#(They are also both Certified Bastards)

[royalarchivist]

Bad: [Trying to lasso Pac for a bungee trick] Oh hey, Pac! Hey, what's going on?

Pac: Hi! Oh, I'm doing just great, how about you guys? Richarlyson told me you guys have something to show– [Gasps] Hi Chayanne! Hi Tallulah!

Bad: Pac, can you stand right here?

[Pac gets distracted by Etoiles and accidentally steps on the elevator]

Richarlyson: tio bad, dad pac is the most precious brazilian, be very careful with your doings

Bad: Oh, ok. [Proceeds to ignore Richas' warning] Hey Pac– stand over here for a second.

[sotc]

as fun as it is to talk about the sillay crow family dynamics, i'm soo interested in what this means for the crow familia going forward in a darker lens.

im mostly speaking from the perspective of a rook de riva who romanced lucanis btw <3

illario brought the axe down on his own head after failing to take first talon. he's imprisoned except to play house whenever caterina wants to see him around for family dinners before tensions inevitably shove him back into the cage he's been left to like some house pet lmfao. it's actually kinda fucked up and as a certified sicko i love it. especially considering the casualness in which lucanis describes all of this. crows gotta be a little unhinged<3

But!!! while lucanis was right that illario's reputation is ruined forever as a traitor crow beaten to his knees before every house that doesn't exactly free house dellamorte either. Talon houses will want their pound of flesh of illario for nearly trying to put antiva under venatori control. and yet lucanis refused. house dellamorte showed mercy. they are breaking the rules, making exceptions. this is not how the crows operate and there should--WILL be retaliations for it. illario left this house bleeding in his attempt to claim first talon and their blood is in the water now with house dellamorte having a sole heir who blatantly exposed a weakness and seemingly has no lineage to take after him.

and nevermind that we know murmurs amongst the crows will linger about a first talon being an abomination. i know lucanis kind of handwaves it off as at the coffee date like 'there could be worst first talons' but baby boy, you have avoidance and denial issues this WILL become worse of a problem the longer it goes on. <3

more under the cut bc i didn't realize this was getting so long lol

but in comes fifth talon viago de riva. a bastard to the king of antiva who wants to strengthen the crown. a man who has been ruthlessly exacting and meticulous to get where he is now. and the scariest part is that he has ambition, always has, and knows he has more power than the king himself to make plays if he needs to. this makes for a dangerous (and sexy) combination. in comes his protege rook. casting silly family dynamics aside, viago knows this union between house dellamorte and de riva is extremely beneficial for both houses but also very dangerous. even he knows his ties to teia show a weakness in him that other crows may seek to exploit. and while i do think he may be sincere about wanting rook to find their happiness with lucanis as he has with teia - i truly think he will not shy from showing the importance of a 'political alliance/union' especially with first talon house dellamorte struggling from the blow after all is said and done.

and of course, by extension to de riva, house cantori and the beautiful lovely miss teia, will be extending her support to strengthen their houses but also herself from any opposition. as much as i love that she's kind of the heart that brings this fucked up lil familia together, i know she is just as cunning and clever to recognize what this alliance does for her too.

and caterina.. well, without going into a whole thought piece on her, she has built her (and her grandson's reputation) entirely to instill fear in others, even command enough respect to know she's the one running things while lucanis is just a stand-in as first talon. but what happens when caterina is gone? another dellamorte dead just like all the others. all lucanis has left is himself and his traitor brother. how does he handle illario? how does he fair being a leader to the crows when he didn't want any of this in the first place and no longer has caterina to guide him? how does he wish to pursue carrying the dellamorte legacy (if at all)? does he seek a protege of his own to take on after him? i can't remember who says it (viago or lucanis) but there's a line about how saving thedas will make their houses immortal (hot and very sexy) but also how far can that reputation protect house dellamorte, really?

i don't really have a point to all of this, this is all just stuff im simply chewing on and letting out into the ether because the ripple effect of repercussions with what illario did and what lucanis now has to deal with fascinates me SO MUCH.

[inbabylontheywept]

holy hell are people just crueler in arizona????

how would the idea to drag a 2nd grader around on gravel until his back is destroyed even occur to a person????

glad you have your sister to back you up. as a certified big sister (the certificate being the shirt i got saying "awesome big sister" after the birth of my second baby sister), this is what must be done for siblings. you can't fuck with them, that's our job. if there were a nobel prize for big-sistering, i think she should win, but alas, there isn't.

my dad grew up in phoenix/scottsdale and was also bullied in school. once when he was a teen he was walking home and some random boys sprayed mace in his face for no reason and drove off (they were later busted for illegal possession of a weapon, as there was a gun in their backseat). is there something in the water there?

Ehhhhhhh. I've talked to some people about events like this in my childhood, and gotten a lot of responses along the lines of "What Bastard Ass Corner of Hell Did You Crawl Out Of," so here's my multitheory of Arizona Weirdness.

The Summers: Arizona doesn't do daylight savings because it has no desire to save any daylight. Whenever people aren't looking, it tries to discreetly pick pieces of sunlight off its plate to feed to the dog. There was a humiliating incident a few years ago where it thought nobody was looking and tried to throw a large piece of sunlight out an open window into the backyard, but the window was not open, it was merely very clean, so it SMACKED into the glass and slid down and fell on the kitchen floor while everyone watched. This incident is still spoken of in hushed winters in PNW dinner parties. The summers of Arizona make everyone a little manic. Fortunately, God realized this was going to be a huge problem, so He had for the foresight to limit summers to only approximately 6 months of the year. Adding fuel to the fire is that the mania is accompanied by an outside temperature above 110 F (43 C) so you either stay inside and get this very intense kind of cabin fever (like watching TV static on Adderall) or you go outside where you are both energetic and in extreme physical discomfort. Most of the people that are outside have actually tried their best to stay inside, it's just that the Cabin Fever finally succeeded in overriding their pain receptors, so they are basically the equivalent of mindless rage zombies unless they are actually inside of a pool at that very moment. This is why everyone in Arizona owns pools.

The Mormons: The Mormons are extremely resistant to cultural changes. This is because they pick their prophets from a group of 13 old men who are literally competing to see who lives the longest. The oldest gets to be in charge. If this sounds like a bad plan consider that any time one of them dies, everyone goes, ah, well, he probably wouldn't have made a good prophet then. You know. Because God killed him and all. I have always considered this hilarious in how brutal it is. Anyway, the Mormons consistently linger ~20 years behind the standard culture. So growing up in 1980's Mormonworld was, socially, very similar to growing up in 1960's Americana. Except I was in elementary school in the early 2000's, which meant that my social environment was probably most comparable to the 1980s, which television has led me to believe was the era that bullies were required to take mandatory Kung-Fu Dirtbiking courses.

The Water: If there was something in the water, we would still have to drink it.

The Water II: Maybe there's something in everyones water, but it only starts making you into an asshole when you drink a gallon and a half of it a day. Worth considering.

Dumbass Cowboys: Arizona reaaaaaally like its Wild West Heritage. Which in practice means that they are, culturally, very pro-violence. They're an open carry, stand your ground, castle law state, and they have been my entire life. This actually added quite a bit to my elementary school bitterness. It is extremely bizarre to be told, as a child, that you aren't even allowed to swear at people for hitting you while your parents would be allowed to keep shooting until they ran out of bullets. At which point they could call their complimentary NRA lawyer. I have a vague memory of my 3rd grade teacher saying that kids would be much nicer to each other if they were allowed to come to school armed, but alas, Columbine ruined that for everyone. She was actually a very nice lady when she wasn't arguing that children should be allowed to, occasionally, shoot each other. I think she was in her 60's then. Might still be alive.

[ms-demeanor]

You have mentioned that osteopaths (DOs) are not just medical woo and are roughly equivalent to MDs. I was looking into it more and finding that myofascial release and osteopathic manual manipulation seem to be verified about as well as chiropracty. As these seem to be the main differing abilities of DOs from MDs, would you explain your reasoning on trusting DOs?

I see one as part of my regular hEDS medical care for realigning and unsticking joints as well as craniosacral therapy. My perception is that it’s helpful when I’m in pain and often I can tell that something was misaligned and has been realigned, but I recognize that I see significantly more improvement when I’m regular about my PT, which is significantly more supported by medical literature.

It's not that they're roughly equivalent to MDs, it's that in terms of licensing, training, certification, scope of practice, and education they are *exactly* equivalent to MDs but they sprinkled some woo on top.

At some point, some people practicing osteopathy decided that they wanted to be real doctors, so they organized and lobbied and, very importantly, *went to medical school about it.* (As long as they went to medical school about it - make sure you're seeing a DO, not an "osteopath" - one is a legally protected term that grants the right to practice medicine and the other is not)

Completing a degree in Osteopathic Medicine requires first completing a bachelor's degree with specific requirements for biological sciences - the same course work and degree you'd do before applying to a medical school, basically. Then you get the four-year DO degree, then a one-year internship, then a residency of anywhere from three to eight years. In order to practice medicine, they have to pass the same medical board examines and have the same training qualifications as an MD. In the US, MD and DO are equivalent degrees, though DOs take extra time to study osteopathy (which is, yes, pseudoscientific nonsense).

