Writing Should Be Fun.

writing should be fun.

make oc playlists. spend hours on moodboards that have no purpose. write self-indulgent fluff that’s never going to be published. scribble three lines of poetry in the back of your history notebook. draw fanart of your own characters. write stupid dialogue that your publishers might hate. start new wips that you might never finish but write those three chapters that make you happy because if you don’t write them, who else will?

writing shouldn’t always be about “will publishers like this” or “i have to reach this word count” or “how do i get the most likes”.

have fun with your writing.

my heart absolutely breaks for gaza. imagine screaming for help. for someone to save you and the world ignores you for the most part. shame on anyone and everyone who supports this. where is your empathy.

His Assistant

Dom!Tony Stark x sub!fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ | Minors DNI | unprotected p in v sex | blowjob | cunnilingus | claiming/ownership kink | Sir kink | light bondage | choking | hair pulling | some degradation | some praise | possessiveness | jealousy | office sex | rough sex | she/her pronouns | afab reader | lots of porn with some plot

Word count: 4.5K

You could probably guess all the nasty thoughts behind that overly polite smile and charming façade. It was embarrassing, the image of you always haunting the front of his brain, and how he schemed nearly every day different ways to get a reaction from you or to get you close. He loved the way he could get you flustered when he purposefully let you catch him shirtless or when he occasionally guided you through a crowded building with a hand on your back or on your arm; or how tense you got when he brushed against you and he could hear your breath hitch; how supportive you were of him when he was having a bad day, and how he wished that sweet smile on your lips was pressed to his cheek instead. 

Or wrapped around his cock, just to help him feel a little extra better. 

After a couple of years of such tortuous feelings and playful chasing, saying he was starting to get antsy was an understatement. He almost felt silly about how quickly that spark of arousal would pluck at his spine when you walked into the room, and how he subtly tried to keep you around for more conversation even when he didn't need anything else and it was time for you to leave. He was a grown man and your boss, so he should have some better self-control! He doesn't even get this hot and bothered when he's actively reeling in a night's lay! 

No, it didn't start out like this. He was actually very professional at first! Well... there was a reason other than friendliness when he so quickly asked you to just call him by his name and not by 'Mr. Stark' (though chaos still internally ensued when you gave him an obedient yes, sir). Sure, he thought you were pretty and had a thought or two about what it might be like to have you under him, but he did that to everyone he met! He's naturally a flirtatious person without even intending for it to go anywhere, so it wasn't long before he succumbed to his amorous nature. You'd probably just shut him down anyway or get a bit flustered, he figured. 

What he wasn't expecting was for you to bite back, and things just sort of snowballed from there. Maybe it was simple fun at first, but he was pretty sure that the playful glint in your eye was anything but innocent fun. 

What made it even worse was that you just doing your job was enough to get him excited. You were his good, obedient little assistant who did whatever he asked, and you always did it good just for him. That was literally just your job that you did almost every single day, and it drove him up the wall. However, you weren't always so compliant, and sometimes that was a good thing! You did help keep him out of trouble here and there, but while he enjoyed you looking out for him, he also couldn't stand it! He always wants his way anyway, but you were telling him 'no'? 

It's fine! It's your job, remember? 

But it never stops him from trying to persuade you. A rush of power when you look away with a sigh and reluctantly agree, the burn of a challenge in his chest when you oh-so-calmly hold your ground. The game is exciting when he doesn't know which he's going to get each day, but frustrating that he doesn't get to reward you for it. 

Or put you in your place.

Though one lucky day for him (and for you), the usual pushback was a little too hard and far too inviting. 

Holding a stack of papers against your chest and rushing around that busy morning, you weren't pleased to find your troublesome boss lounging around at his desk with a shockingly business-related magazine. With your free hand, you gently tugged the periodical from his hands. 

"I was reading that, you know," Tony quipped before eyeing you up and down.

"You can catch up on your reading later," you rebuked, laying his light reading to the side and resting that rather hefty stack of, uh- legal documents in front of him. His attention never strayed as he watched you organize through yesterday's papers. "You-"

"Is that a new dress?" He interrupted you with the obviously more important thing occupying his mind. You finally turned to him with a sigh. Nothing but innocent interest stared back at you with the end of a pen smooshing at his bottom lip; and now that you had a good look, the tie that normally hung around his neck was undone and gracing around his shoulders with a button or two undone for added comfort. You tried not to stare. 

