly into the sheets. Katara lets out a soft, needy gasp.
“Fuck,” Aang curses under his breath as he inches closer. He was losing his mind in the best way possible. They pull away, placing one last kiss on each other’s lips before turning to Aang. “You two having fun?” He teases, and they both chuckle—something deep and rich despite their compromising position. “Mind if I join?”
The Painted Lady sits up completely, pulling Katara up with her. “You’re always welcomed to,” she says with a small smile. Her fingers ghost the hem of his pants. “Take these off,” she whispers the command—and in one swift movement, his pants are gone, discarded with the other articles of clothing.
His cock springs free. Thick, heavy, one prominent vein on the underside, the tip leaking precum—scary but mouth-watering altogether. His muscles flex before relaxing as he looks between the two women. He needed to feel something now—he was desperate and holding on by a thread. His fist clenched at his side as his gaze shifted between them.
“Tell us what you want,” The Painted Lady says.
“I want," his breathing is shaky. “I want to be inside of you,” he nods towards Katara, and she nods in return. Her arms wrap around his neck, and she pulls him into a tender kiss, her tongue slipping into his mouth, making him moan softly. He lays her back gently on the sheets—his massive thighs spreading her legs apart. Aang reluctantly pulls away, a string of saliva briefly connecting them. He looks down at her, her sex is still clothed—without thinking, he grabs the hem with both hands and rips it apart, the material left in threads as he tosses it aside. He blinks softly. “Shit—sorry. I don’t know why I did that,” he mumbled, and Katara giggled.
“You owe me a new pair,” she jokes.
“Of course, baby.” He whispers the promise. He looks at her for a long moment. He's known her face for years, memorized every version of it—laughing, crying, furious, determined. But somehow, in the quiet of this room, with the soft light and the Painted Lady watching gently from beside them, she still manages to take his breath away completely.
"Hi," he says softly, like they've just met.
She smiles. "Hi."
He leans down and presses his forehead to hers, the way he always has—their old language, the one that needed no words. He then presses a soft kiss to her lips as he lines himself up. A deep groan escapes him as he rubs the tip through her folds, collecting her wetness as natural lubricant. Slowly, he pushes in, making her arch into him already and moan softly. He kisses her jaw—the subtle act making her clench around him. “Fuck, baby,” he growls in her ear. “Don’t do that. I might come too soon,” he whispers against her skin.
The Painted Lady smooths her hand over his back, her slender fingers tickling his skin as he pushes deeper into Katara. Once he’s fully bottomed out in her, heavy balls pressed against her ass—he gives her time to adjust before pulling out slowly, then thrusting in deeper.
He picks up the pace slightly, his hips slamming against her plush ass with wet, slapping sounds filling the room. His hands grip her hips hard, leaving marks on her skin as he fucks her deeply. Each thrust makes her full tits bounce.
"That's it, take it all, baby." He leans down, biting her shoulder softly—making her cry out loud before he kisses the same spot. “You like that?" He asks softly, rolling his hips slowly so she could feel every inch of his thick cock stretching her tight walls. Katara could only gasp and claw at his back, making him smirk against her skin.
He can feel her clenching tight around him, and it takes everything in him not to come so soon. He keeps hitting her g-spot as she moans uncontrollably, one hand reaching down to play with her clit—fingers moving gently against the little bud. Katara’s moans fill his ears as he feels her walls starting to flutter. "That's it, that's it—" he whispers against her ear, feeling her tighten around him. "Come for me if you need to, princess."
Her whole body trembles, a loud cry escaping her glossy lips as she comes hard on his cock, walls clenching and releasing around him. "Fuck yes, just like that," he groans, not stopping his thrusts as he fucks her through her orgasm.
The Painted Lady just watches in awe as Katara comes a part on his cock—a slight hunger building inside her. She leans down and kisses the small tears on Katara’s cheek. “Look at you,” she coos softly as she pets her hair.
Aang pulls out slowly, making Katara whine at the loss. His cock was covered in her juices and glistening. The Painted Lady wastes no time and wraps her lips around his length—her tongue flattens as she takes him whole. Katara lies under them as she tries to catch her breath. A satisfied moan leaves Aang’s lips as the Painted Lady cleans his cock with her tongue. She looks up at him—eyes big and needy, and he can feel his resolve slipping with how her mouth stretches around his length as she stares up at him.
“Damn it,” he mutters softly before pulling her off of him. Katara rolls off to the side as the Painted Lady lies in her place now. Her legs spread, invitingly, and Aang positioned himself between them.
“Now let’s see if you’ll cry this time,” she teases.
“Shut up,” Aang chuckles.
She grabs his face and brings it dangerously close to hers. “Watch it.”
“Yes, ma'am," he bites back as he pumps himself once, twice. He rubs the head between her folds, slapping his massive length against her clit lightly. Then he does something unexpected—he flips her onto all fours and smacks her ass softly, making her gasp at the sudden change. He lines himself up behind her, grabbing onto her hips and pushing in slowly. He starts pounding into her, grabbing her hair and wrapping it around his hand once, pulling so she’s in a deep arch.
She lets out a loud cry while Aang sets this brutal pace. It has Katara sitting up to look at him, her legs squeezing together. He reaches around to squeeze the Painted Lady’s breast as he fucks her from behind. Each thrust made her ass ripple against his pelvis.
He reaches underneath to play with her clit as he fucks her, but it’s too much. She tries running, pulling off his cock, but he pulls her back by her hair. He lets out a dark chuckle. “Aww, look at you,” he mocks. “What? Can’t take it?” he growls as he wraps his arms around her, his massive body trapping her against him as he pounds into her.
Her moans become louder, back arching as he fucks into her relentlessly. His fingers rub fast and tight circles over her clit as he feels her pussy spasming.
He groans loudly as he buries his face into the Painted Lady’s neck. His tattoos flickering to life without warning—soft pulses of light, like a candle catching in a breeze. He exhaled slowly, trying to center himself. Still the mind. Still the breath. Katara looks up at him in concern and something deeper—his hips kept moving, making the Painted Lady whimper softly.
“You okay?” Katara whispers. Her hand finds purchase on his cheek, and his eyes open slowly. No more glowing.
“Feels too good,” he chuckles softly. “My body thinks I’m going into shock.”
Katara can’t help but laugh softly.
“I’m gonna come,” the Painted Lady cries out—making them shift their focus back to the woman. Her pussy tightens around him as he slams into her deep, holding himself there as she shakes through her orgasm. He gives her a minute before slowly releasing her, watching as she flops onto the bed—her legs trembling.
“Look who’s crying now,” Aang huffs. She glares at him, but she’s too fucked out to do anything about his sass.
Katara pulls him down on top of her, kissing him all over before her hands wrap around his cock—guiding it back inside of her without warning. He lets out a deep groan that rumbles in his chest. “Fuck, baby wa-,”
“Come inside me,” she whispers, and his eyes roll back and the request.
He spreads her thighs wide, taking a moment to appreciate her beautiful body—full tits bouncing, wide hips perfect for grabbing, and that pretty pussy already swollen and wet from the previous round. He starts fucking her slowly. The drag of his cock, making her head spin. The pace is slow and deep, savoring the feeling of her tight pussy gripping him. He leans down to capture her glossy lips in a messy kiss, his tongue sliding in to tangle with hers. "You're so pretty like this, you know that?" His voice low as he brushes her hair out of her face.
"Mmm, that's it baby," He murmurs against her lips as he picks up the pace slightly. Her breast jiggle with each thrust, driving him wild. He breaks the kiss to suck on her neck—hard enough to leave marks while pounding into her deeper and faster this time. He presses her legs together and brings them up to her chest as he gets deeper, making her clamp down on him, milking him. He groans as he feels her pussy pulsing, and he slides his fingers between her legs to rub her swollen clit. Katara comes with just a few tight circles over her clit and the drag of his cock in a breathy gasp. Feeling her come undone, Aang follows quickly behind her, burying himself deep inside her and shooting a warm load.
They stay like that for a bit before he’s pulling out slowly. He sits back watching as his cum drips out of Katara, her pussy red and swollen. He glances over his shoulder at the Painted Lady and grins—her arms are stretched wide, as she’s sprawled across the bed passed out.
He turns his attention back to Katara. “You okay?” She nods, her eyes heavy with sleep. “Alright, let’s get you both cleaned up and to bed then,” he chuckles.
ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ: @luxesiren @justsomerandompersonintheworld @glaucousbabe
ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇꜰᴜʟ, ꜱʟᴏᴡ ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ Qᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ ᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀᴀɴɢ. ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ, ʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜɪꜱ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴋᴀᴛᴀʀᴀ, ɪꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ. ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴛ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴜᴛᴛᴇʀʟʏ ᴡɪᴘᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ.
ʜᴏᴡ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ?
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6
ᴅᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ (ᴋᴀᴛᴀʀᴀ x ᴀᴀɴɢ x ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʟᴀᴅʏ)
ᴄᴡ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ, ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴅᴀᴄʀʏᴘʜɪʟɪᴀ
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.6ᴋ
Again. It happened again.
A creation Aang had manifested from his stress had been running rampant. It wasn't easy being the Avatar, but no one expected things like this to happen. No one even knew things like this could happen. It was taking a toll on the group and everyone who may have been involved, and Aang felt horrible. He needed to get this under control but he didn't know what this was or how to begin stopping it.
Aang’s breath came ragged, the ground beneath him still humming with the echo of what he’d conjured and defeated. What looked to be ashy footprints littered the dirt like fragments of a nightmare refusing to fade.
Katara touched his sleeve. “Hey.” No judgment, just the calm of her voice like honey melting in warm water. “You okay?” she asks. Aang gives a half smile and nods.
“Come, sit with me,” she says. They climbed a hill a little away from camp, where the wind shared peaceful secrets with the rustling leaves. Aang folded his legs. Katara settled across from him, mirroring his posture.
