Fanfic! @downbadhour - Tumblr Blog

﹒୨𝑒 ﾟ ˖ ⠀White Mustang

ᥫ᭡... Tony Soprano x female!reader

⊹₊˚ꕤ˚₊⊹ omfggg its finally here. I've always wanted to fuck Tony Soprano and he's such a dilf. Not to mention I loveeee complex characters that I can goon to. I've always wanted to read a fic about Tony like this so I created it myself. I hope I've done justice to his character and I hope you all enjoy <33

It starts late in the evening — the night Tony's supposed to come over. You nick yourself while shaving, and though trivial, it only sours your already frustrated mood.

Tony has been distant as of late. Not completely removed, but pulling away. You knew that'd come with the territory of being in sexual relations with a married man, one in the mafia at that.

And you're trying. You really, truly are trying to be good. After all, that's what he has you for — something quiet and removed from it all, a little bit of peace.

But it's been hard.

Especially when your razor clips your skin and suddenly the water on your tiled shower trickles down towards the drain in a dark red.

You hiss, pressing your hand into your shin.

"Shit!"

It'd taken 15 minutes and seven blood-soaked cotton balls before the bleeding stopped, and you could put a Band-Aid over it.

You were shivering, only wrapped in a damp towel, and your wet hair cold against your neck.

With your hands dried with blood, you made your way to the sink, cleaning the dark red splotches from your hands.

And just as you'd left the bathroom and made your way back to your bed, the phone on your bedside table rang shrilly.

With a groan, you plopped yourself down onto your comforter and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, hon."

It was Tony. He sounded happy.

"Hi, Tony. Are you coming over soon?"

"Listen, I–" he sighed, and you could see him pinching the bridge of his nose as he chose his next words. You already knew what was coming.

"Listen, m'not gonna be able t'come over tonight, 'kay?"

You close your eyes to keep yourself from rolling them — even in his absence, there's something there that wills you to behave for him.

A dribble of water trickles down your back from your hair, and you shiver a little bit.

You've been quiet for too long.

"Hello?" Tony calls, annoyance already heavy in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah," you swallow, picking at the edge of the band-aid on your knee. "I understand."

"Okay. Good, good." Tony says, a beat passes.

"Tony?" You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, weighing the words on your tongue.

"Hm?"

"When am I gonna see you again?" You close your eyes as soon as the words leave your mouth, as if removing your sight will somehow make what's happening not happen. Will it to be unreal.

He's quiet for a moment too long.

"M'not sure, hon. I– I gotta lot of stuff goin' on down here and..." you hear him sigh, "alright, alright, listen. I'll be there next Friday, 'kay?"

You can't help the way your heart flutters at that.

"Really?" Not even hiding your excitement.

"Yeah, yeah. Just try not to do any dumb shit, alright?"

You nod happily, remembering he's expecting an answer.

"Yes, I understand."

───────

Tony, unsurprisingly, doesn't show on Friday.

And though deep down you knew he wouldn't — sifting still wet leaves of lettuce and chopped carrots around your plate — you couldn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach.

Though you knew he wouldn't. You'd still hoped he would.

You sat at your pinewood dining table — the one Tony had bought for you as a surprise when he'd made some offhand comment about the one you had bought in your college years being "too friggin' small."

You'd liked that table.

That was the first. Then, it was the jewelry, the clothes, the cars, the upgraded apartment that he paid the rent in full for, and still does. You still haven't seen a single bill delivered to your front step.

The orange dusk had turned into a dark autumn night sooner than you'd realized. Like a part of the world outside of your apartment had shifted with you.

You stood on the balcony attached to your bedroom on the second floor. Swirling maroon wine in a milk glass — not quite sure why you hadn't just chosen one of your wine glasses from the China cabinet.

It wasn't a nuisance. But still, looking at the wine swirling about the cylinder glass irked you in annoyance. It was wrong.

Maybe, you supposed, you were punishing yourself for Tony. For expecting something of him that was never stated to exist between the two of you.