"It is, and it's not for you," you managed to tease before returning to your previous work without a second glance. Your lack of attention dampened his spirits. 

"Then who's it for?" There was genuine confusion in his voice, a furrow of his brow. You didn't have a date, did you? Who could possibly be better than him? Your answer was actually more terrifying. 

"The shareholder meeting you have in an hour," you informed him with an almost mocking cheeriness before turning to him for a moment. "Wanted to look nice." 

Tony stared at you, that cool and collected facade barely faltering aside from the obvious oh shit behind his eyes. It was the same time every year, twice a year. Yes, you've been reminding him almost every day for the past month. It was mostly you that did all the hard work anyway; all he had to do was show up and look pretty and (hopefully) already know most of what was on those graphs and in those surveys. You turned back to what you were doing when he opened his mouth, already knowing what to expect.

"Can you tell them I'm sick?" 

"No."

"Please?"

"No," you said a little sternly, patience wearing thin and still needing to set up the conference room. 

"But you do so much for me," he continued his plea, trying to sweet-talk his way out of it. 

"I let you get away with too much is what I do."

"Then what's one meeting?" He was standing beside you now, facing you with one hand planted on the desk and another hovering at your elbow. 

"One very important meeting," you said, distracted now, realizing that all those papers you had him sign yesterday were very out of order. 

"You can't talk your way out of this one," you interrupted him before he had another chance to talk. He looked at you like a hurt puppy. 

"I can't even try?"

"Tony-"

"Come on," he took a smoother tone now, and you could already picture that soft smile gracing his lips as you felt a gentle touch to your elbow. You turned to him again, noticing that quick pull of a smirk that knew he was winning now that he'd garnered your attention. Well, thought he was winning. 

"Even you don't get paid enough to deal with your angry shareholders." Your semi-serious joke was met with an amused huff. That hand on the desk mirrored the one on your forearm. 

"Then I can make sure you're well compensated," 

You looked away, trying to control the grin spreading across your cheeks, as well as the blush when he seemed to lean in ever so slightly at your reaction. 

"As big as your compensation might be," you started, pausing to fix an undone button or two before working on that burgundy tie. You could feel that hard stare as you ran your hand down the silky material, keeping it flat against him and plucking that gold fastener from the pocket of his shirt. "My job is to keep you in line," you finished quietly. You looked back up at him as you pinned his tie to his shirt, feeling his abs gently twitch under your palm. He glanced down at your hand still pressed into him. His jaw wasn't the only thing getting tight.

"Is that the only thing in your job description?" He tried to spur you on, that soft smile gone when those brown eyes flicked back to yours with an alluring invitation. 

"It won't even take that long," you reasoned, directing him back to the matter at hand as if you hadn't just started a fire. He finally sighed, looking away and head rolling to the side in physical reluctance. As much as he tried to sway you with his touch (and sometimes it worked), he could never resist yours. 

"Okay," he muttered, backing down and returning to his seat, probably upset that you weren't playing with him. In a way, it was disappointing, but today wasn't a good day to waste time fooling around. 

"Do you need anything else?" 

"No," he said bluntly, propped up with a hand on his cheek and no doubt pouting. 

"Okay," you replied quietly. Admittedly, you did feel a little bad, giving him one last apologetic smile that he didn't even see and taking those papers into your arms. "I'll go finish setting up." He nodded, only looking your way once your back was turned and already heading out the door.

You left. Without even stroking his victim card! And so nonchalantly after touching him more than you ever have before and looking up at him in that way that had his imagination running-

He huffed in frustration, but no one was around to hear it. And now he had about thirty-five minutes to mentally prepare for a meeting with people he barely even liked! 

So when he finally decided it was time to show up, there you were: smiling with said people, gracefully faking laughs, and he knew you were being eyed the wrong way. Whatever the guy next to him was talking about, Tony wasn't listening. Instead, watching your every move while some other asshole put a hand in the same place he had earlier to get your attention. He couldn't explain the burn in his chest seeing someone else touching you, and you were letting them! Listening so attentively and getting what they asked for and- he couldn't take it! 

He needed to remind you who you belonged to, or maybe he needed to reassure himself. He saw his window of opportunity when you gathered up an unused stack of papers and hurriedly left to what he hoped was his office. He slipped away, mere minutes away from doing his actual job for once, and was relieved to find you hastily storing things away behind his desk. 