“We’re going to find a way to stop this,” She reassured. “No matter how long it takes.”
Aang stared at his hands. “I don’t even know what ‘this’ is. What if…what if there is no way to stop this, Katara?” He sounded almost broken—like he was scared.
“Listen to me,” She reached forward, extending her hand to him, close enough for him to take if he wanted, far enough to let him choose. “You’re carrying the weight of the Avatar, and it’s getting you worked up, spilling over in ways no one can begin to understand yet. But we can try to understand it. Start with your breathing.”
“This is silly,” he chuckles dismissively.
“Aang,” She warns and he straightens up, clearing his throat.
He followed her instructions—eyes closed, breath in, hold, breath out—until the tremor in his chest evened.
“Now,” Katara said softly, “I want you to think of something that calms you. Someplace safe. Someone who makes you feel safe.”
Aang’s eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed as he took another deep breath. The wind suddenly stilled, and his mind went to warmth: the feel of Appa’s fur under his palms, the sound of his friends' laughter, the moonlight on water, the steadiness that always came when Katara stood near. A smile tugged at his lips, timid and honest, and seeing Aang smile made Katara smile.
Suddenly the lake’s surface rippled. Aang felt the shift—his eyes opened as he reached out to Katara, almost as if he were trying to shield her from whatever trouble they may encounter. Then, he saw it. A figure stood at the water’s edge, haloed in mist.
He breathed a shuddering breath, as if it almost hurt to do so. Aang stood—Katara didn’t miss a beat and stood too. They motioned closer, carefully—like little birds letting the wind push them forward while remaining prepared to stop instantly.
“H-hello?” Aang called out. No answer. The figure just stood there with its head down. Aang looked at Katara and she shrugged, prompting him to move forward. As they stepped closer, leaves crunched under their feet, making them both halt, eyes widening.
The figure looked up, sending a shiver down both of their spines. She looked like Katara, and didn’t. The same sure stance, the same quiet gravity and confidence—but her face was veiled and painted red, crimson lips bright as a wound. A reed hat shadowed her eyes, and the long sash at her waist stirred as if a tide moved through it. She was the Painted Lady, the river spirit from hushed stories—compassion wrapped in mystery.
Katara’s breath caught. “Aang… did you—?”
“I didn’t mean to.” He swallowed, staring at the apparition he’d pulled from the part of himself that reached for comfort. “I-I was thinking of you, how you make me feel….” He winced. “But she’s—I don’t know.” He looked back at the Painted Lady, his throat feeling dry and cheeks burning.
The Painted Lady tilted her head, the gesture so achingly familiar it made Aang’s chest ache. She carefully walked across the lake before stopping in the grass. “Okay, maybe this is good.”
“How is this good?” Aang whispered.
“Because this tells us something.” Katara’s voice was steady despite Aang’s panicking. “Your stress made those violent creatures—shapes without a purpose. But when you remained calm, you gave your apparition a story to try on.” She nodded toward the Painted Lady.
Aang’s gaze softened. “I didn’t choose her on purpose.” He murmured.
“Not with your head,” Katara said gently. “But with your heart.” She smiled.
Aang looked down, twiddling his thumbs. “If I can make these things appear by accident, what stops them from hurting people?”
Katara motioned for him to sit beside her—their shoulders touching. “Intention. Practice. We can treat this like any other form of bending—only it’s inside you.” She pointed to the Painted Lady, who waited with patient stillness on the grass. “Let’s try something. Ask her to come sit with us.”
Aang hesitated, then spoke, voice as careful as if he were holding fine china. “Please… sit with us.”
The Painted Lady stalked gracefully towards them, before sitting right in front of Aang—her hands resting in her lap. The proximity makes his cheeks flush as he scoots back a bit. Katara notices and giggles. “Good. Now breathe, and tell her how you want her to exist.”
“How I want her to exist?” Aang repeats. “I-I don't know,” he stutters.
“Aang relax,” Katara coos.
“This is just…all so stressful,” He breathes, holding his head in his hands. Katara sighs as she rubs his back.
The Painted Lady peers up at him, her eyes intense and filled with something. Katara’s gaze shifts to hers and they stare at each other for a minute—they hold that gaze longer, like they were trying to telepathically tell each other something and that's when Katara notices the Painted Lady smirk just a bit. She returns it, her hand still soothing Aang. Silently they plot through their eyes and before you know it Katara is motioning for the Painted Lady to come closer.
Now seated between his legs was Katara—or a version of Katara he had manifested. Aang removes his hands from his face, looks up and jolts slightly. “Oh…hey,” he says in a shaky breath—almost shy.
She doesn't respond, just looks at Katara almost as if she's asking her for permission to touch Aang. Katara nods and the Painted Lady carefully and teasingly smoothes her hands up Aang’s thighs. They're muscular and she could feel him tensing under her touch.
“What are you doing?” He breathes.
“Shh, just helping you relax,” Katara interjects. Her hands move to cup his face, making him look at her.
“We’re out in the open,” He bites back a whine. He tries to check his surroundings, but Katara gently snaps his head back to her gaze.
“No one is coming up here,” Katara says sure of herself.
The Painted Lady worked her way up to the hem of his pants, tugging slightly. Katara sneakily slid behind him—her chest pressed firmly against his back.
His heart rate picks up—if you listened closely you could probably hear it beating against his ribcage. Katara's voice was a bit deeper, still soothing but this tone made his cock twitch. He bit his bottom lip, trying, and failing to suppress a moan as his pants slowly were pulled off. The cool air and gentle breeze against his cock made him hunch over slightly—his lips parted and he let out a shaky whimper. Katara couldn't help but smirk deviously. He was already leaking precum, the tip an angry red. The Painted Lady’s hands find purchase on Aang’s thighs again.
His hips buck upward slightly and Katara gently grabs his throat and squeezes. “Hold still,” she purrs in his ear—a breathy whine escapes his lips as his fingers dig into the earth beneath him. He pants softly even though nothing has happened…pathetic. Katara nods towards the Painted Lady who needs no further instruction before wrapping her hands around his cock. He lets out a deep groan that rumbles in his chest, his head falls back and rolls against Katara's shoulder, making her squeeze his throat tighter.
Aang’s breathing was labored as he felt the Painted Lady’s dainty hand grip his cock, pumping painstakingly slow. He needed more, so much more that he bucked his hips again to chase the feeling.
A sudden sharp slap was planted on his thigh, making him jolt and wince slightly. He was shocked—Katara was shocked as they looked down at the Painted Lady. “Stay still,” she growled. Aang’s ears burned, his whole face was a red hue as the Painted Lady stared at him intensely, burning a hole through his head. Katara’s hands moved from his throat down to his wrist, pinning them behind his back.
Katara’s lips grazed his earlobe gently. “You heard her, stay still,” Katara whispers before biting his ear.
“Yes ma’am,” Aang whimpers. The Painted Lady looks up at him with a fierce gaze—she pulls her hands away just for a moment before crudely spitting on his cock, making him moan deeply. Her hands are back on him in seconds, pumping his thick length and watching how the foreskin pulls back to reveal his leaky tip.
He’s a mess, it’s too much. The way the Painted Lady’s wrist flicked while stroking him and how Katara kissed his jaw and neck was driving him insane. He felt hot all over—like he was about to explode as he moaned uncontrollably. She starts pumping him faster, her spit and his precum making it so easy for her hand to work him.
“Feels good?” Katara coos. “You look so pretty like this,” she teases. Aang almost loses it as he leans back into Katara’s touch—his hands straining against hers to break free. All he could do was whimper softly as his lips stay parted.
Aang starts panting heavily—he can feel his core tightening, legs trembling as his cock twitches in her hands. “Look at you, doing so good for the both of us,” Katara whispers.
“I’m-,” he groans deeply as his whole body tenses. Before he can even get the words out, his cum paints his lower abdomen and his lap—covering the Painted Lady’s hand in thick ropes.
“You came already?” Katara taunts. Aang’s whole face turns bright red at the sudden teasinging. He didn’t expect it himself as he looked down at the mess. He closed his eyes while now fully resting on Katara, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he started to come down from the intense orgasm.
He suddenly lets out the most pathetic whiny gasp as he feels hands on his softening cock again. His eyes shoot open and he sees the Painted Lady gently massaging his balls—he can’t take it, his hands break free from Katara’s grasp as he places his hand over the Painted Lady’s, looking at her with pleading eyes. She looks back at him for a moment before pulling her hands away completely. He lets out a soft sigh—which is quickly replaced by a sharp inhale. His hand gently touches his cheek where a red handprint is already forming.
Aang’s gaze snaps back to the Painted Lady. “Did you just slap me?” he asks while holding his cheek. She doesn’t answer. Aang turns to Katara who’s trying her best to hold back a laugh. He turns back to the Painted Lady—her expression still the same.
“I said…stay still,” she says firmly—before breaking out into a wolfish grin. Her hands find themselves back on his softened length, gripping him gently as she starts milking him for whatever he’s got left.
He pleads. “Please,” he whimpers softly as his face scrunches in pleasure despite himself—his cock harden again and standing at full attention.
Katara gently turns Aang’s face to meet hers, pressing a tender kiss to his lips to distract him from everything—cupping his face as her thumb gently caresses his cheek, suddenly he is not too worried about having been slapped. The kiss is slow, their lips moving against each others like a comforting embrace.
Katara pulls back, a string of saliva connecting them. “Do you want us to stop?” she asks softly.
“Yes!” Aang nearly cried out. He panted softly before calming down. “No…I don’t know,” he whined and shifted slightly.
Aang was overwhelmed and dazed—he liked her hands on him, loved it even, but it was too much. The way she said nothing, looked down at him like he was nothing made something in him stir—something he couldn’t describe.
“Tell us what you want?” Katara says. She kisses his head gently—her lips lingering before pulling away —and he melts into her touch. “We’re here for you,” she coos.