After all, that was why the two of you worked so well to begin with. You wanted someone there — someone to provide. And he wanted someone to take him away from everything. You guess somewhere along the way, you desired a different expectation from him. But, beneath it all, you knew deep down you'd always wanted more ever since this little arrangement started, and you knew that he knew that, whether either of you showed it or not.

He would've called. A mess of heavy and thick thoughts run through your mind as you trace your feet along the bottom of the steel railing. This is him leaving you. You're too much. Always too much. You hate him. You hate yourself for hating him.

He was abandoning you.

A tear runs down your cheek, warm in the cool autumn evening air. You sniffle against the ambiance of cars and traffic.

You should've known better. And realistically, you did. You knew it was a bad idea from the start. Getting together with a married man, a married man in the mafia, no less. It was to be expected that you were at the bottom of his priority list. Didn't mean it hurt any less.

And it was so easy; when you told him that if the two of you ever had to call it off for whatever reason, to just tell you. That you'd understand. You would be shattered and irreparably torn until you built yourself up again, but you'd at least have your dignity and his honesty.

But Tony was anything but honest. Your shared relationship was a perfect example of the type of man he is.

You didn't understand why he was seemingly dragging it out just to hurt you. Why couldn't he just call you up and tell you he couldn't see you anymore?

The thought of calling him crossed your mind, making your way back into your bedroom and pouring the remainder of your wine down your sink drain.

That'd put you in more trouble than you were in already.

Tony had a lot of rules regarding your relationship: How you should behave, what was expected of you, and what you should and shouldn't ask for. But out of all, the one of utmost importance was that you were to never, under absolutely no conditions, make Carmela or the children privy to your existence. And that meant that you were to absolutely never call his phone or drive down specific streets or even think of passing by his neighborhood, let alone enter it.

But the thought still sat in the back of your mind. Festering in a bubbling pool of hurt.

And somewhere between you lying down in bed and turning out the light, the realization that you would never even know if he was hurt or, god forbid, dead.

You guess Paulie might call. Maybe Silvio, if it was bad enough. But even then, it's not as though you're the first person they'd think of if something were to happen.

You go to sleep with a pounding headache and sore throat.

───────

And so you fill the void for a while, with whatever you can. Shopping trips, random dates, cry sessions, movie nights with your girlfriends.

But nothing ever soothes the wound, nor does it heal over. It's like it's caught something, rotting away at you. You see him in everything.

You begin to wonder if he really has left you for good. If this is it. If he even liked you to begin with. If he even remembers you, he had to, you spent the better half of a year together.

You still remember the way he'd look at you. The way he'd hold the back of your neck to keep you steady when your knees would weaken when he'd kiss you. Or the way he'd play with your hair on movie nights, your head in his lap and his hand at the base of your skull, stroking and scratching in just the right way that'd lull you to sleep. And the way he'd feel against you when it'd just get to be too much; his hands would slip up to hold your jaw, pulling you into a warm and gentle kiss, whispering against your lips, "m'right here."

───────

You don't even remember how you got there. Between fuzzy flashes of streetlights and passing cars. Songs on the radio that played in the background. Tony's cashmere sweater pulled over your long-sleeved shirt for warmth. He'd forgotten it one of the times he'd come over last winter.

Fingers playing and thumbing at the hem resting on your jean-covered thighs. If Tony were to walk down the long driveway right now, your presence would be undeniable — not a chance in hell you'd be able to drive off without him seeing.

But it's late in the afternoon, and quite frankly, you're not sure if he's alive or dead. The house seems relatively quiet, which doesn't soothe your anxiety about his lack of presence. Carmela hasn't driven past you, leaving or returning, and you're not willing to get any closer to try to see if the Chevron is parked up at the front of the house.

This is dangerous. Extremely dangerous, and you're every bit aware, sitting in the quiet of your car. Letting frost and snowflakes decorate your windshield.

What if you just backed up into the wooded area and let the elements take you? Would Tony find you? Or Carmela? Would Tony have to pretend he had no clue who you were when questions started popping up about some random dead girl in the woods adjacent to his house?