 "Oh, did you forget something?" You asked, unaware of the turmoil floating toward you and worried that maybe you forgot something. Or assumed that his stony glare was simply him about to enter another complaint to the complaint box (you).

Neither was the case.

"I don't like when people touch my things," he said with a low rumble, fingers tapping restlessly on the desk as he brushed up against you. 

You didn't need any context clues when you looked up at that ravenous stare. He was talking about you, like some spoiled child with his favorite toy. And if he wanted to play...

"I don't remember applying for this job to be one of your 'things', Mr. Stark," you replied cautiously, finally looking up at him and unsure whether to regret your words. You could tell you piqued his interest, with an unsure glint in his eyes and an interested head tilt. "And I don't appreciate when they talk back." As if testing the waters, a hand tentatively gripped around your throat. He could feel your nervous gulp against his palm, the faint rush of your pulse beneath his thumb. He had you fragile within seconds. Your eyes couldn't decide where to look, flicking between that predatory gaze and his lips slightly parted in thought. "I fucking own you," he stated calmly, taking his time to observe the features of your face now that he had you close in his grasp. You couldn't help but want to rile him further. 

"Then maybe you should act like it." The stare that had been lingering on your lips looked back at you with malice. The fingers around your neck slid along your jaw, tilting your chin up at a slightly uncomfortable angle like you were an item on display; just for him to handle however he pleased. His jaw was grinding in frustration.

"I have a meeting to get to," he reminded himself, looking you up at down once more as if deciding what to do with you. You were disappointed when his hand left your chin, but excitement welled up in your belly when he instead whipped that dark tie from around his neck with a commanding "turn around." You'd be crazy not to comply (for a number of reasons), but you still hesitated to let him have you so vulnerable. 

One of those things far outweighed the other. You did as he asked. 

Calloused fingers took your hands, bringing them behind your back and delicately lacing that silky material around until it had your wrists tightly bound. Now you couldn't go around playing nice with other men. A shiver followed the palm sliding up your back, his grip quickly engulfing the back of your neck. There was a firm yet gentle pressure pushing at the top of your spine, urging you down. You didn't need to think twice, already weak in the knees and easily buckling under his touch. You were well aware of what was directly behind you as you kneeled before him. 

"Wait for me to get back, okay?" His question was an instruction, back to lifting your chin as he stood in front of you. You looked up at him through your lashes, tied up and on your knees. The sight had his blood rushing, but your meek "yes, Sir" had him restraining every muscle in his body from taking you right there. He cruelly backed away from you, without another word or touch, quickly heading back before he was missed with nothing but you haunting the front of his mind. 

What felt like an hour was really only twenty minutes. A tense, frustrating twenty minutes that had him racing back to you as soon as the important stuff was done. No time for any of that idle chit-chat when he had you so obediently waiting for him in the other room. The opening of the door caught your attention, but the sharp click of the lock had that wave of excitement bubbling up again. You looked up at him eagerly. 

No words needed to be exchanged. Your mouth was already watering as he worked oh-so-slowly removed his belt, the jingling chime of its buckle tapping along your spine. Had your hands been free, you would be tearing at that button and zipper, far too impatient for the sweet time he was taking. He carelessly kicked his shoes to the side. And then his pants. And finally those fitted black briefs that hadn't been so well-fitted for the past hour. The sight of him went straight to your already dripping pussy, watching him stalk towards you as he jerked himself off and still in that now slightly disheveled button-up (which was a little disappointing). You looked up at him with eyes that begged him for permission, and what looked back was probably anything but. But you were eager to finally take that pretty cock in your mouth; so close now that all you had to do was lean forward just a little more…

But an all too familiar hold on your chin stopped you. He was tantalizingly close, a glistening drip of precum taunting you. The pad of his thumb grazed over your bottom lip before giving him a new idea. 

His hand may have left your jaw, but it wasn't to give you permission. Instead, he swiped a thumb over his slit, gathering his dripping slick. You didn't have to think twice about parting your lips for him, letting him press the wet digit to your tongue. You nearly moaned at his salty taste invading your senses, sucking it from his thumb and earning a hissed-out fuck. He should have known his good little assistant wasn't so good after all. He quickly pulled away from you to instead nudge the hot tip of his cock to your lips, still stroking himself and groaning at your tongue swirling around his head. As soon as your lips wrapped around him, he stopped, threading his fingers through your hair instead with a hum of approval with the shallow bobbing of your head. You let him graze the back of your throat before teasingly pulling all the way back, languidly sucking the head of his cock in and out of your mouth with wet sounds that had his dick twitching and nails biting into your scalp. 