The stark contrast between the two women was driving him insane. Katara was familiar, home—and the painted lady was something from a wild fantasy. Aang let out a soft whimper he didn’t know he was holding, making the painted lady chuckle to herself.
“W-what’s funny?” Aang managed to get out, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. The painted lady's eyes met his and he immediately shrank. Her gaze was intense and piercing, making his cock twitch in her hands.
He looked like he was about to cry, a soft pink hue covering his entire body—yet he dared to test her. It was bold really.
“Is that a real question?” She retorts and he bites his tongue—not know if he should even answer, fearing he might be slapped again. But deep down…he craved that thrill.
He’s so close to coming again, his entire body coiled tight with pleasure. “Fuck,” he whines and the Painted Lady raises a brow, pumping him faster. “Please,” he lets out a loud choked sob as his balls draw tight. His cock swelling as he feels his second orgasm about to rip through him.
“Use your words Aang, what do you want?” Katara murmured against his ear.
“I need to cum!” He cries out—his face covered in hot tears as he breathes heavily. His body twists one way and then the other as he tries to break free of their grasp, but based on his efforts you’d think he actually liked being overpowered and overstimulated.
Katara leans down, darting out her tongue to lick the tears on his cheek before kissing him—making him taste how pathetic he is. He cries harder, his eyes rolling back as he feels his orgasm about to rip through him. It builds and builds, and then—nothing. His eyes meet the Painted Lady’s, she’s smirking up at him as she pulls her hands away from his aching cock.
He sniffles softly before speaking. “I was c-close,”
“You don’t cum unless we say so from here on out,” she says as she stands, towering over him. His cock jumps and she smirks down at him again before removing her garments. His eyes flutter, it’s like looking at Katara but somehow different. His eyes drift up and down her body, just taking in the sight. Katara stands and follows suit, pulling her clothes off and tossing them onto the grass beside him.
“Clothes off. Now,” Katara commands and Aang scrambles to get the rest of his clothes off. “Good boy,” she praises. His cock is hard and pulsing as his big grey eyes dart between the two women towering over him. They look like Amazonian Goddesses. His Amazonian Goddesses.
He groans, wrapping his hand around his cock and giving it a firm squeeze.
The Painted Lady tilts her head ever so slightly. “Keep your hands where we can see them,” she says.
He looks off to the side before back at her. “They are where you can see them,” he says like a smartass.
“Are you getting fresh with me?” she asks.
“I think he is,” Katara adds.
Aang shakes his head. “No-,”
“I think someone should shut him up,” Katara smirks. They nod simultaneously before the Painted Lady walks over and stoops down, hovering just above Aang’s face. Her pussy was inches from his face, he could just reach out and grab her—slamming her hips onto his face and devouring her pussy, but he knew he’d be in more trouble by doing so.
She slowly sinks down, straddling his face. She lets out a soft moan as his mouth immediately latches onto her clit. He eats her out like a starved man, lapping at her juices like she’s the only bit of water in a drought. “Mmph,” he moans, the vibration making her keel over—her hands landing on his pecs and squeezing subtly.
Katara watches in awe as her man devours a woman that looks exactly like her, sounds like her, and talks like her. The visual was beyond erotic and it made something in her stir. Without thinking, Katara walks over to them. She watches as the Painted Lady’s face scrunches in pleasure as Aang’s tongue flattens and licks through her folds. Katara carefully straddles Aang’s hips, grabbing the base of his cock—gently sliding it between her folds and getting it wet. Aang whines softly and the Painted Lady digs her nails into his pecs.
Katara lifts her hips before sinking down onto Aang’s length—no matter how many times they do it, she can never get over the stretch. As she slowly sank down onto his thick, throbbing cock, he lets out a muffled groan. The sensation is overwhelming—her tight pussy stretching to accommodate his massive size. Aang’s tongue moves faster around the Painted Lady's clit automatically, making her gasp loudly. Katara takes this as an opportunity—she grabs the back of the Painted Lady's neck and pulls her in for a deep and breathless kiss. They share a moan that's muffed by the other as Katara starts moving, lifting and dropping her hips onto Aang's length. They pull away, smiling at each other with such a devious glint in their eyes. Katara can’t help but reach out, grabbing a handful of the Painted Lady’s tits and squeezing them gently—she rolls the hardened nipples between her fingers as she continues to bounce on Aang.
Aang was in bliss. Two pretty ladies above him—using him for their pleasure, and he didn't mind one bit. Subconsciously his hands come up to grip the Painted Lady's thighs, pulling her flush against his face, his nose nudging her clit and making her gasp loudly. She grinds her hip into him—matching his pace as his tongue moves vigorously through her folds. In seconds she’s coming undone and the sound of her breathless moans fills his head, going straight to his cock. He twitches.
The Painted Lady rolls off of Aang, legs trembling as she gradually comes down from her orgasm. Without wasting time she brings her lips to his and kisses him roughly, tasting herself on him. Her tongue tangles with his and they share one of the sloppiest kisses he’s ever had.
She pulls back, gripping his chin. “Open,” she commands softly and he obeys—instantly, sticking his tongue out. With that, she purses her lips and spits directly in his mouth. “Swallow,” she growls as she closes his mouth. Aang swallows, eyes gleaming with newfound interest.
The Painted Lady moves closer to Katara—her hands resting on her waist as she helps her bounce on Aang’s cock. They’re chasing her orgasm together and they didn’t even know it.
“Look at that. Taking him so well,” The Painted Lady whispers to Katara. Aang’s eyes widen as they then lean in and kiss each other—lips moving against one another like it was something familiar. With a deep groan he grips Katara’s hips—his large hands covering the Painted Lady’s as he stills their movements, his orgasm hitting him like a truck. His load is thick, painting the inside of her walls in a matter of seconds as she comes undone too with a soft cry.
Katara slowly pulls herself off of him—the way his cum leaks out of her is almost pornographic. Aang drapes one arm over his face, trying to calm himself.
“Holy fuck,” he suddenly groans out as his fist clench. The feeling of two warm tongues licking his length clean sends him into a psychosis. His hand immediately reaches out—grabbing a fist full of hair, tugging it gently. “Fuck, stop…please,” he begs, but they just stare up at him—their tongues moving simultaneously up and down his cock. Their eyes lock and his lips part to speak but only a small whimper escapes him.
The Painted Lady is kissing up his shaft while Katara sucks one of his balls into her mouth. “Please, I can’t take anymore,” he says as his grip tightens.
“Too much?” The Painted Lady teases.
Aang can only nod as he looks down at them through teary eyes. “I-I can’t,” he manages.
“Too bad,” Katara adds. He tosses his head back into the grass with a defeated groan. They go back to torturing his spent cock—suckling the head and massaging his balls. The Painted Lady’s hand smoothes down Katara’s back as she watches her take his whole length to the back of her throat.
“Nice and easy,” The Painted Lady coos as her fingers find Katara’s clit, circling it slowly—she runs her slender fingers through her folds, teasing her entrance before pushing it inside.
Aang’s hips buck and he cums with a strained cry, surprising Katara as she swallows it. He’s all flushed, body aching, and head spinning. The Painted Lady’s fingers never stop working their way in and out of Katara, making her pull off of Aang as she cums again with a soft moan. The Painted Lady pulls her fingers from Katara, admiring how they’re covered in her juices. She brings her fingers to Aang’s lips and he opens eagerly, licking them clean—making sure he gets in between the digits.
They all lay back in the grass, naked the same way they entered this world. “Now do you know how you want her to exist?” Katara smirks.
ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ: @luxesiren @crudeandoffputting @torawro @purple-nugget
ᴅᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ (ᴋᴀᴛᴀʀᴀ x ᴀᴀɴɢ x ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʟᴀᴅʏ)
ᴄᴡ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ, ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴅᴀᴄʀʏᴘʜɪʟɪᴀ
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.6ᴋ
Again. It happened again.
A creation Aang had manifested from his stress had been running rampant. It wasn't easy being the Avatar, but no one expected things like this to happen. No one even knew things like this could happen. It was taking a toll on the group and everyone who may have been involved, and Aang felt horrible. He needed to get this under control but he didn't know what this was or how to begin stopping it.
Aang’s breath came ragged, the ground beneath him still humming with the echo of what he’d conjured and defeated. What looked to be ashy footprints littered the dirt like fragments of a nightmare refusing to fade.
Katara touched his sleeve. “Hey.” No judgment, just the calm of her voice like honey melting in warm water. “You okay?” she asks. Aang gives a half smile and nods.
“Come, sit with me,” she says. They climbed a hill a little away from camp, where the wind shared peaceful secrets with the rustling leaves. Aang folded his legs. Katara settled across from him, mirroring his posture.
“We’re going to find a way to stop this,” She reassured. “No matter how long it takes.”
Aang stared at his hands. “I don’t even know what ‘this’ is. What if…what if there is no way to stop this, Katara?” He sounded almost broken—like he was scared.
“Listen to me,” She reached forward, extending her hand to him, close enough for him to take if he wanted, far enough to let him choose. “You’re carrying the weight of the Avatar, and it’s getting you worked up, spilling over in ways no one can begin to understand yet. But we can try to understand it. Start with your breathing.”
“This is silly,” he chuckles dismissively.
“Aang,” She warns and he straightens up, clearing his throat.
He followed her instructions—eyes closed, breath in, hold, breath out—until the tremor in his chest evened.
“Now,” Katara said softly, “I want you to think of something that calms you. Someplace safe. Someone who makes you feel safe.”
Aang’s eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed as he took another deep breath. The wind suddenly stilled, and his mind went to warmth: the feel of Appa’s fur under his palms, the sound of his friends' laughter, the moonlight on water, the steadiness that always came when Katara stood near. A smile tugged at his lips, timid and honest, and seeing Aang smile made Katara smile.
Suddenly the lake’s surface rippled. Aang felt the shift—his eyes opened as he reached out to Katara, almost as if he were trying to shield her from whatever trouble they may encounter. Then, he saw it. A figure stood at the water’s edge, haloed in mist.