Your teeth grind, and you worry the pad of your thumb between your teeth. Unwrapping and wrapping your cashmere-covered hand around your steering wheel.

Another rule broken. You know you're in for it if Tony ever comes back around — if you even allude to your being here. You can't even imagine what he'd say, let alone do, if he found out you were sitting outside of his driveway for the better half of an afternoon.

You don't remember the next thirty minutes of yourself sitting there in the quiet. Watching and shivering and biting your lip raw.

And you sure as hell don't remember getting home until you're clicking your key into the front door lock and falling onto your couch in heavy sobs.

Time moves fast, but the pain of Tony's absence and the wound that's left heals over slowly. It's not often that you find yourself not thinking of him.

Tonight, is no different.

You're sitting at your kitchen table, messily coloring in a page you'd ripped out from a coloring book you had stored away, nursing small bites from a bowl of strawberries.

The microwave dings, and you make your way into the kitchen, retrieving your plate of warmed buttered toast; the timer on the screen of the appliance catches your eye.

4:00 minutes.

And suddenly you realize it's been four months since you've heard anything from anybody about Tony. Your head feels heavy.

You'd found out he wasn't dead around the five-week mark of his absence. After your little visit to his house, you showed up at Bada Bing! and sat in the lot one night. Watching men and women filter out of the building.

It's around 1:00AM when you see the white Chevrolet pull around the back.

Immediately, you're sinking further down into your seat to try and conceal yourself when you see Tony get out and make his way through the back door of the building.

Relief floods your system at the sight of him. To know he's okay, that everything will be okay. But a heavy flood of sadness drowned the moment of quiet just as fast.

Tony was alive, but Tony wasn't seeing you. He was alive and choosing not to call you; he was fine and choosing not to visit you. As a matter of fact, Tony was so unbothered by anything that he was hanging out at a strip bar.

It was a miracle you made it home that night with the way your tears flooded your vision. When you lay in bed that early morning, you didn't even care if he'd seen your car or not. You weren't sure you ever wanted to see him again.

You shake your head from the memory and shuffle back to your dining table, picking up a pink crayon to finish the highlights of the auburn mane you'd colored in of the lined horse.

Just as you take a bite of your messy toast, a knock pounds at your front door. So aggressive and fast that you nearly jump out of your skin.

The chef's clock in your kitchen reads 9:00PM.

Who the actual fuck is at your front door right now?

"Just a minute!" you shout towards the entryway, pushing your dessert off to the center of the table and making your way to the door of your apartment.

You're not even sure why you didn't look through the peephole. Tony always got mad at you when you neglected to do so. One time, he flicked the back of your head and gave you a thirty-minute lecture when you opened the door to a deliveryman without looking.

When you get the door open and come face-to-face with Tony, your heart literally shatters, and you immediately break into tears.

"No." You go to shut the door, but he stops it with the toe of his shoe.

"No, you don't get to do this, Tony." You try to shut the door again, but this time he stops it with his hand, pushing the door all the way open and stepping into your house.

"Tony!" you cry, trying to shove him out without having to touch him too much. You're not sure you're gonna survive this.

He catches your wrists in one hand and shuts the door behind him with the other.

"Hey, hey!" He holds you there, watching your mascara smear and trickle down your cheeks, "The hell's the matter with you?"

Like an impetuous child, you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp, pulling back against him and crying so hard that you're hyperventilating.

"Let me go!" You stomp your foot and throw yourself about, but he keeps you steady with his hand on your wrists. "I'm serious, Tony!" and you almost can't even recognize your own voice with how broken you sound. Your throat's raw already, and your cries sound shattered and torn.

You just feel like giving up. It's not fair.

Tony just holds you there, like a parent disciplining a child, waiting until you tire yourself out.

Eventually, you stop fighting. choking on your own tears and hyperventilating and trying to catch your breath.

Tony's grasp relaxes a bit. The pad of his thumb strokes just below one of your wrists. He shushes you softly. Not patrenzing but just grounding.

"Alright, there y'go." he lowers your hands slowly, still soothing you. "That's it."