You gazed up at him again as you slowly made your way further down, but before you could have any chance to pull back again, he impatiently thrust into you. You nearly choked, not prepared to take him so far but the tightening of your throat he'd waited so long for felt too good to stop. 

"I know that smart mouth can take more," he snarked breathlessly, cupping your jaw with his free hand to keep you still while he face-fucked you. Even running out of oxygen and tears pricking behind your lashes, you couldn't help but hum out a strangled moan at letting him use you for his own pleasure. 

Your nose was pressed into the nicely trimmed hairs of his pubis, holding you there for a few seconds while he caught his breath and nearly pulling all the way out to let you catch yours. Only a few pitiful pants later and he was sliding down your throat again, only this time with a hitch in his hips. The throbbing twitch in your throat let you know he was close, but so did the fist gripping tighter in your hair and the badly restrained groans above you. You let out a whimperish moan when he roughly pulled your head back with a breaking trail of saliva still connecting you to him. He sloppily jerked himself off at your still parted lips, nudging back in to rest his tip on your flattened tongue when you caught on.

"I don't want you making a mess," he said lowly with gritted teeth. It was code for: swallow it all, and he would be watching. His strokes finally slowed when the first bittersweet spurts trickled down your tongue, working him through the rest of his climax while watching you obediently take that pool of white.

"That's my good girl." The hand on your crown came down to cup your face, thumb brushing affectionately over your cheek and wiping away a stray tear from earlier. You could help but to greedily lick over his slit one last time as he pulled away. You licked the leftover taste from your lips as he bent down to capture you with his own, his tongue lapping over yours and stealing what little breath you still had in a messy kiss. A sharp tug on your makeshift restraints ordered you to stand, and you reluctantly parted from him while he so kindly helped you up. 

Though, as soon as you were finally back on your feet, you were not-so-kindly pushed face down onto his desk, the hand holding your wrists against your back promised no mercy. The sight of you bent over his desk was already getting him hard again. It was a fantasy he'd jerked off to in this very office numerous times, and now you were going to give it to him. Your dress was delicately lifted, fingers playing with the wet spot on your panties before tearing them down your legs. The wooden edge of the desk dug into your hips as he lined you up, already feeling him pushing against your entrance. 

The searing stretch had your bound hands flying back to grab at him in a plea to slow down when he finally pushed into you, too eager to lay his claim and watch himself fill you out. The involuntary constriction of your walls had you squirming, trying to give him more room while he impatiently kept pushing further and acquainting you with every vein and ridge. There was no warning or waiting once he reached your end, nearly pulling all the way out before harshly thrusting back in. A hand clamped down on your neck, keeping you where he wanted while the quick pistoning of his hips drove your own into the edge of the desk, mixing more pain into your pleasure but you wanted him to leave his mark.

 He was ecstatic to hear the cry of his name on your lips and see your tied-up hands pressing against him. He was the only thought behind those glazed-over eyes and that's how it should be. Everything you did was for him, and he would make sure you remembered it. Those pornographic sounds he pulled from you got louder each time he bottomed out. 

"Moan like you're my fucking whore," he encouraged you loudly, taking note of the whimpered sigh that followed and the desperate arc of your back as you clenched around him. "Is that what you are? Just for me?" You were ready to answer him, but only a few panted-out moans left your lips. A smug amusement crept into his grin at knowing he had you too fucked-out to answer, but he wasn't going to let you off that easy. That bruising grip snaked its way into your hair, roughly pulling your head back. "I asked you a question," he growled through barred teeth.

"Yes, Sir~" you quickly corrected yourself. He must have been pleased with that apologetic cry, pushing you back into the smooth wood and pumping into you just a bit harder with his free hand grasping at the edge of the desk for leverage. A moan of his own finally left his lips, letting himself get just as lost as you for a moment. "Always so good for me," he panted, this time without that sneer. His words fueled the flame in your core, already so close to peaking with each strong snap of his hips that kept him deep and relentless inside you. 