He breathed a shuddering breath, as if it almost hurt to do so. Aang stood—Katara didn’t miss a beat and stood too. They motioned closer, carefully—like little birds letting the wind push them forward while remaining prepared to stop instantly.
“H-hello?” Aang called out. No answer. The figure just stood there with its head down. Aang looked at Katara and she shrugged, prompting him to move forward. As they stepped closer, leaves crunched under their feet, making them both halt, eyes widening.
The figure looked up, sending a shiver down both of their spines. She looked like Katara, and didn’t. The same sure stance, the same quiet gravity and confidence—but her face was veiled and painted red, crimson lips bright as a wound. A reed hat shadowed her eyes, and the long sash at her waist stirred as if a tide moved through it. She was the Painted Lady, the river spirit from hushed stories—compassion wrapped in mystery.
Katara’s breath caught. “Aang… did you—?”
“I didn’t mean to.” He swallowed, staring at the apparition he’d pulled from the part of himself that reached for comfort. “I-I was thinking of you, how you make me feel….” He winced. “But she’s—I don’t know.” He looked back at the Painted Lady, his throat feeling dry and cheeks burning.
The Painted Lady tilted her head, the gesture so achingly familiar it made Aang’s chest ache. She carefully walked across the lake before stopping in the grass. “Okay, maybe this is good.”
“How is this good?” Aang whispered.
“Because this tells us something.” Katara’s voice was steady despite Aang’s panicking. “Your stress made those violent creatures—shapes without a purpose. But when you remained calm, you gave your apparition a story to try on.” She nodded toward the Painted Lady.
Aang’s gaze softened. “I didn’t choose her on purpose.” He murmured.
“Not with your head,” Katara said gently. “But with your heart.” She smiled.
Aang looked down, twiddling his thumbs. “If I can make these things appear by accident, what stops them from hurting people?”
Katara motioned for him to sit beside her—their shoulders touching. “Intention. Practice. We can treat this like any other form of bending—only it’s inside you.” She pointed to the Painted Lady, who waited with patient stillness on the grass. “Let’s try something. Ask her to come sit with us.”
Aang hesitated, then spoke, voice as careful as if he were holding fine china. “Please… sit with us.”
The Painted Lady stalked gracefully towards them, before sitting right in front of Aang—her hands resting in her lap. The proximity makes his cheeks flush as he scoots back a bit. Katara notices and giggles. “Good. Now breathe, and tell her how you want her to exist.”
“How I want her to exist?” Aang repeats. “I-I don't know,” he stutters.
“Aang relax,” Katara coos.
“This is just…all so stressful,” He breathes, holding his head in his hands. Katara sighs as she rubs his back.
The Painted Lady peers up at him, her eyes intense and filled with something. Katara’s gaze shifts to hers and they stare at each other for a minute—they hold that gaze longer, like they were trying to telepathically tell each other something and that's when Katara notices the Painted Lady smirk just a bit. She returns it, her hand still soothing Aang. Silently they plot through their eyes and before you know it Katara is motioning for the Painted Lady to come closer.
Now seated between his legs was Katara—or a version of Katara he had manifested. Aang removes his hands from his face, looks up and jolts slightly. “Oh…hey,” he says in a shaky breath—almost shy.
She doesn't respond, just looks at Katara almost as if she's asking her for permission to touch Aang. Katara nods and the Painted Lady carefully and teasingly smoothes her hands up Aang’s thighs. They're muscular and she could feel him tensing under her touch.
“What are you doing?” He breathes.
“Shh, just helping you relax,” Katara interjects. Her hands move to cup his face, making him look at her.
“We’re out in the open,” He bites back a whine. He tries to check his surroundings, but Katara gently snaps his head back to her gaze.
“No one is coming up here,” Katara says sure of herself.
The Painted Lady worked her way up to the hem of his pants, tugging slightly. Katara sneakily slid behind him—her chest pressed firmly against his back.
His heart rate picks up—if you listened closely you could probably hear it beating against his ribcage. Katara's voice was a bit deeper, still soothing but this tone made his cock twitch. He bit his bottom lip, trying, and failing to suppress a moan as his pants slowly were pulled off. The cool air and gentle breeze against his cock made him hunch over slightly—his lips parted and he let out a shaky whimper. Katara couldn't help but smirk deviously. He was already leaking precum, the tip an angry red. The Painted Lady’s hands find purchase on Aang’s thighs again.
His hips buck upward slightly and Katara gently grabs his throat and squeezes. “Hold still,” she purrs in his ear—a breathy whine escapes his lips as his fingers dig into the earth beneath him. He pants softly even though nothing has happened…pathetic. Katara nods towards the Painted Lady who needs no further instruction before wrapping her hands around his cock. He lets out a deep groan that rumbles in his chest, his head falls back and rolls against Katara's shoulder, making her squeeze his throat tighter.
Aang’s breathing was labored as he felt the Painted Lady’s dainty hand grip his cock, pumping painstakingly slow. He needed more, so much more that he bucked his hips again to chase the feeling.
A sudden sharp slap was planted on his thigh, making him jolt and wince slightly. He was shocked—Katara was shocked as they looked down at the Painted Lady. “Stay still,” she growled. Aang’s ears burned, his whole face was a red hue as the Painted Lady stared at him intensely, burning a hole through his head. Katara’s hands moved from his throat down to his wrist, pinning them behind his back.
Katara’s lips grazed his earlobe gently. “You heard her, stay still,” Katara whispers before biting his ear.
“Yes ma’am,” Aang whimpers. The Painted Lady looks up at him with a fierce gaze—she pulls her hands away just for a moment before crudely spitting on his cock, making him moan deeply. Her hands are back on him in seconds, pumping his thick length and watching how the foreskin pulls back to reveal his leaky tip.
He’s a mess, it’s too much. The way the Painted Lady’s wrist flicked while stroking him and how Katara kissed his jaw and neck was driving him insane. He felt hot all over—like he was about to explode as he moaned uncontrollably. She starts pumping him faster, her spit and his precum making it so easy for her hand to work him.
“Feels good?” Katara coos. “You look so pretty like this,” she teases. Aang almost loses it as he leans back into Katara’s touch—his hands straining against hers to break free. All he could do was whimper softly as his lips stay parted.
Aang starts panting heavily—he can feel his core tightening, legs trembling as his cock twitches in her hands. “Look at you, doing so good for the both of us,” Katara whispers.
“I’m-,” he groans deeply as his whole body tenses. Before he can even get the words out, his cum paints his lower abdomen and his lap—covering the Painted Lady’s hand in thick ropes.
“You came already?” Katara taunts. Aang’s whole face turns bright red at the sudden teasinging. He didn’t expect it himself as he looked down at the mess. He closed his eyes while now fully resting on Katara, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he started to come down from the intense orgasm.
He suddenly lets out the most pathetic whiny gasp as he feels hands on his softening cock again. His eyes shoot open and he sees the Painted Lady gently massaging his balls—he can’t take it, his hands break free from Katara’s grasp as he places his hand over the Painted Lady’s, looking at her with pleading eyes. She looks back at him for a moment before pulling her hands away completely. He lets out a soft sigh—which is quickly replaced by a sharp inhale. His hand gently touches his cheek where a red handprint is already forming.
Aang’s gaze snaps back to the Painted Lady. “Did you just slap me?” he asks while holding his cheek. She doesn’t answer. Aang turns to Katara who’s trying her best to hold back a laugh. He turns back to the Painted Lady—her expression still the same.
“I said…stay still,” she says firmly—before breaking out into a wolfish grin. Her hands find themselves back on his softened length, gripping him gently as she starts milking him for whatever he’s got left.
He pleads. “Please,” he whimpers softly as his face scrunches in pleasure despite himself—his cock harden again and standing at full attention.
Katara gently turns Aang’s face to meet hers, pressing a tender kiss to his lips to distract him from everything—cupping his face as her thumb gently caresses his cheek, suddenly he is not too worried about having been slapped. The kiss is slow, their lips moving against each others like a comforting embrace.
Katara pulls back, a string of saliva connecting them. “Do you want us to stop?” she asks softly.
“Yes!” Aang nearly cried out. He panted softly before calming down. “No…I don’t know,” he whined and shifted slightly.
Aang was overwhelmed and dazed—he liked her hands on him, loved it even, but it was too much. The way she said nothing, looked down at him like he was nothing made something in him stir—something he couldn’t describe.
“Tell us what you want?” Katara says. She kisses his head gently—her lips lingering before pulling away —and he melts into her touch. “We’re here for you,” she coos.
The stark contrast between the two women was driving him insane. Katara was familiar, home—and the painted lady was something from a wild fantasy. Aang let out a soft whimper he didn’t know he was holding, making the painted lady chuckle to herself.
“W-what’s funny?” Aang managed to get out, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. The painted lady's eyes met his and he immediately shrank. Her gaze was intense and piercing, making his cock twitch in her hands.
He looked like he was about to cry, a soft pink hue covering his entire body—yet he dared to test her. It was bold really.
“Is that a real question?” She retorts and he bites his tongue—not know if he should even answer, fearing he might be slapped again. But deep down…he craved that thrill.
He’s so close to coming again, his entire body coiled tight with pleasure. “Fuck,” he whines and the Painted Lady raises a brow, pumping him faster. “Please,” he lets out a loud choked sob as his balls draw tight. His cock swelling as he feels his second orgasm about to rip through him.
“Use your words Aang, what do you want?” Katara murmured against his ear.
“I need to cum!” He cries out—his face covered in hot tears as he breathes heavily. His body twists one way and then the other as he tries to break free of their grasp, but based on his efforts you’d think he actually liked being overpowered and overstimulated.