DO programs have more of a focus on holistic one-on-one patient centered care than a lot of MD programs; DOs train and focus more on becoming primary care physicians and are less likely to become specialist surgeons (though there are DOs who are licensed to practice surgery!), but a Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine is a fully qualified doctor. They have done all the same things that an MD has done - including 10,000+ hours of clinical training as part of a residency. They just ALSO do a couple hundred hours of the osteopathy stuff. There are DOs who are obstetricians, ER doctors, surgeons, endocrinologists - a DO is a full-on doctor. One of the doctors Large Bastard was treated by in the hospital in December was a DO. I cannot emphasize that enough, they are legally certified and educationally qualified to practice medicine throughout the united states.

Compare this to chiropractors, who also want to be seen as doctors, who do not need a bachelor's degree before attending a chiropractic college, whose chiropractic education is 3-4 years, and whose requirements to practice include about 4200 hours of clinical training. (Chiropractors, it should be noted, are very specifically not allowed to practice "medicine, surgery, osteopathy, dentistry or optometry" and may not provide "any drug or medicine" to patients; eat shit chiropractors)

However, you're correct, and both chiropractic and osteopathy are unsupported by good evidence.

I think the osteopathic stuff that osteopaths do is kind of a weird quirk that is tolerated by the medical establishment because it's unlikely to do harm and it doesn't prevent people from seeking actual medical care (because the DOs providing it should be providing medical care beyond osteopathy).

And even though the osteopathy itself is nonsense, a lot of people with chronic illnesses find better success being treated by a DO as their PCP because DOs - probably at least partially because they are trained in nonsense - are less dismissive of patients presenting with unusual or difficult-to-believe symptoms. DOs are less likely to ignore patients who come in with a stack of research from the internet and a journal of symptoms who are saying "I think I may have XYZ uncommon condition and I need treatment."

Personally I wish the osteopathy was cut out of it and there was just a branch of medicine that trained to listen to patients better than MDs do, but given that osteopathy isn't likely to cause significant harm either directly (WAY less risk of bad outcomes from gentle pressing and moving of the body than from rapid twisting and pulling of the upper spine) or indirectly (DOs can order tests, DOs can prescribe medication, DOs can refer to specialists, DOs get the same kind of comprehensive diagnostic education that MDs do) I don't have that much of a grudge against it. I see it more in the vein of "drinking peppermint tea probably doesn't actually do anything for nausea but hot drinks with honey in them feel good" area of pseudoscience than in the "chiropractor treating someone's cancer with apricot pits" area of pseudoscience. Except that they then also do real science.

It's a weird field, I'm not gonna lie! It feels very much like if you were talking to an orthopedic surgeon who was very much an orthopedic surgeon and then they sat you down for five minutes of a sound bath before your procedure. Doesn't make sense to me really, but the standards of practice that they have ("use actual evidence-based practice in addition to the osteopathy") cancel out the "okay but osteopathic manipulation is fake" of it all.

They kind of drive me crazy, and for a huge group of patients they're probably the best kind of provider. Hell, a DO might be the best kind of provider for *me* if I didn't have the most wonderful PA in the world as my PCP.

[swordgrace]

“𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞” — 𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧.

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: originally apart of part 2 of “what honor demands” before I turned it into the beach scene & whatnot. I honestly wish I kept this version in instead in hindsight.

read part 2 of “what honor demands” here.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.1K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut lite (mdni), fingering (fem!rec), praise kink, hair-pulling, outdoor sex, body worship, oral sex (fem!rec), grinding, dry humping, making out, breast play, lots of sweet antics, jacaerys is a certified munch, soft smut.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: aaaand we’re back !! also if this feels weird/out of place, it’s because it is — it’s a “deleted scene” so to speak and was supposed to segway into something else before I scrapped it! I honestly love it though & I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

IN THE OVERGROWN LABYRINTH OF AEGON’S GARDEN, YOU INTWINE YOURSELF IN JACAERYS’S AFFECTION, LIKE THAT OF BLOOMING IVY BLANKETING PILLARS OF STONE.

The scenery was something from a fairytale, cranberry meadows and wildflower patches illuminated by both moonlight and the dancing glow of fire. Balerion’s stony, ruby eyes gazed down upon the both of you, the blood of Old Valyria standing before him.

“I would never leave this garden, if I could,” You sighed, interlacing your fingers with Jace’s own. He kept your hand close to him, thumb brushing along the ridges of your knuckles. “This means a great deal to me. Thank you for bringing me here, Jacaerys.”

A tranquil veil blanketed your surroundings, inky dusk glittering with thousands of stars above. Moonlight touched your tresses, its breath of silver bathing you in an ethereal glow.

A chasm of silence drifted between you both, the wordless void more comfortable instead of awkward or terse. Many feet away, Vermax had reclined into the earth, the dragon’s slumbering shape rising over the peak of the tall, swaying grass.

Dusky curls were roused by the whispering gale, slithering about through the gardens. It was a primeval labyrinth of overgrown foliage, the earth draped in a layer of soft meadow grass and petrichor.

“Perhaps we needn’t leave,” Jacaerys crooned, fingertips ghosting over the delicate slope of your jaw, a crackle of heat simmering between you. “We could remain here — stay a thousand years.” In his candor, he exposed the folly of youth, the boyish fantasies of relinquishing his duties.

No longer would the whispers of his bastard blood plague his steps, loom like some grievous shadow above his birthright — and he would be free to do as he pleased. Jacaerys envisioned an existence without the crushing responsibility of nobility, and for a moment, he could taste liberation.

Impervious to Jacaerys’s stirring inner turmoil, even you could glimpse the flicker of desperation, this forlorn glint that revealed a deeper melancholy. As Jacaerys ascended into manhood, the reality of his being had become weighty, like iron manacles.

It was naive to believe that your shared life with Jacaerys would be full of whimsy and joyousness, when this world was already so cruel and unforgiving. You intended to navigate the tenuous political climate with him at your side — and that was all you truly needed.

Through a threadbare smile, you reached for the velvet of his doublet, brows knitting together as you considered his words. “How do you propose we survive? Live from the berries here, sleep beneath Vermax’s wings?” Your whisper placated his worries.

A huff of laughter escaped him, followed by an amiable smile, digits twined together with your own as he lifted your knuckles to his lips. “We would endure, you and I,” Jacaerys uttered, gaze resolute with confidence before he drew you closer. “It sounds like a pleasant life.”

“It does,” But it was not reality, and he knew this just as well as you did. “Perhaps in another lifetime.” With a gentle cadence, you peered toward the skies, examining the numerous constellations, and you did not yet feel the sting of exhaustion.

“In another lifetime.” Jacaerys’s lament did not sour the moment, and instead, his lips began to curl with a glint of playfulness. “In another lifetime, I hope that this remains the same.” He uttered, speaking in regards to your flourishing union.

“If fate wills it, I hope so, too,” Unable to mask the ebullience of your grin, a sweet giggle bubbled from your parted lips as Jacaerys began to escort you away from Balerion’s obelisk, and into the untamed meadow of Aegon’s Garden. “Where are we going?”

As he urged you to trail after him, he waded out into the sea of thickets and wildflowers, unceremoniously depositing a spacious bedroll onto the ground. It was a picturesque evening for stargazing, and the weather was amiable.

Perplexed, you watched as Jacaerys unclasped his cloak, the swath of rich velvet draped over the bedroll, and he lowered himself to the plush surface. “Come,” He canted his head to one side, chin jutting in the direction of the heavens above. “It is a perfect night for it.”

Gleaming celestials above provided an enchanting backdrop to the Garden, stars kissing the dark line of trees that surrounded you. Gathering your skirts, you lowered yourself to Jacaerys’s flank, casting your eyes towards the skies.

Serenity enveloped you, the ambient hush of nature providing a background hum as you laid down, sprawling out across the bedroll. You tucked an arm beneath your head, gaze momentarily flickering toward your companion.

Regal was a mere understatement — he embodied the posture of a prince, demeanor endlessly charming, as if it oozed from him naturally. A generous smattering of freckles blanketed his visage, most prominent along the bridge of his nose.

“We were made to study the stars, when I was young,” Dissolving the silence with a lament, your lips twitched into a fond smile. “Constellations are the constant companion of a good sailor.” A soft exhale escaped you, then.

Jacaerys laughed — an ebullient, jovial sound that warmed your insides. “You would make a good Velaryon,” He mused, leaning back upon his elbows, dark hues searching the empyrean. “Do you have a favorite?”

“The Moonmaid,” A hum vibrated from your lips, stare bright with the reflection of the heavens. “The free folk say that if one glimpses the red wanderer within the Moonmaid’s pattern, it is a good time for a man to steal a woman.”

It was your giggle that vexed him so, like the pealing of bells that graced his ears. The Prince’s brow quirked, likely born of playful apprehension. “How does a Celtigar lady come to know of Wildling superstitions?”

With a roll of your eyes, you craned your head, softening gaze glowering upon him, visage one of amusement. “Wildling superstitions,” Your cadence adopted his own, digits idly twirling within your hair. “I read often — plenty of nursemaids to regale me with stories, my Prince.”

A bout of congenial laughter permeated the night’s temperate breeze, as Jacaerys searched for your red wanderer. It was bemusing to watch him survey the skies, dark brows furrowing together before he shook his head.

“I do not see this red wanderer,” A peculiar inkling of suaveness crept into his tone, as smooth as poured honey. “Perhaps you’ve been fed too many of these free folk tales.” His tone became teasing, lips twitching into a smirk.