───────

There's something intrinsically haunting in your appearance; the amber light of your den illuminating your fatigue.

You're visibly smaller — thinner and more frail as you cower in on yourself in the corner of the leather couch. You're fucking trembling and pulling the knit of his sweater over the tops of your knees. Looking up at him with wide and wet eyes, dark circles rimming your lashes, and your cheeks almost gaunt.

He knows what this is. He's been there — in that inescapable pit of anxiety that just drowns you no matter how hard you fight to stay afloat.

Tony's staring down at you expectedly. Hand stuffed in his pockets and lips pulled tight, he glances around the living room. As though he expects you to explain why he's shown up at your house at 9pm.

You sigh shakily and fiddle your hands between your chest and your tucked knees.

"Tony..." your voice is so raw, "Tony, I don't want to fight with you." Your tears are still there

───────

"Do you hate me?"

A light scoff. He shakes his head.

"No, God no."

You've never heard him so quiet.

Tony strokes the backs of his knuckles over your cheek softly.

Poor wounded animal, comforted by its devourer.

He runs the pad of his thumb over the plush of your bottom lip.

"Sweet girl," his eyes drop down to your lips, and he looks you over, leaning back into your couch, "...c'mere."

And when he helps you crawl into his lap, pulling your thighs onto either side of his, he tucks you into the thick of his chest and presses a kiss to your hair.

He lets you cry. He doesn't try to quiet you. He just lets you work through it. Let's you use him to hold onto something. To keep yourself afloat in the heavy fog.

It's only when he feels the tension rooting you simmer and your sobs reduce to sniffles that he nudges you in that oh-so-Tony way, urging you up to look at him.

And you do, eyes wet and rimmed with red, with lashes thickly strewn together.

Tony smiles softly at you, trying to ease the wrought tension. He taps the wrinkle on your chin. "There she is, eh?" He hums, pinching the soft apple of your cheek.

Still hurt, you push his hand away with a sniffle.

He catches your hand almost instantly. The display of power isn't lost on you. Nor is the dominance he deliberately shows you in his decision to not be more aggressive. He's giving you an out.

"And don't give me that face neither." Tony points at you, crow's feet wrinkle at the corners of his eyes where he's narrowed them at you. "I oughta put you over my knee for what'chu did."

Immediately, you're visibly tense. Your heart drops into your stomach at the thought of what he's exactly referring to.

"M'sorry." Though you're not entirely sure which part of what you've done in the past four months you're apologizing for. All of it, you suppose.

"Know that was your car outside the bar." Tony lowers his hands from your wrists to stroke up and down the length of your thighs. This is his way of apologizing to you; you know it's never been easy for him, the nature of admitting his wrongdoing. He has his ways. He knows he's been neglectful.

Relief floods your body. You drop your eyes to where your hands find the fabric of his shirt. Playing with the buttons and fiddling with the fabric.

"Are you friggin' stupid? Y'tryin' t'get y'rself killed?" His voice rises just enough to make a fresh round of tears rise. "Those men out there are not people y'should be hangin' around!" He points away from you, his expression furrowed and hurt.

You don't even know why you say it. Maybe to get a rise out of him all this time. Just to get under his skin. To make him work harder despite everything.

"You're there."

Tony doesn't entertain your behavior even for a second.

"You watch your mouth with me, young lady." And by the tone in his voice, you know it's not something that's suggesting play time. This is serious, and he's expecting that you treat it as such.

The urge to push back at him is heavy. You settle for narrowing your eyes at him. He does it right back.

"The hell is up wit'chu?" He squints at you so much that his eyes disappear and his brows furrow.

You're guessing he's about thirty seconds away from shoving you off his lap and fucking you on the floor — that's usually how nights where you misbehave go down. No pleasure for either of you. He fucks you until you're swollen and raw, till you've got carpet burn from the floor and till you're sobbing and can't breathe and he's gotta put you back together again. Neither of you are allowed to cum on nights like that. He's just as much of a masochist as you've figured.

Shaking your head, tongue clicking to the roof of your mouth.

"Tony..." a deep sigh, "you disappeared for months, I, I-I didn't even know if you were alive or dead. It scared me."