Katara leans down, darting out her tongue to lick the tears on his cheek before kissing him—making him taste how pathetic he is. He cries harder, his eyes rolling back as he feels his orgasm about to rip through him. It builds and builds, and then—nothing. His eyes meet the Painted Lady’s, she’s smirking up at him as she pulls her hands away from his aching cock.
He sniffles softly before speaking. “I was c-close,”
“You don’t cum unless we say so from here on out,” she says as she stands, towering over him. His cock jumps and she smirks down at him again before removing her garments. His eyes flutter, it’s like looking at Katara but somehow different. His eyes drift up and down her body, just taking in the sight. Katara stands and follows suit, pulling her clothes off and tossing them onto the grass beside him.
“Clothes off. Now,” Katara commands and Aang scrambles to get the rest of his clothes off. “Good boy,” she praises. His cock is hard and pulsing as his big grey eyes dart between the two women towering over him. They look like Amazonian Goddesses. His Amazonian Goddesses.
He groans, wrapping his hand around his cock and giving it a firm squeeze.
The Painted Lady tilts her head ever so slightly. “Keep your hands where we can see them,” she says.
He looks off to the side before back at her. “They are where you can see them,” he says like a smartass.
“Are you getting fresh with me?” she asks.
“I think he is,” Katara adds.
Aang shakes his head. “No-,”
“I think someone should shut him up,” Katara smirks. They nod simultaneously before the Painted Lady walks over and stoops down, hovering just above Aang’s face. Her pussy was inches from his face, he could just reach out and grab her—slamming her hips onto his face and devouring her pussy, but he knew he’d be in more trouble by doing so.
She slowly sinks down, straddling his face. She lets out a soft moan as his mouth immediately latches onto her clit. He eats her out like a starved man, lapping at her juices like she’s the only bit of water in a drought. “Mmph,” he moans, the vibration making her keel over—her hands landing on his pecs and squeezing subtly.
Katara watches in awe as her man devours a woman that looks exactly like her, sounds like her, and talks like her. The visual was beyond erotic and it made something in her stir. Without thinking, Katara walks over to them. She watches as the Painted Lady’s face scrunches in pleasure as Aang’s tongue flattens and licks through her folds. Katara carefully straddles Aang’s hips, grabbing the base of his cock—gently sliding it between her folds and getting it wet. Aang whines softly and the Painted Lady digs her nails into his pecs.
Katara lifts her hips before sinking down onto Aang’s length—no matter how many times they do it, she can never get over the stretch. As she slowly sank down onto his thick, throbbing cock, he lets out a muffled groan. The sensation is overwhelming—her tight pussy stretching to accommodate his massive size. Aang’s tongue moves faster around the Painted Lady's clit automatically, making her gasp loudly. Katara takes this as an opportunity—she grabs the back of the Painted Lady's neck and pulls her in for a deep and breathless kiss. They share a moan that's muffed by the other as Katara starts moving, lifting and dropping her hips onto Aang's length. They pull away, smiling at each other with such a devious glint in their eyes. Katara can’t help but reach out, grabbing a handful of the Painted Lady’s tits and squeezing them gently—she rolls the hardened nipples between her fingers as she continues to bounce on Aang.
Aang was in bliss. Two pretty ladies above him—using him for their pleasure, and he didn't mind one bit. Subconsciously his hands come up to grip the Painted Lady's thighs, pulling her flush against his face, his nose nudging her clit and making her gasp loudly. She grinds her hip into him—matching his pace as his tongue moves vigorously through her folds. In seconds she’s coming undone and the sound of her breathless moans fills his head, going straight to his cock. He twitches.
The Painted Lady rolls off of Aang, legs trembling as she gradually comes down from her orgasm. Without wasting time she brings her lips to his and kisses him roughly, tasting herself on him. Her tongue tangles with his and they share one of the sloppiest kisses he’s ever had.
She pulls back, gripping his chin. “Open,” she commands softly and he obeys—instantly, sticking his tongue out. With that, she purses her lips and spits directly in his mouth. “Swallow,” she growls as she closes his mouth. Aang swallows, eyes gleaming with newfound interest.
The Painted Lady moves closer to Katara—her hands resting on her waist as she helps her bounce on Aang’s cock. They’re chasing her orgasm together and they didn’t even know it.
“Look at that. Taking him so well,” The Painted Lady whispers to Katara. Aang’s eyes widen as they then lean in and kiss each other—lips moving against one another like it was something familiar. With a deep groan he grips Katara’s hips—his large hands covering the Painted Lady’s as he stills their movements, his orgasm hitting him like a truck. His load is thick, painting the inside of her walls in a matter of seconds as she comes undone too with a soft cry.
Katara slowly pulls herself off of him—the way his cum leaks out of her is almost pornographic. Aang drapes one arm over his face, trying to calm himself.
“Holy fuck,” he suddenly groans out as his fist clench. The feeling of two warm tongues licking his length clean sends him into a psychosis. His hand immediately reaches out—grabbing a fist full of hair, tugging it gently. “Fuck, stop…please,” he begs, but they just stare up at him—their tongues moving simultaneously up and down his cock. Their eyes lock and his lips part to speak but only a small whimper escapes him.
The Painted Lady is kissing up his shaft while Katara sucks one of his balls into her mouth. “Please, I can’t take anymore,” he says as his grip tightens.
“Too much?” The Painted Lady teases.
Aang can only nod as he looks down at them through teary eyes. “I-I can’t,” he manages.
“Too bad,” Katara adds. He tosses his head back into the grass with a defeated groan. They go back to torturing his spent cock—suckling the head and massaging his balls. The Painted Lady’s hand smoothes down Katara’s back as she watches her take his whole length to the back of her throat.
“Nice and easy,” The Painted Lady coos as her fingers find Katara’s clit, circling it slowly—she runs her slender fingers through her folds, teasing her entrance before pushing it inside.
Aang’s hips buck and he cums with a strained cry, surprising Katara as she swallows it. He’s all flushed, body aching, and head spinning. The Painted Lady’s fingers never stop working their way in and out of Katara, making her pull off of Aang as she cums again with a soft moan. The Painted Lady pulls her fingers from Katara, admiring how they’re covered in her juices. She brings her fingers to Aang’s lips and he opens eagerly, licking them clean—making sure he gets in between the digits.
They all lay back in the grass, naked the same way they entered this world. “Now do you know how you want her to exist?” Katara smirks.
ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ: @luxesiren @crudeandoffputting @torawro @purple-nugget
tattoo artist aang x florist katara modern au xoxo
https://archiveofourown.org/works/84734781/chapters/223607536
all the way to ch18 out now
all the way to ch21 out now!
definitely give this a read!! it’s too good😩
alright…hiatus over!! who’s ready for a kataang oneshot? also follow my twitter!! @/chosovanty
dropping this tomorrow…hopefully!
alright…hiatus over!! who’s ready for a kataang oneshot? also follow my twitter!! @/chosovanty
My Dearest Situationship.ᝰ.ᐟ (Pt 2)
Tony Stark x F!Black Reader. (Smut/NSFW)
˗ˏˋ After a passionate night spent together, Tony wants to show you he's serious about the relationship. He plans an extraordinary date, aiming to win your heart and lay the groundwork for a committed future. As the night unfolds, you face a critical decision: accept his efforts and forge a path together, or admit that your differing expectations are insurmountable. Everything hangs on how you choose to respond to Tony's gesture of love.
⤷ Oneshot, smut/fluff so here’s the warning! Sugar daddy, yearning, public sex, and romance of course~
⤷ A/N: (Part one if you missed it) Originally this didn’t have a part two in mind but after someone requested it I could definitely make it happen😝 I apologize in advance if it sucks. So as a reminder, a space like this “____” just means to insert your name. I just lowkey don’t wanna use the term “Y/N”.
⤷ Word count: 2,601
⤷ Special song to add spice: Some Of Your Love - PARTYNEXTDOOR
⊹₊⟡⋆
The dim glow of the restaurant’s chandeliers casts a golden hue over the room, reflecting off the crystal glasses and silverware. The air is heavy with the scent of truffle oil and red wine, but he steals your focus tonight. Tony Stark sits across from you, his body leaning forward just slightly as if he’s hanging onto every word that slips past your lips. His dark eyes flicker with an intensity that makes your stomach twist—part nerves, part desire. He’s impossible to ignore, you think, even as you try to maintain some semblance of composure.
“You know,” he begins, his voice low and smooth, like velvet dipped in honey, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.” He swirls his glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, the deep red liquid catching the light. His gaze doesn’t waver from yours, and it’s almost too much. Almost.
You smirk, lifting your glass to your lips. “That’s because there is no one like me, Tony. You’re lucky I even agreed to this date.”
His laugh is soft, but it carries a warmth that spreads through you like wildfire. “Lucky? Sweetheart, I’d say that’s the understatement of the century.” He leans back in his chair, his tailored suit stretching over his broad shoulders. Even in this opulent setting, he exudes a raw, magnetic energy that makes your pulse quicken.
The conversation flows effortlessly, as it always does between the two of you. He tells you about a new project he’s working on, something about a new way to power the Stark Tower with an Arc reactor. But your mind keeps drifting to the way his hand brushes against yours when he reaches for the salt. The way his voice drops an octave when he says your name. The way his presence alone feels like it’s consuming you, inch by inch.
But then, a pause. A beat of silence where the weight of unspoken truths hangs heavy in the air. His expression softens, and you notice the faintest crease between his brows. “___… I need to ask you something.”
Your heart skips. Here it comes. “Go ahead,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual, though your fingers tighten around the stem of your wine glass.
He exhales slowly as if choosing his words carefully. "Taking you on this date is my way of showing you that my feelings for us are real and strong. But I'm also curious about what's going on for you in all this. Could you share your thoughts and feelings with me?” His voice is steady, but there’s a vulnerability there that catches you off guard. “Because I can’t keep pretending this is just… whatever it is we’re calling it. I know said “Small steps’ but I can’t help but want to walk faster with you..”