“Perhaps the Prince needs a better look,” With a mischievous counterpoint, you reached for his wrist, moving his hand until it hovered above a minuscule dot in the atmosphere, its glow a gentle shade of crimson. It was nestled amongst the stars, cradled in the hands of gods. “There.”

There it was, socketed within the Moonmaid’s center — the red wanderer, its gentle glow a faint contrast to that of the stars.

Jacaerys withheld the urge to grin, reveling in the sensation of your silken fingertips cradling his wrist, directing his line-of-sight toward the constellation. “Would the Wildlings agree that this is an opportune time for me to steal you away?”

His flirtatious remark was steeped in a warm lightheartedness, the spark of gallantry reaching his eyes, burrowing itself into your very bones. A familiar heat permeated your features, crawling along your spine like a raging fever.

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, countenance dissipating from playfulness to something tender, your gaze unable to tear itself away from him. He was smiling — pearlescent, debonair, that of a young man whose adoration was thinly-veiled.

“Perhaps,” A hitch formed within the depths of your throat as he grew closer, breath feathering over your brow, earthen hues appreciating your splendor. “If his Grace asks politely, that is.” The corner of your mouth pulled into a smile.

His handsome, gentle features and gallant disposition, the kindness that touched his eyes — he was nothing short of perfection. You envied the woman that would become his Queen; they would have only the best — Jacaerys deserved nothing less.

Careworn digits tenderly caressed along your hairline, where tresses kissed flesh, before sluggishly finding the slope of your jaw. “May I?” Jacaerys uttered, the husky inflection within his voice turning your stomach to molten liquid.

With a mere nod, you waited with bated breath, welcoming the curve of his mouth with a subdued glee. Hovering above you, you felt the brief brush of dusky curls tickling your cheeks, inviting his kiss with an excitable exhale.

It began as a crawl of a kiss — slower, intended to savor, rapture interwoven into each stroke of his lips. It was you who reciprocated with a growing fervor, one hand reaching toward the collar of his tunic, fingertips meeting a sea of velvet.

A salt-tinged breeze wafted through the surrounding grove of pine, rustling the small woodland with it. In the throes of midsummer, it was endlessly warm, and you welcomed it with such relaxation.

Jacaerys felt a tightening within his throat, canting his head to one side, deepening the kiss with a trembling exhale. Anticipation and exhilaration flooded through him, stirred to arousal when your digits wandered toward the nape of his neck.

A feather-light touch lingered against your cheek, the pad of his thumb absorbing the velvety warmth of your skin. You felt him move closer, torso partially grazing your own, one palm moving to rest beside your head.

Between ambrosial kisses, he met your doe-eyed gaze, teetering upon the knife’s edge of desire. Surrounded by the eclipse of wilderness, thickets of dragon’s breath and night orchid, your heart echoed his name, an amorous lament.

“Everything you do drives me to madness.” Jacaerys mumbled, his confession blistering through your ribs, evoking a wave of yearning from you. Elation rushed through him like the swell of a tempestuous tide, crushing him with such weight.

“Jacaerys …” A threadbare utterance, carrying with it a thinly-veiled affection intermingled with ardor. Reaching forth, your fingertips drifted across his visage, sculpted by merciful gods. You found his freckles, mapping them as you would a constellation.

His throat bobbed in a valiant attempt to bottle his brief bout of nerves, digits stroking along your cheek, reaching toward your tresses. “I ache to see you and be near you,” It was as if your heart had swelled tenfold within your breast. “And even that is not enough.”

There was a weight to his confession that stole every shred of air from your lungs until you were left with nothing but a burning. An audible hitch formed within your chest, nerves set ablaze. A fire smoldered within your belly, one that demanded to be extinguished.

“Then you mustn't stray too far.” Beseeching your paramour to stay by your side, Jacaerys obeyed, forehead brushing against yours. It became increasingly difficult to withhold whatever desire you felt, letting it sear your veins like a raging fire.

Wordlessly, Jacaerys’s mouth ghosted above yours, inviting as ever. His lips were flushed, a delicate shade of rose that enticed you thrice over, just as they did now — and you met him halfway.

Gallant were his ministrations, treating you with the utmost consideration, a tender hand that you ached for. One palm snuck from the collar of his doublet to his chest, nails coursing over velvet until you reached his abdomen, listening to the hitch in his exhale.

Your lips tormented him in the most perfect way imaginable, silently pleading for more without needing to command him. Jacaerys’s mouth moved in a blissful tandem with yours, passion festering as seconds stretched into an eternity.

A faint moan coagulated within the pit of your throat, threatening to burst forth when his hand cupped beneath your jaw. Following a gentle caress, his digits continued; lower, lower until he found the silken laces of your gown.

A simpering gasp ripped through your diaphragm, bringing with it a wave of want. It was as if your entire being was tethered to him in — two souls, once adrift — now, two bodies joined as one.

“We do not have to.” Jacaerys assured, prying himself from the saccharine curve of your mouth, features permeated with scarlet. Every fiber of his being screamed for you in a way that transcended mere want.

Whatever fire he had stoked within you, it was smoldering, its heat so intense that it threatened to scorch you, too.

Without a whisper, your hand found his own, still hovering around the threads that held your gown aloft. Prompting him to tug, you watched his throat tense from the simple gesture, lips colliding again with a passion that dwarfed that of any previous entanglement.

A shudder cascaded down his spine, heart searing with an arduous want, gingerly unraveling you from the confines of your garments. He adjusted his position, climbing to find his purchase between your legs, hand drifting along your supple thigh.

“I want to,” A breathy sigh slipped past your parted lips, whispered between ecstatic breaths as Jacaerys kissed you once more. Your taste swarmed his tongue, that of sweetness and a gentle temptation. “Please.”

Resistance seemed nonexistent, resolve beginning to fracture before your very eyes as his hand glided along the length of your body. Peeling aside gossamer fabric and thin remnants of silk, he unraveled you, rapturously absorbing the intimate details of your physique.

Gooseflesh raked along your spine, a peculiar thrill stinging your stomach, heat beginning to coalesce as you urged him closer. Exploratory fingers make their way to the row of clasps that hold his tunic aloft, undone just as he disrobed you.

Untarnished flesh glistens in the moonlight, your frame exposed to him, gowns parting down the center as you coax him into a kiss. Passion flourishes like untamed ivy, able to feel his hand caress you wherever possible.

A weightlessness seeped into your posture, comfort unfurling from within, coupled with that of a mounting want. Dishonor did not feel sinful within his embrace, and you felt invincible — like obsidian, to be molded from his incessant flame.

Bodies continue to glide together, friction crackling where space becomes increasingly nonexistent. Flesh meets flesh, a seamless mold that prompts you to shiver, mouth a roaring flame as you continue your barrage of kisses.

Jacaerys groans; a low, sonorous sound that bleeds into your lips, lost within the chasm of your maw. It is your tongue that brazenly teeters along his lower lip, silently tempting him to mend the bridge — and he does, without faltering.

A ceaseless avidity unfurls from within your hearts, an exchange of adoration through physicality. He shudders at the sensation of your fingers raking through his curls, teasing and tugging wherever you please.

The mere tilt of your hips rouses a fire within his loins, the constant entanglement of enthused bodies only furthering the flame. Jacaerys hands worship your flesh, each caress whispering with devotion, with an endless craving.

A cacophony of nature’s hum teems around you, silvery tendrils of the moon’s glow enveloping the both of you. Its ghostly shade turns you into something ethereal, as if you weren’t beautiful enough in the eyes of your Prince.

Jacaerys steels himself, a tremor of an inhale blistering through his diaphragm. Exhilaration floods him in one blinding rush, excitement soon to follow as it dawns on him — love.

The executioner of duty, the bane of all sensibilities; he knew then that he could not part from you, and this ceased to be an amorous fling. Earthy-brown hues cast themselves to your visage, bewitched by the tender expression that paints your features.

He allows his lips to pepper themselves over the curve of your jaw, descending toward your collar, somewhat exposed by the sag of your dress. Your flesh tastes of summertime — a saccharine warmth that entices him so, dragging him further into your heart.

The celestial penumbra that hangs above you is picturesque — Jacaerys can see starlight pooling from your gaze, as if you were some goddess. His lips worship you further, come to spill confessions along the plane of your body.

Affectionate touches are lavished against his curls as your digits peruse through his tresses, sending shockwaves of delight throughout his abdomen. With his doublet undone, unceremoniously pooling into the grass, your delicate stare traces over countless freckles.

His movements are smooth, a regal posterity about him even as he levies kisses to your sternum. Eager, pouty lips find the peak of your breast, pebbling beneath the dusky gale, suckling gentle and feather-light.

A gasp inhabits your throat, sputtering out into the starry night as you tug at his curls, body responding instantaneously. Jacaerys’s hot breath blankets your flesh, digits shifting to cup your breast, careworn pads kneading into pliant skin.

A mere caress of your breast is enough to drive you mad, nipples pert and aching, screaming for his touch; the very air he breathes is one that invades your lungs. There is a subdued carnality to him that begins to bleed through, like ink spilled onto parchment.

“Jacaerys,” Wrought with mounting desire, you yearn for more, mouth parting as a myriad of whines escape you. His enthusiasm is palpable, able to be savored as he caresses you, teasing your breasts. “Gods, please.”