Tony's always had much too expressive eyes. They reveal everything he's thinking and not saying. And as he eyes the painting on your wall behind where you sit on his lap, you know it's his way of acknowledging that you're right.

There's a quiet that settles over the den of your living room. Your head is all fuzzy from the crying and the woodsy smell of his cologne and the way his shirt feels in your small hands. The way he's so warm and big underneath you, meaty hands soothing you at your hips as he runs them up and down your skin from under your sweater.

"... I," Tony shakes his head some. There's something occupied in it that you can quite catch, "I've been workin', y'know." Jersey accent thick on his soft lips. He gives you a sheepish look, one that suggests the conversation is over, whether you like it or not. He's embarrassed and even revealing to you why he went M.I.A four-month period manifests as his way of apology.

The hurt still simmers beneath the surface, but you nod nonetheless, sniffling a bit.

Tony tucks your head up by your chin, his thumb and forefinger holding you there to look you over, pouting at your teary eyes.

"D'awh, c'mere."

You've always loved it when he holds you. He's so much bigger than you that the rest of the world disappears under the safe blanket of his arms, and the warmth of him seeps into your skin through your clothes.

Large hand stroking your hair, he coos to you and presses gentle kisses to the top of your head.

"Missed you, Tony." You kiss his chest through his shirt, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder.

He runs the backs of his knuckles across your cheek, "Look at me."

And of course you do.

You drag yourself up to meet his eyes again, your hands placed on the thick of his chest.

His knuckles still stroking the soft of your cheek, moving lower and lower until his thumb presses against your plush bottom lip.

His digit slips past your lips easily, resting against the warmth of your tongue.

"There's my good girl." Tony's eyes are set on you.

You break away to moan at the praise, lashes fluttering against your warmed cheeks, and tongue wrapping around his salty digit.

He chuckles at your reaction, running his tongue over his lips. "Missed that, huh?"

You nod, wrapping a hand around his wrist to hold his hand there. Free hand twisting into the fabric of his shirt.

Tony maneuvers a bit under you, pulling your hand away from his shirt and weaving his fingers with your much smaller ones.

He's so warm. So big. Your mind is flooded with his smell and his everything. You think you might die right here in his lap with his thumb on your tongue and his cock pressed up against your panties.

He's unusually patient with you tonight. You know why, you both do. He's letting you lead while still showing you he's there if you need him to take over. Tony knows what it's like to just need control some days.

You pull off of his thumb but keep a hold of his wrist, panting and pressing kisses to the pad of his thumb and down his wrist to the crook of his elbow.

"Tony," you hum, pushing at his shirt before attempting to pull at it to get it off of him, "off." It's all you say, eyes lidded and mouth heavy with drool.

Tony sits up, holding your face in his hands. Your small hand is still wrapped around his wrist.

"Hey, hey. You sure you're alright?"

You nod, closing your eyes and leaning into his warm palm, rolling your hips into the thick bulge of his cock.

"Want you," you slur, lips parting in a breathless sigh and brows furrowing when he drops one of his hands from your face to cup your cunt through your panties, thumb circling your clit through the soaked fabric.

Tony holds you firm by the base of your jaw. Stroking the curve of your jaw gently.

He slips your panties to the side, smearing your juices over your folds and up to your clit before pushing a thick digit past your folds.

You're immediately rising up on your knees, chasing and trying to run from his touch all in the same.

"Sh-sh-shhh," he coos, curling his finger inside of your heat, cocking his head just a bit to watch the way your juices coat his skin.

"Tony–" you choke, looking down at him with watery eyes. He thinks you look so pathetically his, so needy and all perfect for him.

Tony moves without a word, sitting up to pull you into a hot and messy kiss, adding a finger to your cunt in the same motion and pumping into you.

He tastes like cigars and mint. You run your tongue along the roof of his mouth and over his teeth, and he chuckles into your mouth.

You break the kiss when his fingers graze that spongy patch inside of your heat, pressing your forehead to his and letting soft moans fall from your swollen lips.