You swallow hard, and your throat suddenly dry. “Tony…”
“No, let me finish.” He sets his glass down and leans closer, his eyes searching yours. “When I’m with you, everything else fades away. You’re all I see, all I want. But when we’re apart…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t want to wonder where this is going anymore. I want you. All of you. Not just these stolen moments.”
Your chest tightens at his words. They’re raw, honest, and so utterly Tony. But they also terrify you. Because he’s right. When you’re together, it’s electric. Unstoppable. But when you’re apart, you retreat into your independence, your self-sufficiency. It’s who you are. And yet…
“I…” Your voice falters, and you look down at your hands, unsure of how to respond. How do you explain the part of you that craves him just as much as he craves you? The part that wants to let go, to surrender to this whirlwind romance, even as another part fights to hold on to what you’ve built for yourself?
Before you can find the words, his hand covers yours, warm and firm. “Hey,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Look at me.”
You lift your gaze, and the intensity in his eyes steals your breath. “I’m not asking you to change who you are. I’m asking you to let me be a part of your life. A real part. No more games, no more holding back.” His voice is soft but determined, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
For a moment, you’re frozen, caught between the pull of his words and the instinct to protect yourself. But then, something shifts. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. Maybe it’s the way his touch ignites something deep within you. Or maybe it’s the realization that this man, this infuriatingly brilliant, impossibly charming man, has somehow found his way into your heart despite your best efforts to keep him out.
Whatever it is, it’s enough to make you lean in, your lips parting as if drawn by an unseen force. And suddenly, his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent, swallowing any protests before they can form. The kiss is hungry, desperate, and so damn perfect that it makes your head spin. His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough.
The rest of the restaurant fades away, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other. His tongue teases yours, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, sending sparks shooting through your veins. When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, your faces inches apart.
“Damn,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “You still have no idea what you do to me.”
A small, breathless laugh escapes you. “I think I might have some idea.”
His grin is pure mischief as he stands, never breaking eye contact. Without a word, he takes your hand and pulls you to your feet. The room spins slightly, but you don’t care. Not when he’s leading you toward the private bathroom, his grip firm and possessive.
Once inside, he locks the door behind you, and the air between you crackles with tension. His hands are on you instantly, sliding up your sides, pushing your dress higher until you feel the cool marble countertop against your thighs.
“Tony…” you breathe, your voice trembling as his fingers trace the edge of your lace panties.
“Tell me you want this,” he demands, his gaze locking onto yours. “Tell me you want me.”
There’s no hesitation this time. “Yes,” you whisper, your hands gripping the lapels of his jacket. “I want you. All of you.”
His answering groan is low and primal, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. In one swift motion, he lifts you onto the counter, his lips crashing into yours once more. His hands roam freely, exploring every inch of you as if he’s memorizing your body.
And then, it happens. The first brush of his fingers against your most sensitive spot, the way he teases you until you’re writhing beneath him. His name spills from your lips in a broken moan, and he smirks against your skin, clearly pleased with himself.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “Let me take care of you.”
The words send a thrill through you, and for the first time, you let yourself believe them. Let yourself believe him. Because at this moment, with his hands on you and his voice in your ear, nothing else matters. Not your doubts, not your fears. Just the two of you lost in a whirlwind of passion and possibility.
And as he sinks into you, his movements slow and deliberate, you realize that this is it. This is what you’ve been running from what you’ve been craving without even knowing it.
“Tony…” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he drives you closer to the edge.
“I’ve got you,” he growls, his lips hovering over yours. “Always.”
And you believe him.
The world narrows to the rhythm of Tony’s hips, the way he fills you, the way he owns you without demanding it. His breath is hot against your neck, his lips brushing your skin with promises that make your heart race. Your back presses against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you.
”Tony…” you whisper again, your voice trembling with need. He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he moves faster, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you closer, deeper.
”I’ve never felt like this before,” he murmurs, his voice low and ragged. ”You… you’re everything ___.”
His words send a shiver down your spine. You clench around him, your body responding to the raw honesty in his voice. He groans, his forehead resting against yours as he fights to maintain control. You could hear how wet you were. As you watched how it looked as his dick moved in and out of you.
”Don’t stop,” you plead, your fingers tangling in his hair. You need him. All of him.
He doesn’t. His thrusts grow harder, more urgent, and you can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you. His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes your knees weak.
”Finish on this dick, baby,” he growls, his voice commanding but tender. ”I want to feel you.”
You can’t hold back. The wave crashes over you, your body tightening around him as you cry out his name. He follows you over the edge, his movements stuttering as he loses himself in you.
For a small moment, there’s only silence, the sound of your ragged breaths echoing in the small space. You stay like that, connected, neither of you willing to break the spell.
”You’re mine,” Tony finally says, his voice firm but filled with something softer, something that makes your chest ache. ”Officially. No going back now.”
You look up at him, his eyes dark but warm, and something shifts inside you. This isn’t just lust. It’s more. It’s always been more.
”I’m yours,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them.
His lips curve into a slow, satisfied smile. ”Good,” he says, his voice rough. ”Because I’m not letting you go.”
He pulls back gently, helping you balance as your legs threaten to give out. His hands are steady on your hips, his touch grounding you even as your head spins.
”Let’s get out of here,” he says, bending to pick up your dress from the floor. He helps you into it, his fingers brushing your skin in a way that makes you shiver.
You nod, still dazed, and let him guide you out of the bathroom. The restaurant is empty, the staff discreetly absent as Tony leads you to the door. His car is waiting outside, and he opens the door for you with a flourish.
”After you, my lady,” he says, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something else, something deeper.
You slide into the car, the leather seat cool against your skin. He joins you a moment later, his body heat immediatelywarming the space between you. The driver pulls away from the curb, the city lights blurring past the window.
Tony’s hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels natural, inevitable.
”You’re quiet,” he observes, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
”Just thinking,” you admit, your voice soft.
”About?” he prompts, his tone light but his eyes intense.
You hesitate, then decide to be honest. ”About us. About what this means.”
He smiles, a slow, confident curve of his lips. ”It means whatever you want it to mean,” he says. ”But I know what I want.”
”And what’s that?” you ask, your heart picking up speed again.
”You,” he says simply. ”All of you. For as long as you’ll have me.”
The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You look at him, really look at him, and see the vulnerability behind his confidence. It’s that, more than anything, that makes you believe him.
”You’ve got me,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you. _” For as long as you want me.”
⋆˙⟡
The drive to Tony’s penthouse was quiet, the kind of quiet that wraps around you like a blanket. The city lights blurred past the windows, and you could feel the weight of his words still lingering in the air. ‘For as long as you’ll have me.‘You glanced at him, his profile sharp against the dim glow of the dashboard. His hand rested on the gearshift, fingers tapping softly, a nervous rhythm that betrayed the calm exterior he always wore so well.
When the car pulled up to the sleek high-rise, he stepped out and opened your door before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt. His hand extended toward you, warm and steady, and you took it without hesitation. The elevator ride was silent, but his eyes never left yours, and the intensity in them made your stomach flutter. He leaned in, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, ”I’ve got a surprise for you.”
You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. ”Another one? Tony, you’re spoiling me.”
”You deserve to be spoiled,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine. The elevator doors slid open, and he led you into the penthouse, the space lit by the soft glow of the city skyline. He guided you to the living room, where a small velvet box sat perched on the coffee table.
Your heartbeat quickened as you stared at it, your mind racing. ”Tony, what is this?”
He stepped behind you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. ”Open it,” he urged, his breath warm against your neck.
You reached for the box, your fingers trembling slightly as you lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in the soft velvet, was a stunning heart-shaped diamond necklace. The light caught the facets, sending tiny rainbows skittering across the room. You gasped, your hand flying to your mouth. ”Tony… this is too much.”
”No,” he said firmly, his voice steady. ”It’s not enough. Not for you.” He took the necklace from the box, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. ”Turn around.”
You obeyed, your breath hitching as his hands moved to the back of your neck, his fingers deftly clasping the necklace. When he was done, he turned you back to face him, his eyes locking onto yours. ”Do you see it now?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent. ”How serious I am about us? About you?”
You touched the necklace, the cool metal warm against your skin from his touch. ”I see it,” you whispered, your voice wavering. ”But I don’t think I could accept this, it must have been so expensive.”
He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. ”You will, and money isn’t an issue when it comes to you,” he promised. ”I don’t want you to overthink about numbers on a price tag. You deserve everything you desire.”
The sincerity in his eyes made your heartache. You leaned into his touch, your lips parting as he leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. You could feel the heat of his body, the way his heart raced against yours. You loved every second of it.
As the night wore on, you both laughed, shared tender kisses, and talked about everything and anything. Most importantly, you both finally defined what you were. You’re no longer in that murky 'situationship' phase; you’re now in a committed relationship, officially.
Guys... GUYS!(@(@(! I'm obsessed with Tony Stark. LIKE I CAN'T STOP WATCHING EDITS OF HIM- ESP THIS ONE V
(Credits: Ironfilm on TikTok)
But I hope this part two wasn't too lame- please let me know if you have any requests!! I love you all... ᥫ᭡
you’re killing me!! teeeew good, i’m gonna combust. amazing writing, perusal!!
My Dearest Situationship.ᝰ.ᐟ (Pt 1)
Tony Stark x F!Black Reader. (Smut/NSFW)
˗ˏˋ You and Tony are in a passionate yet confusing relationship, with him longing for something more serious and you cherishing your independent lifestyle. When you're together, the spark is undeniable, but when apart, you each lead your own lives. He envisions settling down with someone like you, but you question where your relationship stands. How will this whirlwind romance unfold between two individuals with differing expectations?
⤷ Oneshot, smut/fluff so here’s the warning! Lowkey sugar daddy, sex occurs twice, yearning and romance of course~
⤷ A/N: I fear I’m obsessed with writing things for tony. I just can’t not have a good ideo for the plot!!!