Tony knew it, too. Your tight heat threatening to milk him for everything he had, and, fuck, that's exactly what he wanted you to do. You felt him place an affectionate kiss to your neck before resting his head against you, the fist in your hair leaving to join his other on your waist. But there were no nails biting into your skin or another grip trying to leave bruises. Hands caressed softly at your sides, lovingly even. It's just that you were taking him so well and letting him be so rough with you that he just had to drop his tough act to adore you a little. Though he never slowed and your legs ached, the sudden softness had you weaker than the roughness did. 

But you knew Mr. Stark always had you ask for his permission before doing anything.

"Sir, please-"

"It's okay, honey, you can cum for me," he softly panted, pleased that you were asking but far too impatient to test your limit right now. "You've already done such a good job." 

It all finally had you gushing around him, giving him your last bit of control while the desperate pistoning of his hips drove you way over your edge. Hot breath fanned down your neck, tongue flicking over your skin when he licked his lips before the pleasant sting of teeth bit into the crook of your neck. He quickly came with you, arms tightly circling your waist as he finally stilled. He didn't even ask, but he wasn't asking anyway; he was making you his- you were his. Besides, you couldn't find a good reason to protest against the hot cum pooling inside you. 

Your hands were flattened against his stomach with how he was pressed into you, letting you feel the slowing rhythm of his breath and the tenseness of his muscles underneath. It was a surprisingly calm end to all that pent-up aggression that already had you sore, and it caused an emptiness when he finally slipped out of you. There was a ruffling sound of clothes, and you'd be lying if you said that the soft jingle of his belt buckle didn't light another spark as you barely noticed him standing right behind you. You expected him to free you from your binds -hoping- but the mixed mess between your legs gave him a better idea. 

You jolted at the strong tongue circling at your entrance, eating you out even with his seed still dripping from you. The added prickle of his facial hair scratching along your sensitive flesh left behind a pleasurable burn, and he didn't care that you were squirming in overstimulation; in fact he wanted to make it worse, overexcited from finally getting to taste you and going straight for your swollen clit. You couldn't really escape, hips still trapped against the desk and the hands on your thighs begging you to stay. He was only satisfied when you were nearly sobbing his name, shakey legs trying to close him out, and once again cumming hard- only this time around nothing. You were given one last cheeky bite to your thigh before he decided to finally leave you be, but not before thoughtfully pulling your dress back down for you and untying you with a gentle kiss to both of your wrists marked with a faint red. Now that you weren't bound and pinned, you propped yourself up on the desk, arching your back in a satisfied stretch to ease the stiffness in spine, and some of that soreness in your lower belly. Tony watched you as he took his seat, already imagining your naked form stretching out in his bed tomorrow morning. 

As much as you would have preferred to lounge around a bit longer, the wooden desk wasn't very comfortable, and, unfortunately, you had a conference room to clean up and Tony had papers to sign. So, you reluctantly stood up, pretending your knees weren't wobbly. Admittedly, he was disappointed to see you back on your feet so soon as if nothing had happened, even if a little shakey. He'd have to find a way to fix that later. 

You surveyed the floor for a few seconds for your underwear before deciding he probably did something with them that you didn't want to ask about. Unbeknownst to you, that was what he used to clean your mess from his cock, but he would've kept them regardless. After sliding your shoes back on, you instinctively turned to him, fighting the urge to take his lips with yours when he looked up at you. Oh, the sin that hid behind those innocent eyes. There wasn't even a trace. You had to look away. "Do you need anything else?"

He smiled at your diligent servitude, relaxing into his chair with a hand on his cheek. He'd make sure to exploit that more later, too. 

"No, but I will need you back at the house when we're done."

favorite straw hats 🫶🏾

MINORS DNI 18+

“This is sum’ wifey shit, you know that?” KATSUKI BAKUGOU remarks, a husky grate to his winded voice as he fucks your guts through your pretty asshole. Big hands split you open, fingernails digging into the flesh of your backside. You can’t keep it together, eyes drowsily fluttering as you clutch onto the sheets and whimper. It’s as if you can’t tell if it hurts or feels good, however satisfying the fill is. “Fuckin’ yer ass and you’re backin’ up on the dick like you want it. The fuck’you playin’ at, huh? Wanna ring or som’thin’?” You cry into the mattress, curling your toes so hard they ache while he’s pumping those hips into you. Fat cock making a mess of your asshole, pre-cum and spit lubing up the tight hole enough to let him fuck you like he wants you in pain. “Damn, you think you’re gunna cum? Feel like you’re close. Haven’t even touched that cunt yet.”