“You are devastating,” Jacaerys sighed into the valley of your breasts, the bridge of his nose ghosting over your velveteen flesh. He worries that you might slip through his fingertips, as if you are nothing more than a mere spectre, a figment of fantasy. “Divine.”

Praises murmured into your heart sink into your bones, and you are left with the agonizing wake of desire. The hand that once toyed with your breast snakes down, seeking the honeyed apex between your thighs.

A jolt of pleasure stabs at the juncture between your legs, bleeding with heat as your hips roll into the pressure of his hand. “Do not torment me.” With a whine, your digits find his abdomen, nails raking across his lean musculature.

“I wouldn’t dare, my Lady.” His utterance bathes your flesh in warmth, plump lips continuing to decorate your sternum in reverent kisses. Your hips keen forward again, daring to cause a ripple of friction between your bodies.

Eager fingers slip against the seam of your cunt, gingerly dragging across your petals until they push inward. A shudder rolls down your spine, ripping wisps of air from your lungs as one of your hands caresses across his crown of curls.

Sighs of wanton passion drifted from you in droves, legs parted as he pressed his thumb to the pearl of your cunt. It was easy to evoke a reaction from you, the constant writhing, gasps and whines, the look of complete and utter bliss.

With exploratory strokes of his fingers, gooseflesh prickles your skin, a wispy breeze dancing across the wheatgrass that sways around you. His mouth is a relentless thing, driven by desire as he draws kisses against your stomach.

Lower still, his nose ghosts along your hips, earthen hues glittering with devotion, a beguiled smile that tugs at your heartstrings. “I have yearned to taste you again.” A breathy confession fell upon your thigh as Jacaerys kissed you there.

Inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent, Jacaerys kissed his way to the gathering slick between your thighs, palms smoothing themselves against your legs. Within his touch lies ardor, the very essence of devotion, spoken through a lingering embrace.

Molten heat coalesced against your nethers at his amorous remark, arousal slick and warm. With a hitch of your breath, you watched, enraptured; that familiar dusky mane descended to your cunt, lips flush against your inner thigh.

Freckled shoulders bullied their way between, garnering enough space for his appetite to be properly sated. His tongue raked embers across your cunt, which clenched around the phantom sensation of him.

It is fever you feel, a heat so blisteringly strong that it threatens to consume you still, licking across your flesh, only sated by your paramour. Jacaerys is disarmingly gentle in all things, the tender heart of a warrior-prince, whose kisses leave imprints upon your heart.

The tip of his nose brushes along your petals, tongue splitting deeper still, until he sluggishly laps at your core. Your taste permeates his mouth, bittersweet ambrosia that draws him into some lovestruck haze.

A myriad of moans shake your chest, fluttering through your diaphragm and into the open air. The ministrations of his tongue are divine, as if this skill is something he’s practiced for some time.

The coil of taut heat within your stomach seems to tighten as Jacaerys greedily laps at your cunt, like that of a man starved. A sharp groan blossoms throughout his sternum as you incessantly tug upon his curls, urging him closer.

A tremor gripped your thighs, twitching around his head as your hips lurched forward. The friction that simmers between you both is enough to keep him wanting, grinding against the bedroll in an attempt to relieve his own arousal.

It is then that he seeks the pearl of your cunt, pressing a string of wanton kisses to the sensitive clutch of nerves. A shiver of delight grips your spine, throat erupting with a moan as your back begins to arch.

“Jacaerys,” A whine escapes you, his name tumbling from your mouth as if it were a desperate prayer, uttered within the walls of the sept. A slithering breeze brushes over your naked flesh, form writhing atop the bedroll. “Please!”

His name rolls from your tongue with such reverence, enough to bring him to heel. Another broad stroke of his tongue laps across your cunt, gathering with it a slew of your nectar.

Knuckles turn taut as one palm haplessly fists the bedroll, the other caressing into your Prince’s curls, coaxing him further. With a twist of his mouth, he moves to the pearl of your cunt once more, pliant maw wrapping around it, stimulating you with his suckling.

Slurred cries of ecstasy slip past your lips, back arched, keening into any sliver of friction he offers. The dusk is vibrant — a celestial canvas hanging overhead, the scent of wildflowers and petrichor soothing your senses.

There is a primal messiness to his devourance, chin steeped in your arousal, mouth latched to your cunt as he evokes torrents of bliss from you. A rush of white-hot delight sears your bones, blanketing you in a wave of pleasure, stomach swirling with a violent heat.

A babble of neediness spills from your tongue, akin to some melody that Jacaerys commits to memory. Flush and feverish, you feel the onslaught of your climax, a fire lapping at the shoreline as you writhe beneath him.

Desirous moans and wanton whimpers serve as his own ecstasy, as his hips stutter into the uneven leather of the bedroll. With your thighs clenched around him, he dutifully laps at the remnants of your peak, drunk upon the sight of you.

With a shaky exhale, Jacaerys’s lips danced their way across your body, until finding the hollow of your throat, cementing your union with a lingering kiss. A smile toyed at the corners of your mouth, hands finding his biceps.

“You must tell me when the red wanderer is upon us again.” A teasing sigh fluttered beside your ear, wisps of pitch-dark curls tickling your cheek. Jacaerys settled beside you, body attached to yours, heart to heart.

Allowing yourself to beam, your fingertips trailed over the rosy dusting of his chest, inching toward the column of his throat. Hands remained pledged to one another, caresses unabated and tender.

“You were superstitious,” A playful remark of your own set his features ablaze, your lips gently peppering themselves along his shoulder, one kiss for every freckle — and there were many. “Not anymore, it seems.”

“You changed my mind on the matter,” Jacaerys uttered, digits cupping your chin, thumb drawing circles into your jaw. “Any more Wildling tales you have for me this eve?” His lips titled into a smirk of amusement.

“I am certain that I can think of one to entertain you.” A peculiar light crept into your gaze; a love overgrown, a love that was not subtle in the slightest. It was then that your mouth sought his own, and he was aching; heart placed within the palm of your hand.

[gothamnewsnetwork-official]

The Second Blood Son - the affair of Mrs. Drake

It is no secret that Gotham’s resident celebrity billionaire, Bruce Wayne (see related articles), has a habit of collecting children like how most other celebrities collect cars, and it is also no secret that Mr. Wayne is a rather promiscuous individual, or at least was in his younger years.

Mr. Wayne has been suspected of being in many relationships with members of Gotham, Star City, Metropolis, one-percent, as well as prominent social figures such as Clark Kent (see related articles), Lois Lane (see related articles), and Lucifer Morningstar (see related articles), and even the occasional vigilante (see related posts).

Despite all this he is only reported to have one biological child. His youngest son, Damian Wayne-Al-Ghul (see related articles), who he gained custody of only a few years back after a seemingly non-existent legal battle with the boy’s mother, Talia Al-Ghul (see related articles).

Mr. Wayne-Al-Ghul seems to be proud of this fact, often joking with his siblings about being the only ‘blood son’ of Mr. Wayne, and therefore the actual heir to Wayne Enterprises instead of his brother, Timothy ‘Tim’ Drake-Wayne (see related articles).

This, of course, is all in good fun, but what if we told you that the youngest Wayne child was, in fact, wrong? That Damian Wayne-Al-Ghul isn’t the sole blood-child of our resident billionaire-himbo?

Earlier today we received an anonymous tip on the subject. The commenter claimed to have been house staff of the Drake family (see related articles) prior to the untimely accident that left Mr. Drake-Wayne an orphan. They claimed that many a time Mr. Drake would make passive-agressive comments towards his wife and son regarding the boy’s parentage.

According to the commenter, Mr. and Ms. Drake were rarely intimate and the pair had a long streak of infidelity (see related articles), Ms. Drake’s alleged cheating starting just shy of a year prior to the birth of their son.

The commenter also includes audio recordings of an argument overheard while they worked at the Drake’s home over both Mr. Drake’s alleged involvement with other women and his refusal to admit to his alleged infertility.

If these claims are to be believed it is almost certain Tim Drake-Wayne is a bastard child, the only question is to whom? There has been prior speculation over Mr. Drake-Wayne’s parentage given that his parents detest for one another was not particularly discreet (see related articles) as well as the fact that he bears a striking resemblance to his adoptive father, Bruce Wayne.

We at Gotham Reports are readily inclined to believe this theory, given the aforementioned similarities, and the fact that Mr. Wayne took in Mr. Drake-Wayne almost immediately after the tragedy. This leads to some rather interesting discussion about whether or not Mr. Drake-Wayne and Mr. Wayne are aware of their alleged blood relation, as well as if it would change anything in the dynamic of the Wayne children (see related articles).

Of course this is all alleged, and given that there has been no move to have Mr. Drake’s genetic parentage tested we may never have a complete answer. Regardless, we believe it is worth noting in any further discussions on the dynamics of the extended Wayne family.

Let us know your thoughts on the topic (here)

Gotham Reports is certified in unbiased, fair, and reliable reporting

See the post that inspired this article (here)

[somedudenamedruiz]

Yknow, I've come to the conclusion that I think about what characters' mouths look like, maybe an abnormal amount.

As a certified fucked up teeth haver, every single one of my little guys gotta have SOMETJIN a lil fucked, you know?

Anyways, here's a list of JRWI charecters and their tooth headcannons caus I have a strange amount <3

Riptide:

Chip has an incomplete cleft lip, a chipped front tooth, extra canine teeth on BOTH the top and bottom, and a gold tooth somewhere on the bottom. He does not brush his teeth very much. Normally, only does if he's bullied into it. Depression is a bitch, man.