The squelch of your cunt is pornographic — so vulgar that you quiet yourself, pulling your lip between your teeth and whimpering behind your lips.

Tony presses kisses to the side of your face, licking a fat stripe from the curve of your jaw to your ear before biting at your lobe.

"Know it feels good, lemme hear ya'." He murmurs into your skin.

You whimper softly, wrapping an arm over his shoulder, digging your fingers into the fabric of his shirt to keep you steady.

He helps rock you, large hand on your hip, guiding you to grind against where the soft of his palm meets your swollen clit. You're fucking soaked, juices coating his hand and wrist, dribbling down his skin and chasing after his silver pattak.

God, you missed him so fucking much. You're already so close.

Tony rips his hand away from you, and you gasp, dropping your head onto his shoulder with a wanton moan, your thighs trembling on either side of his from keeping yourself upright so long.

"On the floor. C'mon." He pushes you a bit, but when you stand on shaky legs, he's quick to drop the facade and steady you with a big hand holding you up at your hip.

You swallow with a shaky breath, "M'okay, I got it."

Tony watches you as he unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants down just enough to pull his heavy cock out of his briefs, the swollen red tip heavy in his hand. a bead of pre dribbles down the girthy length. Your mouth waters.

he spreads his thighs for you, slipping his large hand into your smaller one, resting on the top of his knee. You take him into your mouth so easily, plush lips spread around the girth of him, and the weight of him heavy against your tongue.

You both moan at the same time. He squeezes your hand at the vibration, dropping his head onto the back of your couch.

You struggle to take him any deeper than halfway, coming up every so often for air before swallowing him down again. Tears stream down your cheeks, leaving smoky rivers of mascara. You're struggling to breathe, your hand falling somewhat loose in Tony's hand.

He pushes you off of him at one point, dropping your hand onto his lap and holding you up by your forehead, his other hand stroking the length of his cock.

"Take it easy, okay?" he narrows his eyes at you when you take a deep inhale, bumping your knees against his calves as you work the tingles out of your legs, having resorted to squating instead of kneeling.

You nod at him.

"Get down, why're you sittin' like that?"

You drop yourself to your knees without a word. The carpet hurts, and it must show on your face by the way that Tony grabs one of your decorative pillows next to him and drops it between his legs.

With your knees pressed into the soft fabric, you swallow him down easily, holding your hands at the index of his thighs, trying to take him all the way.

Tony hisses against his teeth, sweeping your hair into a large hand to hold away from your face.

"Christ."

You pull off of him and press a peck to the pink, swollen head, tongueing his slit. He makes a noise you know far too well, and you're immediately off of him. wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and trying to catch your breath.

Tony brings his hand to your jaw, pulling you towards him to straddle him again and pressing his tongue past your lips. He presses his cock up against your folds, running the fat tip back and forth.

Breaking away, you press your foreheads against each other, moaning when the head of his cock slips into your heat. You stay like that for a moment, dropping up and down slightly on the head.

It always takes you a bit to fully fit him inside of you. He's always been so much bigger than you in every sense of the word. And it's been so long that you're tensing and tightening at the intrusion.

Tony kisses up your jaw, whispering against your skin, "Y'okay?"

You nod, eyes shut and focused on trying to take him. "Are you okay?" you ask, throat dry and lips swollen. You're getting frustrated that it's taking this long. All you've wanted in these past few months is to have him fuck you, and now you can't even do that.

He nods against you, so aware of you.

"Relax, sweetheart."

You huff, whimpers bordering on tears.

"Tony—" your voice breaks, and he's already pulling you into a kiss, letting you sob and rock against him. He's holding everything for you, letting you unravel the hurt and the pain and the frustration; he just takes it, makes it look so easy.

Tony hums into your mouth, dropping his hands to squeeze and spread the plush of your ass. You moan at his touch, dropping your head to his shoulder and rocking against him until you feel the girth of him resting heavily against your warm walls.

You sit there a moment, sighing and stealing kisses.