⤷ Word count: 4,658
⤷ Special song to add spice: Make It To The Morning by Partynextdoor.
ᥫ᭡
The penthouse was quiet, save for the low hum of the city below. Too quiet. The kind of silence that made you hyper-aware of your own breathing, your own heartbeat. You leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the glittering skyline, but all you could think about was him. Tony Stark. He had this uncanny ability to occupy your thoughts even when he wasn’t there. And tonight, he wasn’t. Not physically, anyway.
You swirled the wine in your glass, the deep red liquid catching the dim light. It was his favorite. Some ridiculously expensive vintage he insisted on stocking for you. For me, you corrected yourself.
Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? A carefully curated arrangement where he provided… everything. The clothes, the jewelry, the apartment. But what did he get in return? Your presence? Your affection? Or something more elusive, something neither of you could quite define?
The sound of a key turning in the lock snapped you out of your thoughts. You didn’t turn around, not yet. You knew it was him. Only he would barge in unannounced as if he owned the place. Technically, he did.
“Still up?” His voice was smooth, confident, and just a little teasing. “Waiting for me?”
You finally turned, your gaze meeting his as he stepped into the room. Tony Stark. The man who could make your pulse race with just a glance. He was dressed impeccably, as always—a tailored suit that fit him like a second skin, the faintest hint of stubble shadowing his jaw. His eyes, though. Those were what got you every time. Dark, intense, and filled with a hunger that matched your own.
“Not waiting,” you lied, taking a sip of your wine. “Just couldn’t sleep.”
He smirked, loosening his tie as he approached. “Liar.”
The word hung in the air between you, charged with the tension that always seemed to exist whenever you were together. It was electric, undeniable. You felt it in the way your breath hitched when he stopped just inches away, in the way his cologne wrapped around you like a second skin.
“You don’t have to lie to me beautiful he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. “I know you missed me.”
You raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “Confident, aren’t we?”
“Always.” He took the glass from your hand, setting it aside without breaking eye contact.
“But I’m not the one who’s been pacing all night, am I?”
Damn him. Damn him for seeing right through you. You wanted to argue, to push back, but the intensity of his gaze left you speechless. Instead, you swallowed hard, feeling the heat of his body so close to yours. Too close. Not close enough.
Tony reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, but it sent a shiver down your spine nonetheless. “Why do you fight it so much?” he asked softly. “This thing between us. It’s real, and you know it.”
You shook your head, stepping back slightly. “It’s complicated.”
“Only because you make it that way.” His hand dropped, but his gaze never wavered. “I’m offering you everything, ____. All of me. But you keep holding back. Why?”
Because you’re scared, and not being independent would be something new for you. The thought flashed through your mind unbidden, but you didn’t say it aloud. Couldn’t. Admitting that would mean admitting how much he meant to you, how deeply he’d already gotten under your skin. And that was dangerous. Terrifying.
Instead, you deflected. “You’re used to getting whatever you want, aren’t you?”
His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Usually. But you’re different. You’ve always been different.”
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “Flattery won’t work on me, Tony.”
“Good thing I’m not trying to flatter you, then.” He closed the distance between you again, his hands settling on your hips. “I’m trying to show you what you mean to me. What we could be.”
His touch was firm, and grounding, but it only heightened the buzzing in your veins. You wanted to pull away, to preserve the distance you so desperately clung to, but your body betrayed you, leaning into him instead. His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his breath warm against your skin.
“Let me in, ____. Just once. Let me show you.”
The words were a plea, a promise, and a challenge all rolled into one. And they broke you. Whatever walls you’d built, whatever defenses you’d erected, they crumbled in that moment. You looked up at him, your resolve faltering, and nodded.
That was all the invitation he needed.
Tony’s mouth crashed onto yours, fierce and demanding, as if he’d been holding back for far too long. You responded in kind, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. There was no hesitation, no pretense. Justraw, unbridled desire.
He backed you toward the bedroom, his hands roaming over your body with practiced ease. Every touch, every caress, was deliberate, designed to unravel you piece by piece. By the time he pushed open the door, your dress was already pooling at your feet, leaving you bare before him.
Your breath hitched as his eyes raked over you, dark and hungry. “Beautiful,” he breathed, the word barely audible but dripping with sincerity.
You felt exposed, vulnerable, but also… powerful. Like you held him in the palm of your hand, even as he claimed you with his gaze. He stepped closer, his fingers tracing a path down your arm, sending shivers skittering across your skin.
“Tony…” Your voice was soft and uncertain, but he silenced you with another kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, as if he was savoring the taste of you.
When he pulled back, his expression was serious. “Tell me what you want, ____.”
You hesitated, your mind racing. What did you want? Him? Yes, always. But more than that? That was the question you’d been avoiding.
“I want… you,” you whispered finally, the admission tearing free before you could stop it. “All of you.”
A flicker of triumph crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by something softer, more tender. “You’ve got me,” he said simply. “Now and always.”
The words should have scared you. They did scare you, deep down. But in that moment, all you could focus on was the feel of his hands on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours. He laid you down on the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he was memorizing every inch of you.
His lips trailed down your neck, planting soft kisses along the way until they found your collarbone. You gasped as he nipped gently, his tongue soothing the sting. “So sensitive,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.
Every touch, every word, was deliberate, calculated to drive you wild. And it worked. By the time his hands slid lower, you were already trembling, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.
“Tony, please…”
“What do you need, sweetheart?” His voice was low and rough, but there was a tenderness there that made your chest ache. “Tell me.”
You opened your mouth to respond, to beg, but then his fingers brushed against you, and all coherent thought fled. You arched into his touch, a moan escaping your lips as he teased and tormented you, drawing out sensations you hadn’t even known were possible.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, his thumb circling slowly. “Let go for me.”
And you did. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms. He held you through it, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, murmuring words you were too overwhelmed to process.
When the last tremor subsided, you looked up at him, your vision still hazy. His expression was one of pure adoration, and it made your heart ache in ways you weren’t ready to examine.
“My turn,” he said huskily, his hands moving to his belt. You watched, transfixed, as he undressed, revealing the taut muscles and perfect skin beneath. When he joined you on the bed, you could feel the heat radiating off him, tempting you closer.
His hands roamed over your body, rekindling the fire he’d just stoked. You gasped as he nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. “Are you ready for me, Y/N?”
You nodded, unable to form words. He positioned himself above you, his eyes locked onto yours, full of intensity and something deeper. Something that made your heart pound even harder.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, his voice rough with need.
You nodded again, biting your lip as he entered you slowly, giving you time to adjust. It was overwhelming, the sensation of being so completely connected to him. But it was also perfect.
As he began to move, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Each thrust was deliberate, drawing out gasps and moans that echoed through the room. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he responded with a groan, burying his face in your neck.
The rhythm increased, becoming more urgent, more desperate. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as waves of pleasure built once more.
Without a word he stopped you from moving, flipping you around flat on your stomach. He grabbed your hips and pulled them up. Helping you arch your back. He teases you for a second. Using your wetness to tease you with just his tip.
“Tony, don’t tease me—”
With a swift move, he inserted every inch of him, without letting you re-adjust. His strong hands rested on your waist. Controlling your movements he brought your ass to meet his thrusts. His moans were low and so attractive. It added to everything you were feeling.
In this position, you could really feel all of him. It was toe-curling. (BAHHSHHSHA)
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice strained. “I’ve got you.”
And just like that, you shattered again, crying out as ecstasy consumed you. He followed soon after, his body tensing before collapsing beside you, both of you breathless and spent.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the steady rhythm of your breathing, slowly syncing as you lay tangled together. Finally, Tony broke the silence, his voice soft but firm.
“We can’t keep doing this, Y/N.” He stood up and went to the dresser. Getting himself something to put on and gettingyou one of his shirts to wear plus some pajama shorts. He gave it to you and then sat beside you.
Your stomach dropped at what he said. You thanked him for the clothes and put them on. “What do you mean?”
He turned to face you, his expression serious. “I mean… I’m tired of pretending this is casual. I want more. With you.”
You stared at him, your mind racing. More. It’s what you’d been secretly longing for, even as you denied it. But now that it was out there, hanging between you…
“Tony…”
Tony’s eyes held yours, unwavering, as if he could see straight through the walls you’d built around yourself. The weight of his words pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. More. It wasn’t just a word—it was a promise, a demand, a fear all rolled into one. You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you finally spoke.
You hesitated, your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. “I don’t know if I can give you what you want. I’m not… I’m not built for this. For us.”
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming in the best way. “Why not?” he asked, his voice low and steady. “What’s holding you back?”
You looked away, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m scared,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Scared of losing myself. Scared of depending on someone else. Scared of getting hurt. And scared to not be independent.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then Tony reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if you were something precious. “Look at me,” he said softly, and you did, your eyes meeting his once more. “You’re not going to lose yourself with me. I don’t want to take anything from you. I want to give you more—more of me, more of us. And as for getting hurt…” He paused, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “I’ll never let that happen. Not if I can help it.”
His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, soothing the edges of your fear. But still, the doubt lingered. “You say that now, but what happens when I’m not enough? When you realize I can’t give you everything you need?”
Tony’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You already are enough. You’ve always been enough. And I’m not asking for everything—I’m just asking for a chance. A chance to show you that we can be something real.”
Your breath caught in your throat, the sincerity in his voice breaking down your defenses. “Tony…”
He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Not unless you tell me to. And even then, I might not listen.”
A laugh bubbled up in your chest, unexpected but welcome. “Stubborn,” you muttered, shaking your head.
“Guilty,” he replied, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. “But I’m also serious. I meant what I said earlier. I want to take care of you, ___. In every way, shape, and form. Let me. Please.”
His gaze was so intense, so full of raw emotion, that it was impossible to look away. “I don’t know if I can,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Tony’s hand slid down to cup your chin, tilting your face up to his. “You don’t have to know right now,” he said. “All I’m asking is that you trust me. Trust us. Let’s figure it out together, one step at a time.”