Jay Ferin has a minor overbite. Not a very bad one, but yeah. She also does not brush her teeth as much as she probably should. She will not be telling Chip that.

Gillion Tidestrider teeth that work like sharks and are constantly renewing. That does not mean he doesn't get fucky teeth, though. Sometimes, he'll just get an extra tooth or two before one falls out. And he'll just be kind of uncomfortable for like, a week until one falls out. (Extra: Chip has tried to play off some of Gil's teeth as shark teeth before, to sell them.)

Ollie has pretty spaced out teeth and just doesn't have one of his molars. Also chipped a tooth at some point. Honestly, probably during the Electrodon fight.

Gryffon has an underbite, and very prominent bottom canines. More so than bears normally do. They poke out like small tusks when he closes his mouth.

Arlin has extra canines on the bottom and a tooth gap. Also, golden molar.

Caspian has a snaggle tooth. Is this a fish joke? Possibly.

Lizze has a tooth gap and a gold tooth on her top row. Opposite of Chip's.

Old man Earl is missing several teeth.

Drey Ferin's scar that goes over his eye hits his lip as well. Also his canine teeth are further forward than the rest.

Prime Defenders:

Dakota Cole has buck teeth. Both are chipped and have had fillings put in SEVERAL times. The fillings keep getting chipped as well, though. (Me fr.)

William Wisp has a minor overbite. It used to be very bad. He had braces for multiple years. He has a permanent pouty lip because of the overbite. (May or may not just litterally be how my teeth worked. Sue me.)

Vyncent Sol has more teeth than a human does. Idk why. it just feels right. Weird fuckin elf boy. Also he gets a tooth gap <3

Ashe Winters has extra canine teeth on the top. After The Trickster, her teeth remained sharper than normal.

Mark Winters has a tooth gap, and the lizard half of his face has sharp teeth.

Malard Conway has just like, a couple too many teeth. Just enough to freak people out a bit when they notice. They are sharp. (I wnat to hit this bastard fuck with a pipe, bro, I hate him so much he's amazing.)

Apotheosis:

Peter Sqloint has generally misaligned teeth. They're just a bit wonky.

Rumi, when they are, yknow, Rumi, has perfect teeth. Cause, of course they do. Rumi is like that. When they are Elena, though they have shap teeth, and like, 4 extra teeth on the bottom, behind the regular ones.

Blood in the Bayou

Rand honestly has kind of gross teeth. He's been smoking for fuck knows how long, and is a depressed wet cat. He does not brush his teeth. Also, he has extra canines.

Rolan actually has pretty straight teeth. Had braces when he was younger, but not for a long time. Slightly prominent front teeth, though.

Kian Stone's canine teeth sit further forward than the rest of his teeth.

Becky had a tooth gap.

Rachel Rand has braces. Teeth were generally misaligned, and she had an overbite and minor crossbite.

Wonderlust

Runt canonically has buck teeth, and we love her for it <3 She also gets an overbite to me.

Troy had misaligned teeth as a kid and had braces because of it. He will deny it until the day he dies.

WD (MY GIRRLLLLL) Has a crossbite and extra canine teeth.

Riply has a tooth gap and is missing one of her premolars

Blink is a bird.

[madammidnightsblog]

More Call Of Duty and how they’re in bed Brainrot🤩

Alejandro Vargas: he in my mind is wholeheartedly a passionate and sweet lover, maybe because he’s a sweet talker and flirty? Dunno. But, he definitely goes nice and slow, it will have you gasping and shaking from how deep he is. He’s another man that’s been around for a while and definitely knows the body very well and is very observant so he knows where to touch, kiss, and caress that will leave you clenching around him. He has a papi/daddy kink?? Something about being in charge- whether is be in the field or in the bedroom, it makes him feel so good. This colonel is also very jealous and possessive, no one is allowed to see those faces, or hear those nosies, or see that beautiful body for yours- that’s his. Alejandro is also comfortable in his masculinity and skin that if you ever wanted to be in charge, he will allow you to but, he will take charge once you’re tired.

Kate Laswell: She seems like a switch to me, someone that is willing to switch between submissive and dominant but very dominant leaning. She will be a very sweet lover in bed but don’t let that fool you, she deals with dumbasses on a daily basis from Shepherd to the stubborn Price, she is very pent up and needs to let it out at some point. Has a mommy kink and will only be called it, if submissive that night she will call you baby and that’s it. But, she’s an expert with her hands and will be more than happy to spend her time fucking your holes or giving a handjob, she’s not picky, just spread those pretty legs and let mommy get to work, okay?

Phillip Graves: A hard dom all the way. He is rough and hard when he fucks, he’s cocky and smug so, of course he is going to fuck you like the little plaything you are. That doesn’t mean he’s mean all the time, he does have his soft moments and will touch you like you’re the most fragile creature on earth and kiss you until you’re breathless. But, he’s not going to let you think you can get away with your bratty behavior so think again. A certified brat tamer and daddy kink lover and he will make sure you remember who’s in charge. He will give you safe words and aftercare- don’t worry but he will make sure that pretty dumb head of yours is dumber by the end of the night :). Oh, he also loves the free use card and will be sure to use it once given the green light! All you need to do is be a good girl/boy and keep those holes nice and ready for him, rub that little clit or put in that buttplug- with daddy’s permission of course. What daddy wants, he will most definitely get- he is daddy after all and all you need to do, is be a good and dumb little thing for him :).

Nikolai: Nikolai is a crazy bastard- you have no clue what he is about to do and he thrives off that! He is a gentle and slow man but he is also rough and ruthless, he’s a mercenary after all, so he is definitely going to go at it without mercy. There isn’t much that turns him on more than domestic things like you cooking, cleaning, and just tending to him because you want to. He finds the fact you want to be with him and do such domestic things for or with him so sexy because he doesn’t have many people that care about him so it’s nice. But, he is a nasty man, one that will fuck you in the garage at the base and make you keep quiet with your pretty face buried in seat of a chair. You will be quiet, right? You don’t want the whole squad to hear how much of a pervert you are, do you?

Alex Keller: He is a rough man in the bedroom, not afraid to leave marks and make your cry because he loves how pretty you look with tears streaming down your face. To him, it makes you look prettier. But, don’t worry about anything, he will always treat any bruise, cut, and rug burn. He wants his baby to be healthy at all times, just a little roughed up but not too much. He is very adventurous and experimental so he is always up to try new positions and new kinks, he wants it to be a fun experience for you both. Nothing is off the table if you want to try it because he is a strong believer that if both parties aren’t satisfied, then it’s not over and will make sure you’re both happy. Exhibition is one of his personal favorites, the thought is doing something so dirty and deprived in an open space where anyone could see you two is just so hot to him, he gets so excited when he gets the chance.

König: he in my eyes is a switch- now hear me out! He was bullied most of his life and had some challenges in the beginning of his career in the military due to his social anxiety and his massive height so he is always wanting to be pampered by the right person. He isn’t the type to really do flings or hook ups so he doesn’t have much experience in the bedroom and had a massive cock but no idea how to really use it :(. But, once he’s comfortable with you and truly loves you, he will submit and allow you to baby him but he will be more than ready to dominate you. Because he needs to prove himself- not to just to you but to him that he’s able to do this. He is a big giver than a receiver because seeing you in a blissful state makes him feel so good, he can come untouched just seeing your pretty face. He will be scared to be pegged or ride a dildo so you’ll have to coax him through it and praise him for being such a good boy :( .

Farah Karim: I believe she doesn’t care who’s in charge because to her, both parties are feeling good in the end. But, she will end up being more dominant because she just gets driven to make sure you’re getting your fill and won’t stop until you’re squirting all over her! The best with a strapon and you can argue with the wall if you disagree! She knows how to use it as if it was part of her, fucking that sopping hole of yours and having you mewling out her name like a good girl/boy does for her. She doesn’t really care for titles but being called by her rank, Commander, in bed, she will go crazy. Something about being given the power and control like a commander in the bedroom makes her feel so powerful and she just wants to demonstrate it for you. Is big on receiving so you will find yourself many times on your knees between her beautiful thighs and eating her out, her taste will become your favorite in the end and you will crave it. After all, a good subordinate craves the attention from their commander, right?

Rodolfo ‘Rudy’ Parra: His love language is biting- no, I will not elaborate :). He loves to bite you and he bites hard, so you will have many bite marks all over you and will have to treat them afterwards. The cute and quiet ones are the ones you have to worry about, he isn’t as nice as he seems. He is a dom all the way in my eyes, he loves the idea of being the one in control and having you all spread out for him and fuck you until you’re drooling. He loves being the one to make you cum over and over until you’re shaking and crying, he just has to make sure you’re feeling good! He is in between being gentle and rough. He doesn’t mean to be rough, he promises but he can’t help it, you just sound so cute when he’s bullying his thick cock into your hole :(. You understand, right? He wants to treat you nicely and show you how much he loves you, with praises and kisses but they always turn into dirty whispering about how slutty you are and bites that make you bleed.