Tony gives an experimental pump under you, wrapping an arm over your waist and sinking deeper into your cunt.

chants of 'uh, uh, uh,' spill from your lips, lips messily pressed against each other, and his hands warm and heavy on your soft skin.

"My sweet girl," Tony whispers against your lips, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth before tucking you into him and pounding up into you.

His name is a broken whimper on your tongue, wet and choked when you cum around him, walls flexing and contracting. Tony fucking moans beneath you, pushing you up so that his cock slips from your heat before he's guiding you by the neck onto the couch, forcing you onto your hands and knees as he stands above you.

He keeps his hand on your throat, not squeezing, but a reminder enough of who's in charge. His other hand strokes his cock beside you.

"You're so fuckin' hardheaded, you know that?" he hisses, pressing his nose into your hair, "Thought I wouldn't see you hangin' around outside the club. Thought I just abandoned you, the hell is wrong with you?"

You sob, sinking into an arch that Tony follows, getting up behind you on the couch and slipping his cock back into your heat. You shriek when he sinks all the way to the hilt, heavy balls pressed up against your folds.

"Tony, oh fuck." You try to reach back for him, dropping your head onto the couch, looking at him from over your shoulder. "Tony—" you cry.

He grabs your wrist and tucks it against the dip of your back.

"No."

His cock stretches you deliciously.

"What're the rules?" he growls, balls tapping against your soaked cunt. You can hardly fucking think.

You struggle to find the words for a moment.

"Not to..." a broken moan, "Not to bother you when you don't come around — haaa,"

Tony rewards you with a generous rub to your clit.

"If you know the rules, then you can follow 'em."

You nod, drool spilling from your lips onto the couch. Your juices stick to your thighs, slipping down the length of your legs.

"Was that a 'yes?' "

You cry, nodding again, "Yes, Yes!"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir!" you sob pitifully.

Fully shaking and warbling beneath him, Tony takes mercy on you and presses himself against you; thick chest to your back and a large, meaty hand woven with yours.

He pulls your hair away from your face with the other, still pumping into you, pressing soft kisses to your wet skin.

"Oh my— oh fuck" you shiver.

"Thaaats it, sweetheart." he presses a kiss to the back of your ear, "C'mon, you're right there, I can feel it."

"Want you to cum with me," you manage, turning to meet him in a sloppy kiss.

Tony's breath hitches softly against your lips. You both mold into one another when you cum. His warmth seeps into you and spreads a ring of white around the base of his cock as he pumps into you, riding you through your orgasm.

You almost fall under the weight of him, but he's quick to roll the two of you over, slipping beneath you and holding you to his chest. Both of you still trying to catch your breath.

You feel like crying again. The overwhelming emotions flood your head, and you catch your breath in your throat.

"Hey," Tony strokes the top of your head, "hey, c'mere. Quit poutin'."

When he wraps his arms around you, shielding you from the scary and dark and all-consuming world he's had a part in thrusting you into, for the third time that night, you feel yourself break apart in his hold. And he doesn't ask anything of you, he just holds you and whispers soft apologies into your hair, massaging the back of your neck with his rough hand.

You fiddle with the gold chain of his necklace, pulling it in and out of your teeth while rubbing yourself against him.

"Daddy's sorry."

You whimper. That word holds more weight than you care to admit in the moment, and part of you knows that's why Tony chose to pull that card while you're a mess in his lap, shrinking in on yourself, hurt in all the wrong ways because of him.

"I forgive you." You mumble. Voice small and quiet. He pulls your head away from his neck to press soft kisses to your lips.

"Yeah? Y'forgive daddy fr'bein' a jerk?" He tickles your sides teasingly.

You shriek, giggling and nodding and trying to escape his hands.

"Yes, yes, yes!" You're squealing, and leftover tears are streaming down your face.

Tony stops and pulls you back into him, smushing your cheeks together with a big hand, pressing kisses all over your face.

"How'd daddy get so lucky?"

───────

When you wake up, you're cold and still in Tony's sweater.

Tony's not there.

You can hear a window or door open somewhere, so you wander throughout your apartment until you find him on your balcony. Leaning out and over the railing, blowing puffs of smoke into the chilled night air.