Your heart raced, the walls around it crumbling with each word he spoke. “You’re not making this easy,” you said, your voice trembling.
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Good. I wasn’t trying to.”
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as his words sank in. One step at a time. He was right. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. All you had to do was take the first step. And maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.
When you opened your eyes again, Tony was still there, waiting patiently, his gaze never leaving yours. “Okay,” you said softly, the word leaving your lips like a confession. “One step at a time.”
A smile spread across his face, bright and genuine, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Thank you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You won’t regret this.”
You buried your face in his chest, his heartbeat steady against your cheek. “I hope you’re right,” you whispered.
“I am,” he said, his fingers gently trailing up and down your back. “And to prove it…” He pulled back slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Let me take you out. A real date. No business, no distractions. Just you and me.”
You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “A date? Are you sure you remember how to do that?”
Tony laughed, the sound rich and full. “I might be a little rusty, but I’m sure I can manage. Besides, it’s you—you make everything easy.”
Flutters filled your stomach. He had a way of making you feel seen, and cherished, and not just physically. It was in the way he talked to you, how he held your gaze, how he seemed to understand you without having to say a word.
“Tomorrow night,” he said, his voice firm but soft. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Dress for whatever you want—fancy, casual, it doesn’t matter. Just be ready for me.”
“Understood,” you replied, feeling the warmth of his words sink into your skin.
Slowly, his hand drifted to the small of your back, and he leaned in again, his lips brushing against your ear.
“Good. Now,” he whispered, his tone dropping into something deeper, more intimate.
“It’s late,” he murmured against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, “and I’m not done with you yet.”
His palms slid down your sides, trailing heat everywhere they touched until his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pajama bottoms and tugged gently. “Take these off for me,” he said, his voice husky as he took a step back, just far enough to give you space but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him.
Your breath hitched, but you didn’t disagree. Slowly, you slid your shorts down your legs, kicking them aside, leaving only his thin t-shirt covering you. The look in his eyes darkened as his gaze traveled down your body, his lips parting slightly, his jaw tensing. He let out a low exhale, and your stomach tightened in anticipation.
He strode forward, the intensity in his eyes making your heart pound, and he slipped his hands under the hem of the shirt, fingers brushing against the softness of your thighs as it fell over your body. His eyes roamed your bare skin, making you feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet utterly desired. His fingers trailed up your sides, sliding the fabric up, inch by inch, and you raised your arms, letting him pull the shirt over your head.
Tony’s breath caught as he took you in, his gaze lingering as his hands began to explore, trailing lightly over your skin. His fingers brushed your shoulders, tracing the curve of your collarbone, and then he leaned in, his lips following the path his hands had taken. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, the words sending a shiver down your spine. His hand moved down your back, his fingers trailing lightly, sending sparks of pleasure through you.
He pulled you closer, his body flush against yours, his erection pressing against your hip. Your breath hitched as he moved his mouth to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, making your knees weaken. His hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it firmly as he pulled you even closer. “You feel so good,” he breathed, his voice deep and rough. “So fucking good.”
His hands moved over your body, stroking and caressing you, exploring every inch of skin he could find. He kissed along your shoulder, his lips traveling up to your neck again, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin. His hand cupped your ass, squeezing it gently before sliding down to your thigh again, pulling your leg up to wrap around his hip.
Tony’s breath was heavy against your neck as he kissed and nibbled at the sensitive skin there. His hands moved over your body, his touch firm but gentle, making you shiver and moan. His erection pressed against you, hard and insistent, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body.
“Tony,” you breathed, his name a plea and a prayer as your fingers fisted in his shirt. He leaned back, his hands framing your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks, and his eyes locked with yours. His gaze was intense, almost unrelenting, but it wasn’t forceful. It was… possessive, but in a way that made your chest tighten and your breath hitch in your throat.
He leaned in, his lips feathering against yours, and you melted into him, your body softening as you kissed him back. His tongue slipped into your mouth, and you moaned softly as you kissed him deeper, your hands sliding down his chest and gripping the hem of his shirt. You pulled it up, breaking the kiss as you tugged it over his head and tossed it aside. His bare chest was warm and solid against yours, his skin smooth and taut over the muscles beneath.
Tony’s hands slid down to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he walked you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He didn’t push you down. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, his breath warm on your skin, and murmured, “Lie back.”
Your heart raced as you followed his command, lying back on the bed, your legs bent and your feet flat on the mattress. He knelt down, his hands wrapping around your knees to spread your legs apart. You let out a shaky breath as his head dipped between your thighs, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside. His tongue flicked out, teasing you, and your back arched as a shiver ran through you, a soft moan escaping your lips. His hands slid up your thighs, squeezing them gently before moving down to grip your hips again. His tongue moved faster, flicking over you, and your body trembled as pleasure built inside you.
Tony’s mouth moved lower, his tongue sliding between your folds, and you gasped, one hand gripping the sheets as the other reached down to tangle in his hair. His mouth pressed against you, his tongue flicking over your clit, and you cried out, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you. His hands moved up to cup your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, making you moan as your body writhed beneath him.
“Tony,” you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, your hips grinding against his mouth as the pressure built inside you, your body trembling with need as he teased and pleasured you. His eyes lifted to yours, and he smirked, his lips glistening with your arousal.
“I like hearing my name on your lips,” he said, his voice low and husky, his breath warm against your skin. “Say it again.”
“Tony,” you whispered again, your voice trembling with need as his tongue worked its magic between your thighs. His name hung in the air like a promise, and he groaned against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure coursing through your body. He pulled back slightly, his darkened eyes locking onto yours, and you could see the hunger there, raw and unrelenting.
“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice low and gravelly, his breath fanning over your slick flesh.
“Tony,” you moaned louder this time, your hips lifting off the bed as if to chase his mouth. His grip on your thighs tightened, and he chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your inner thigh before returning to their delicious task. His tongue swirled around your clit, teasing, and flicking, and you gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair as you arched into him. The room was filled with the sounds of your combined breaths and the wet, intimate noises of his mouth on you, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
You were teetering on the brink, your body coiled tight with tension, when Tony suddenly pulled away. You whimpered at the loss, your eyes flying open to meet his. He smirked, his lips glistening, and climbed up your body, his hands sliding under you to grip your ass as he positioned himself over you. His cock brushed against your entrance, and you shuddered, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “I want to feel you.”
His words sent a jolt of heat through you, but before you could respond, he shifted his weight, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. You straddled his waist, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him, and he gazed up at you, his dark eyes full of something you couldn’t quite name.
“Take what you want,” he said, his voice soft but commanding. His hands slid up your thighs, his thumbs brushing over your hip bones, and you felt a surge of power, of control, that made your breath hitch.
You leaned forward, your hands resting on his chest as you positioned yourself over him. His cock pressed against you, and you sank down slowly, inch by excruciating inch until you were fully seated on him. Tony’s head fell back, a groan tearing from his throat, and his hands gripped your hips tightly.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough, and you smiled faintly, moving your hips experimentally. His breath hitched, and you did it again, harder this time, relishing the way his eyes fluttered closed and his jaw clenched.
“You feel so good,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you began to move, rocking your hips against him. His hands moved to your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you gasped, your movements growing more urgent.
Tony’s eyes opened, and he watched you intently, his gaze burning into yours as you rode him. His hands slid down to your hips, guiding your movements, and you let him take control, surrendering to the rhythm he set. His thrusts grew deeper, more insistent, and you cried out, your nails scraping against his chest as pleasure built inside you.
“Don’t hold back baby,” he urged, his voice rough and demanding, and you obeyed, your body convulsing around him as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Tony swore under his breath, his hips slamming into yours as he chased his ownrelease, and moments later, he followed you over the edge, his fingers digging into your skin as he came with a guttural groan.
You collapsed against him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and you listened to the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your ear. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence broken only by the sound of your breathing.
When Tony finally stirred, his hand brushed your hair back from your face, his touch gentle. “Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, and you nodded, curling into his side as exhaustion washed over you. His fingers trailed down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and you sighed contentedly, your eyes drifting shut.
But as you lay there, your mind began to wander, the blissful haze of afterglow giving way to thoughts you’d been trying to ignore. Tony’s hand stilled on your arm, and you glanced up at him, finding his eyes already on you.
“What is it?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and you hesitated, unsure how to voice the feelings swirling inside you.
“I just…” you began, biting your lip as you searched for the right words. “What are we doing, Tony?”
His expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hand, his thumb sweeping over your lower lip. “We’re figuring it out,” he said quietly. “One step at a time.”
You wanted to believe him, to trust that this could work, and you kinda did, but it lingered in the back of your mind. Before you could say anything else, Tony leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that left you breathless. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and you closed your eyes, savoring the closeness.
“Get some sleep beautiful,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. You nodded, smiling at the compliment and too tired to argue, and snuggled closer to him, letting the warmth of his body lull you into a restless sleep.
ON MY SOUL, ON MY GRANNY THIS HAD ME GEEKED OUT GAHHHHSHH. ESPECIALLY THIS EDIT WITH IT V
(Credits: Robertsdesert on TikTok)
I hope you all like this one. Trying new story ideas and this will also have a part two soon, since it was requested 🤍
༘⋆ Part two awaits you soon... ⋆˙⟡
this made me so emotional for no reason!! and your writing is beautiful😩
⋆꙳✧༄ Pegging them
❖ Characters: Bachira, Reo, Barou
❖ Reader: female
❖ Wordcount: 2.5k
❖ Summary: You're pegging them for the first time
❖ WARNINGS: dom!reader, anal fingering, pegging, usage of buttplugs, praising, handjobs, mentions of masturbation, overstimulation, slight dacryphilia
❖ A/n: this idea was born in a chat with @crybabylisa and enabled by @mrskenmakozume and @deskaisers kinda hating and loving you guys for this 🫶