Kim ‘Horangi’ Hongjin: he’s a bully in the sheets, mean and cruel once he gets you in the bed. He’s a mean dom that will make fun of you for crying from how overstimulated you are and will just tell you that you can take it. After all, if you couldn’t, your hole wouldn’t be swallowing him so easily. He is definitely a brat tamer and loves to ‘break you’ because you’re just so cute when you’re drooling and taking him so nicely after being such a brat. Nothing drives him crazier than lingerie, he loves seeing you dressed all pretty in silk or lace, your pretty body all dressed like a present for him to tear them off and use your holes :). But, don’t worry, he will be nice if needed because he does love you and want you to know that he cherish you so he will treat you nice and fuck you nice and slow when needed while he tells you how beautiful you are and how he needs you in his life because he lost a lot and feels lonely at times so having you with him makes him feel better.

Sebastian Josef Krueger: Krueger is another cruel and mean bastard that loves to degrade and bully you in bed, he cannot help it. You’re just so sweet and pretty, it’s like you’re begging to be roughed up by your boyfriend. He will be nice to you in the beginning, he will kiss you from head to toe while telling you just how beautiful you are before he throws your legs over his shoulders and rut into you like a dog in heat. Of course, he will make you feel better, just open your pretty little mouth and let him put his fingers in there, okay? Nothing is better than having you choke on his fingers while he bullies his cock into you. But, his biggest turn on has to be, somnophilla, that is if you’re okay with it. Something about fucking you in your sleep while he cuddles you just feels so right to him, and when you wake up due to an intense orgasm, he’ll make it feel so good that you’ll feel more than relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

Valeria Garza: She is a hard dom and a mommy kink fan, you cannot convince me otherwise. She will dominate you and make you feel all dumb when she calls you all types of names while you fuck yourself on her thigh. She is someone who thrives off control, she needs it in order to feel something as she usually feels nothing without control. She likes to make you do things to humiliate you and she loves seeing the guilt in your eyes when you misbehave because it makes her feel so powerful but don’t worry, she’s a good mommy and makes sure to give you lots of kisses once you take your punishment. Her biggest turn on outside the power dynamic, is something most wouldn’t expect- it’s reassurance. She gets all hot and bothered whenever you tell her that the iron grip on your hair is fine, or that those slap to your sex makes you feel so good, or even when you just tell her that she is the only one for you. She is so used to manipulating and using people for her own benefit that she often feels like she is taking you for granted and using you when she does love and care for you, so just hearing you reassure her that you don’t feel any of that makes her happy. She may be mean and cold, but she does love you and worry about if she is doing the right thing when it comes to you.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[iwaoiness]

— suggestive, body worship 🔞

it's not his fault, it really isn't, but iwaizumi just can't help it. every time oikawa puts on those damn pants, the ones he doesn't know whether to worship or declare war on, he absolutely loses his mind.

the thing is, oikawa has always had narrow hips. even now that he's filled out a bit more, with a broader chest and shoulders wide enough to carry the weight of the whole galaxy, all his elastic-waist pants and joggers in his size still fit a little too big.

most of them have drawstrings, so with a good knot oikawa manages just fine. but these pants, the damn gray joggers with cuffed ankles that are (of course) slightly too short, are the only pair in his ridiculous closet that don’t. and they’ve been haunting iwaizumi since their last year at seijoh.

and what a coincidence (hajime is 100% sure it’s no fucking coincidence) that every time they are together at home, oikawa’s wearing them. along with that worn-out crop top that says “certified bisexual disaster” and barely reaches his belly button.

and hajime couldn’t care less how his best friend dresses (they’ve known each other 24 out of their 24 years, so he’s mostly immune to his, at times, questionable fashion choices), but those fucking joggers? they’re his damn downfall because they keep slipping down.

they fucking slip down.

the waistband always ends up hanging off his hips, no matter how often oikawa pulls them up. they fall when he walks around the apartment, when he puts his phone in the pocket, when he runs away screaming from hajime who's chasing him for being stupid, they fall even when he breathes.

and it’d be fine, hajime can handle catching a glimpse of his ridiculous underwear peeking out but sometimes, oikawa wears nothing underneath. the absolute stupid, idiotic, spoiled, ridiculous bastard.

and hajime can’t not look at the golden skin, the lean muscle, the soft trail of almost-blonde hair, the soft curve of his waist as it gives way to his hips.

he’s got this perfect triangle shape and hajime can't stop thinking about how perfectly his hands would fit there, how his palms could melt into that skin, how his fingers would dig into solid muscle. hell, he bets he wouldnt even need both hands, that tooru’s waist is so narrow, one would be enough.

and he could taste it. find out if tooru's skin tastes like honey or peaches. bite it just enough to leave marks, so every time oikawa wears those stupid pants with no underwear he’d see them, smile proudly, and know there’s a piece of him on oikawa. so tooru's teammates would see the marks and know tooru belongs to hajime.

and he could also—

iwaizumi lets his forehead drop onto his thick anatomy textbook with a dull thud that makes the real-oikawa jump.

“iwa-chan? you okay?” he asks, surprised.

and hajime refuses to lift his eyes just yet, focusing on the new, peaceful throb on his forehead to wipe away every non-family-friendly fantasy of oikawa and significantly reduce the heat in his dick.

“you’re the worst.”

“what the hell did i even do now?!” tooru protests, all whiny and dramatic, and iwaizumi takes a deep breath before lifting his head and resting his chin on the book, glaring at his best friend.

there he is, pouting up at him, sprawled out on the sofa in front of him, only the little coffee table between them. phone in one hand, one leg thrown over the backrest. and the shirt (hajime's, btw) hiked up to his ribs. and the fucking waistband of those fucking joggers riding low on his hips.

(the only thing saving hajime’s sanity and dick is that this time he is wearing underwear. ridiculous pink ones with little onigiris on them, but still underwear.)

what the hell did he do? more like, what the hell DIDN'T he do to hajime?

“you should buy pants in your actual damn size.”

tooru blinks like an owl and glances down at the pants. “but they’re fine.”

“in what fucking world are those fine? they’re one inch away from dragging on the floor.”

and that’s when oikawa looks up at him again and smiles, the one that put hajime on high alert, that make him sit up straighter, frown deeper.

“in the world where you can’t stop staring at me because of them, hajime.”

and the thin, fragile, already-strained thread holding hajime’s sanity together snaps with a clean crack and: fuck it.

fuck his last anatomy exam. fuck self-control. fuck the pain in his forehead. fuck those damn joggers. and fuck tooru.

and that last one, he’s about to take care of personally.

...

my fave genre is tooru driving hajime insane over the most random shit

u can find me on my ao3, bluesky, carrd and this is my strawpage too 🍉

[shadyfestivalperfection]

Hello, I am wondering if u take request for a Tony Stark x female reader, who is also best friend of Tony Stark before he came Iron Man but she has been by his side through everything as well. But it’s a fluff and a smut as at the end where they both reveal their feelings for each other which they had from the moment they met and they have their first kiss between them as well which leads them to their first time “Sex” together and then also after their first time they both happily agreed to be in a relationship with each other as well.

Thank you for your request!! I hope you like it…

I’m sorry if the smut part isn’t good. I am not good at writing smut…

Mr. Flirtbot 3000~Oneshot

Summery: Tony Stark had always been a genius, a billionaire, and a flirt—but never had he expected to fall so deeply for his best friend, Y/N, the one person who saw through his bravado. From their college days at MIT to working side by side in the Tower, their bond had always been unshakable—until Y/N’s abusive relationship threatens to tear everything apart.

Characters: Tony stark x bestfriend!f! Reader

Warning: Domestic violence, abuse, mentions of death, smut

Note: All characters except Atlas Everett are not mine!

||Master List||

Flashback-MIT

The Massachusetts air was crisp in the early morning, even in the spring. Dew clung to blades of grass that lined the walkways between MIT’s red-bricked buildings, shimmering under the soft haze of dawn. Students filed into the lecture hall slowly, their footsteps a soft chorus against the concrete. Some were still clutching energy drinks or half-eaten bagels, eyes bleary from sleepless study sessions or overindulgent nights.

Among them, Tony Stark strolled in like he owned the place—which, technically, he sort of did. At nineteen, Tony wasn’t just a student. He was a certified genius, a name with legacy, and a walking headline. Son of Howard Stark. Youngest person ever to present a clean arc model before the engineering board. MIT’s own golden prodigy.

And he knew it.

Tony entered late—as usual—wearing a leather jacket over a t-shirt with a half-eaten bagel in one hand and a pen tucked behind his ear like he might actually use it. His smile had that effortless charm of someone who never had to try too hard, and when he glanced across the room, the effect was instantaneous. Three girls in the second row giggled. One waved shyly. Another bit her lip.

Tony winked.

Then he noticed her.

Y/N L/N sat halfway up the lecture hall, elbows on the desk, eyes already on the professor’s first slide. She didn’t look up when he passed. She didn’t giggle. She didn’t bat her lashes or shift in her seat. Her notebook was open, and her pen was moving, capturing notes like her life depended on it.

Tony slid into the empty seat beside her.

“Morning, roomie,” he whispered, flashing a sideways grin.

She turned slightly, arching a brow. “We’re not roommates, Stark. We’re just in the same nightmare together.”

“Isn’t that what college is?” he replied with a shrug.

She looked at him then—really looked at him—and Tony felt, for a second, like she could see through every layer of charm he had on.

“Did you even read the assigned section?”

“I skimmed the abstract,” he said.

“You mean the title page?”

“Details, details.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “cocky bastard.”

Tony grinned wider.

He liked her.

In the weeks that followed, Tony learned a few things about Y/N L/N.