You stand beside him, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep warm. He's only in his wifebeater, but he wraps a big arm over your shoulder and tucks you into this side, and you're suddenly all that much warmer.

It's so quiet. The road is clear, save for the occasional car that drives by. It's too early in the morning for people to be leaving for work and too late for people to be coming home.

"Y'are a real good girl, you know that?" Tony says, running his hand up and down your arm.

"Tony—"

"Whadd'ya do with the money I give you? You still goin' ta' college?"

You nod against him, eyeing the cigar.

"Almost finished. Took an extra semester 'cos I added another minor."

Tony blows a cloud of smoke, and you can feel that he's looking down at you, so you turn and meet his eyes. He watches you for a moment — one that's so gentle and so sickeningly domestic that you almost let yourself live in it. Live in it as though he were truly all yours.

He holds the cigar away from you and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You press your tongue against his teeth, and he lets you in, groaning when you suck his swollen lips.

His hand on your arm slips down to hold your waist, guiding you to lean against the railing. He traps you there, an arm on either side of you as he presses kisses to your lips, the corner of your mouth, and down to your jaw.

"I gotta get up early in the morning."

You nod. The tears well, but you push them down.

"Will you stay the night?"

He nods, pulling back to take another puff of the cigar before smashing the embers into the steel railing. Tony slips his hands under your thighs and picks you up, carrying you into your bedroom, where he gently lays you on the bed the way a father would. A hand cradling the back of your head and the other at the dip of your back.

He climbs into bed with you, pulling your back into his chest. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. You know he's watching you — he does it sometimes when things seem too big. Like he hasn't had any control. Maybe that's what this whole disappearing act was. You pretend to sleep until you slip unconscious.

───────

In the morning, you play house.

Tony's already up, dressed, and reading the newspaper while sipping coffee from one of your Garfield mugs.

"Your paper's old."

You shrug and slip into the chair beside him.

"You're old."

"Watch it."

You giggle and hide your face in his side.

"Y'want food? I think I have cereal."

Tony gives you a pointed fatherly look.

"Are you friggin serious? I take care of you, and you use what I give you to buy cereal?"

Another shrug.

"My classes are early, I don't feel like cooking at seven in the morning." You whine.

"Jesus Christ." Tony rolls his eyes.

You pour yourself a bowl and make your way back to the kitchen table, but before you're able to sit down, Tony scoots his chair back and pulls you by your pj shorts.

"C'mere."

And so you sit on his lap, lying your head against his chest while taking small bites of your lucky charms, offering him a spoonful here and there, which he takes with a muffled 'thank you, sweetheart.'

"The birds sound so pretty."

Tony hums, readjusting his hands that are scooped under you to keep you upright and held against him.

"Yeah, they do... You got class today?" He dips his head to meet your eyes.

You take another spoonful of your cereal with a nod.

"Ya like your classes?"

Another nod.

"M'talkin' t'you, y'know." There's no bite behind it, but you know better than to push back. It was a warning of sorts.

"Yes, sir. I like my classes." You mumble around the sugary marshmallows.

He bounces his knee under you and checks his watch once before pushing your hair behind your ear and pressing a long kiss to the top of your head.

"I gotta head out pretty soon. Got some work I gotta finish up."

You nod.

"Can I walk you out?"

Tony nods, "Of course, y'can."

He helps you stand, pulling the hems of your PJs shorts down when they've ridden up from your seat on his lap. He takes your bowl and places it on the table too before slipping his hand into the dip of your back, walking side by side towards your front door.

You're not really even sure you're expecting anything, but he cups your face in his big hands and pulls you in for a soft kiss, the pads of his thumbs smoothing gentle circles at the curve of your jaw.

"You needa brush your teeth. Y'taste like nothin' but sugar. Next m'gonna be paying for a dental visit, huh."

You giggle and pull away, face flushed.

"Now you be good, you understand me?" He taps the tip of your nose.

You nod, and his brow arches just a little.

"Yes, sir."

Tony strokes the curve of your jaw and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Good girl."

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