She was smarter than most of their professors. Not that she’d say so—she wasn’t loud about it. She just showed it in the way she broke down equations, the way she poked holes in existing theories with surgical precision. And she never did it to show off. She just wanted to learn.

She also didn’t care that he was Tony Stark.

That was a first.

One afternoon in a lab, he’d sauntered in late (again), and without missing a beat, Y/N handed him a lab coat and said, “You’re cleaning the beakers.”

Tony blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re late. I had to set everything up. You get cleanup.”

“You realize who I am, right?”

“Yeah. You’re the reason we’re twenty minutes behind on testing.”

He stared at her, waiting for the punchline. There wasn’t one.

That day, he scrubbed glassware while she took notes, humming under her breath. Later, as they walked out of the lab together, Tony broke the silence.

“No one talks to me like that.”

She looked over. “Maybe they should.”

He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

Turned out, he was impressed.

Their friendship didn’t happen all at once. It was gradual—built between shared projects, sarcastic remarks, late-night coding marathons, and caffeine-fueled arguments about quantum thresholds. Tony would text her at 2 a.m., asking if she was awake.

She always was.

They’d argue about theoretical applications of repulsor energy or debate whether time was linear, then fall asleep on the same couch, heads tilted toward each other, the glow of laptop screens reflecting in their eyes.

Tony never tried to flirt with her.

Not really.

Sure, he made jokes. Tossed compliments. But something in him knew she wasn’t like the others. She didn’t want flattery. She wanted honesty, integrity, truth. And if Tony was being honest with himself… he wanted to be that version of himself around her.

Once, she found him on the rooftop of their dorm building after he’d gotten into a particularly brutal fight with Howard over the phone.

She didn’t say anything. Just sat next to him and handed him a granola bar.

He took it without a word.

Later, he muttered, “He thinks I’ll crash and burn.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Then build something from the ashes.”

Tony turned to her, something fragile in his eyes. “You think I can?”

“I think you already are.”

He swallowed hard.

That night, he didn’t sleep with anyone. He just stayed beside her, watching the stars.

___

The rain had started as a gentle mist, barely a whisper against the pavement, like the sky hadn’t quite decided whether it wanted to cry or not. By the time they stepped out of the lecture hall, it had turned steady — not a downpour, but enough that everyone else on campus was rushing for cover.

Tony held his umbrella lazily in one hand, the other shoved into the pocket of his jacket as he walked beside Y/N down the steps. The streetlights flickered on early, casting a soft golden hue over the wet sidewalk, reflecting back in hazy patches like melted amber.

“Didn’t bring one?” he asked, angling the umbrella slightly toward her.

Y/N just shook her head and smiled. “Nope. I didn’t check the weather.”

“You? Miss Prepared-For-Everything L/N?” He tilted his head playfully, eyes scanning her soaked shoulders. Her sweater had already darkened from the moisture, clinging slightly to her frame. “I’m disappointed.”

“I guess even I can have an off day.”

He laughed. “Impossible.”

She didn’t reply. She was looking up at the sky again, the rain soft on her face, her lashes catching drops like diamonds. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, in that soft, wistful way that Tony had never really seen on her before.

He stared.

And for some reason… he couldn’t stop.

His heart stuttered.

It was slow at first — just an irregular beat in his chest that made him pause. But then it picked up. A quiet, persistent thud that echoed against his ribs like it was trying to be heard.

He blinked, confused.

He’d seen beautiful women before. Hundreds. Thousands, probably. He’d flirted, dated, seduced. He’d bought champagne at penthouse bars and whispered sweet nothings in hotel rooms he never remembered the next morning.

But this was… different.

She wasn’t even trying.

She was just standing there. Eyes closed. Head tilted back. Rain soaking her hair and shoulders. Laughing softly to herself about something unspoken.

And it hit him — like a sucker punch to the gut.

He couldn’t breathe.

His throat tightened, chest rising in shallow waves as he looked at her, really looked at her. She was stunning — not just in the way she looked, but in the way she existed. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She wasn’t looking at him like he was some kind of genius or a billionaire-in-training. She was just there, in the moment, breathing the storm like it was part of her.

And he felt it.

The shift.

The kind people write novels about.

Then she turned to him.

Her hair stuck to her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled beneath the streetlight, bright and teasing. There was a drop of rain hanging off the curve of her lip.

“Okay,” she said slowly, dramatically, “Mr. Flirtbot 3000.”

Thunder cracked somewhere above, not loud — just a low, rolling sound that matched the sudden heaviness in the air.

And then, like the sky had been waiting for her cue, the rain started to fall harder.

Sheets of it. A proper downpour.

Tony stood frozen.

She was still smiling, watching him for a reaction.

But he had none.

He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t move.

His fingers flexed around the handle of the umbrella, the plastic canopy fluttering slightly from the wind, but he didn’t lift it higher. He didn’t offer it to her again. He just stood there, watching as she blinked against the heavier drops, her smile fading slowly into something softer. Something quieter.

She waited.

He didn’t say a word.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because his entire body felt like it had been rewired — every synapse reprogrammed to her frequency.

Flirtbot 3000. It was ridiculous. Silly. A throwaway line.

And it hit him harder than anything had in years.

God, he thought. I’m in trouble.

She gave him a final look — her expression unreadable — then turned back around and walked ahead.

Still no umbrella.

Still getting soaked.

Still… beautiful.

He watched her go, the rain bouncing off the sidewalk around her, the rhythm of it sounding like a heartbeat in his ears.

His heartbeat.

The name stayed with him.

Not as an insult.

Not even as a joke.

But as a moment.

The one where everything changed.

Present day- Avengers Tower Lab

It was nearly 1:00 a.m. and the lab was dim except for the gentle blue glow radiating off Tony’s holographic projections. The hum of arc reactors and softly blinking tech filled the silence like a lullaby for the insomniac genius. He stood in a loose hoodie and jeans, one hand holding a stylus, the other swiping data screens midair as if they were flies he couldn’t quite catch.

Sleep was an afterthought. Focus kept the ghosts at bay.

He leaned into the interface, making adjustments to a gauntlet model, his jaw set, eyes sharp. A spark flew, fizzled, and died on a nearby workbench. He barely flinched.

The elevator hissed.

He didn’t look up.

He didn’t need to.

“Why am I not surprised you’re still here?” came a familiar voice, warm and sharp all at once.

Tony’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite professional nag.”

Y/N L/N stood in the doorway, hair slightly windblown from the night air outside, trench coat open just enough to show the lavender blouse she’d worn all day. Her heels clicked softly as she walked in.

“I finished the report you needed and emailed it to you,” she said, arms crossed. “But what are you still doing up? You promised you’d sleep tonight.”

“I lie. It’s part of my charm.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “No, it’s part of your inevitable cardiac arrest.”

“I’m a walking defibrillator. I’ll be fine.”

“Tony.”

The way she said his name—no sarcasm, no edge—just soft and full of concern… it almost made him stop.

Almost.

He turned away from the projection, leaning on the edge of the worktable with a lazy shrug. “This thing’s been bugging me all night. One of the microconduits keeps shorting during heat stress simulations. I figured I’d wrestle with it before bed.”

“You mean at sunrise?”

Tony grinned. “I like a challenge.”

“You like avoiding rest.”

“Same thing, really.”

There was a brief pause, just long enough to let the unspoken linger between them. Then she sighed and glanced at the time on her phone.

“I should go. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

Tony straightened. “Big meeting?”

“Worse.” She laughed. “Date night.”

He raised an eyebrow. “With Prince Atlas the Magnificent?”

“Atlas Everett,” she corrected with a smile. “Yes. We’re trying that new rooftop place in Midtown.”

“Right, the guy with the jawline and the…. jawline.”

She snorted. “That’s unfair. He’s actually very sweet.”

“I’m sure he is. So was the golden retriever I had when I was six.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. It’s why you keep me around.”

There was a moment—brief, flickering, fragile—where their eyes met and neither said anything. Just silence stretched between them, held only by the quiet hum of tech and the pulse in Tony’s throat.

Then she smiled again. “Night, Stark.”

“Night, L/N.”

He watched her walk out, heels echoing on the metal floor. The elevator closed slowly, swallowing her with a gentle hiss.

And just like that, she was gone.

The lab felt colder.

He turned back to the hologram and stared blankly at the data.

But the numbers blurred.

His chest ached.

It always did after she left.

There was no logic in it. No schematic or blueprint that could explain why her name in a sentence—my boyfriend Atlas—felt like a scalpel every time. No way to shut it off. Not even with twenty billion dollars’ worth of distraction.

He had known for a while now. Known that something in him had tethered to her somewhere between MIT rooftops and late-night coding sessions. And it had never let go.

He just… never said it.

Because he’d waited too long.

Because the right time never came.

Because it was easier to pretend.

The elevator hissed open again.

This time it was Natasha.

She wore black workout gear, hair tied up, a water bottle in hand. She looked around, spotted him, and raised a brow.

“You’re still here.”

“Is everyone contractually obligated to point that out tonight?” he muttered.

Nat walked toward him, casually observing the half-disassembled gauntlet. “What’s eating you?”

“Conduits. Heat stress. Micro failures. The usual.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Try again.”

He didn’t answer.

She set the water bottle down and leaned one hip against the worktable, folding her arms.

“You know what I mean, Tony.”

He stiffened slightly, eyes locked on the projection, jaw working.

She waited.

Finally, he gave a shrug. “Not sure what you’re talking about, Romanoff.”

“You are.”

“Am I?”

Nat gave him a flat look. “Come on. Everyone knows how you feel about Y/N.”

Tony’s fingers curled around the edge of the table.

His throat bobbed.

Still, he said nothing.

Nat’s voice softened. “You really think we don’t see it? The way you look at her when she’s talking? The way you stop working when she walks in? The way your entire world pauses for her?”

He clenched his jaw. “She’s happy. She’s with someone.”

Natasha studied him, a hint of empathy in her expression. “But she’s not yours.”

He looked away.

She let the silence sit there for a moment, letting it stretch.

Then, gently, she pushed off the table. “You either tell her, or you keep bleeding in silence. Just don’t pretend you’re not in love with her. It’s insulting.”

And with that, she walked out.

Tony stood still, alone again in the lab, the glow of his work flickering over his tired face.

Outside, the city lights blurred through the windows as rain began to fall again—just like that night in Cambridge years ago.

And still, her voice echoed in his head.

“Okay, Mr. Flirtbot 3000.”

He closed his eyes.

And smiled—soft, sad, and completely in love.

___

The morning sunlight slanted through the massive glass panels of the Stark Tower, catching flecks of dust in golden beams. But the warmth didn’t seem to reach Tony’s office that day.

Y/N sat across from Tony, notebook open, pen in hand—but her usual spark was absent.

She didn’t interrupt him with witty remarks.

She didn’t pace the room while listing things from memory.

She didn’t even make a face when he mispronounced the name of the delegate they were meeting with next week.

Tony noticed.

Of course he did.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her for a long moment before speaking casually, voice laced with concern beneath the sarcasm.

“You know, normally by now you’ve rolled your eyes at me at least three times. Either I’ve become a better boss overnight—unlikely—or something’s off.”

Y/N blinked, snapping out of her daze, and looked up. “What?”

“I said…” he leaned forward, dropping the smirk, “are you okay?”

She gave him a small, strained smile. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired. Late night.”

“With Atlas?” he asked, his voice too carefully neutral.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a pause.

Tony nodded slowly, looking back at his screen, pretending that the tightness in his chest wasn’t real. “Alright,” he said quietly, “just… don’t forget to take care of yourself too, okay?”

“Of course,” she replied, too quickly.

He didn’t push.

But he didn’t believe her either.

The rest of the day, her silence echoed through the tower louder than anything she could have said.

Steve noticed first. In the kitchen, he handed her a coffee and said, “You alright, Y/N? You seem a little… out of it.”

“I’m okay,” she replied, flashing a soft smile. “Thanks, Cap.”

He nodded, not entirely convinced.

Later, Natasha cornered her by the elevator. “If Tony said something stupid, I can take him out back.”

Y/N let out a dry chuckle. “No, it’s not him.”

Nat studied her face. “Then what is it?”

Y/N hesitated. “I’m just tired, Nat. That’s all.”

The elevator doors closed, cutting off the conversation.

Even Sam, who was usually the first to crack a joke, kept watching her with subtle glances. During a shared lunch break, he nudged her lightly with his elbow. “Where’s that spark, Y/N? You’re usually the life of the Tower.”

Y/N gave him a small smile. “Guess I left it at home.”

By the time they all gathered in the conference room for the mission briefing, the shift in her demeanor was impossible to ignore.

She sat beside Tony, but didn’t engage with the discussion the way she usually did. She jotted notes. Listened. But her eyes were distant.

It was Wanda who noticed the bruise.

A faint discoloration at the edge of her collar. Faint. Purplish. Hidden just well enough to be missed—unless you were trained to look.

Wanda’s brows knit together.

Her gaze flicked to Y/N’s face, then to her neck again.

Y/N shifted in her seat suddenly, hand brushing her shoulder as if in discomfort.

Wanda saw her wince.

The meeting wrapped, and one by one, the team filtered out—chatting, reviewing the final notes. Y/N stood, grabbing her tablet and preparing to leave for the night.

“Y/N,” Wanda said gently, her voice low. “Can you come with me for a second?”

Y/N blinked. “Uh, sure?”

They walked to Wanda’s room in silence.

When they stepped inside, Y/N turned to ask, “What’s this about?”

Wanda shut the door softly behind her.

“I need you to do something for me,” she said.

Y/N frowned. “Okay…?”

“Take off your shirt.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “What?”

Wanda stepped forward carefully. “Please. Just trust me.”

“Wanda, this is weird.”

Wanda didn’t answer with words. Instead, her fingers lifted slightly and a soft red glow surrounded them. A gentle ripple of chaos magic flowed across Y/N’s body, brushing past fabric until it pulled back the collar of her blouse.

Revealing the bruise.

A distinct, thumb-shaped mark on her neck.

Wanda’s face fell. “Y/N…”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said quickly. “I just… I bumped into a door.”

“On your neck?” Wanda asked, voice full of disbelief. “Come on, Y/N. During the whole meeting, you were wincing in pain.”

Y/N avoided her gaze. “I’m fine. Don’t make it a big deal.”

“I’m not trying to, but this—this is a big deal.”

Y/N’s silence was answer enough.

Wanda gently reached out, her touch hovering just over the bruise. “Did Atlas do this?”

“No,” Y/N said too quickly.

Wanda’s eyes narrowed.

“I said no,” Y/N repeated, firmer this time.

But the crack in her voice betrayed her.

After a long, tense moment, she grabbed her bag and whispered, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” before leaving the room without another word.

Wanda stood alone, fists clenched, her expression full of worry and quiet rage.

Outside, the tower was quiet again.

But the storm had already begun.

___

Flashback: The Date That Shouldn’t Have Happened

The drive home was silent.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly, her cheek resting against the cold window of Atlas Everett’s sleek black car. The city lights flickered by, dancing in puddles and rain-soaked glass. Her reflection looked tired. Distant.

Atlas’s grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled.

“You embarrassed me,” he muttered.

Y/N’s eyes didn’t move. “I didn’t do anything.”

Atlas’s knuckles tightened. “That’s exactly the problem. You didn’t stop talking about him. Stark this, Stark that. Like I wasn’t even there.”

“You asked about my work.”

“And I didn’t ask for a damn biography on your precious boss.”

Her stomach twisted. She had meant to keep it light. Professional. But Tony was a big part of her life—how could she answer questions about her day without mentioning him?

They pulled up outside her apartment. The street was mostly quiet, save for the rain and a few passing cars. She reached for the handle, eager to end the night.

But he grabbed her wrist. Hard.

She froze.

“Don’t walk away from me again,” he said, his voice low.

“I’m going inside, Atlas.”

He yanked her back toward him. “You’re not done talking to me.”

“You’re hurting me,” she snapped, trying to pull away.

Atlas’s eyes darkened. “You think I don’t see it? The way you light up around him. The way you always put him first.”

She yanked her arm free, stumbling out of the car.

He followed.

At the door of her apartment, she turned. “I think you should go.”

But he was already too close. Already too loud. “No. You don’t get to walk away without hearing me out.”

“I don’t want to hear this.”

“You think he’s better than me? That he’s going to swoop in one day and fix your world? He doesn’t love you. You’re just another name on his list.”

Y/N’s heart pounded. “Get out.”

He grabbed her again—this time, by the arm near her collarbone—and shoved her lightly against the door. Not enough to knock the air out of her. Just enough to make a point.

The cold metal pressed into her back.

“Tell anyone about this,” he growled, “and I’ll make sure Stark sees just how replaceable you are.”

Her breath caught.

He stared at her for a long, cold second before stepping back.

And then he left. Just like that.

Y/N didn’t move for a long time.

When she finally made it inside, she slid to the floor in her entryway, holding her hand to her neck where his fingers had pressed too hard.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t scream.

She just sat there, the rain outside echoing in the empty spaces of her chest.

The Next Morning – Stark Tower

Tony Stark was holding two coffees when he walked into his office that morning.

One black, for himself.

One hazelnut with cinnamon, because she hated ordering it for herself but loved drinking it.

But Y/N wasn’t there.

Her chair was empty. Her desk cold.

He checked the time. 9:12 AM.

She was never late. Not without calling. Not without a sarcastic “don’t wait up, boss” text.

Tony set the coffee on her desk and pulled out his phone.

Still nothing.

At 9:23, he asked FRIDAY to ping her apartment. No response.

By 10:15, he told himself it was just a fluke.

By noon, he wasn’t so sure.

He spent the whole day pacing around the office, pretending to read reports, rereading old messages from her.

Two Days Later

Tony sat in the conference room, files splayed in front of him, but his eyes were somewhere else entirely.

“She still hasn’t called?” Natasha asked, walking in with her tablet.

“Nope,” he said, not looking up.

“Want me to check on her?”

“I was about to go myself.”

“We’ve got wheels up in thirty.”

Tony didn’t respond. He just stared out the window.

Steve walked in next. “We leave soon. You coming?”

“She’s never missed two days, Steve,” Tony said quietly. “Not in all the years I’ve known her. Not without a reason.”

“She might just need space.”

“Space doesn’t come without a single text.”

Sam added from behind them, “Even I got worried, and she barely tolerates me.”

Tony gave a dry chuckle at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ll go after the mission,” he said finally. “I don’t have a choice.”

None of them pushed further.

But as they headed to the Quinjet, Tony kept glancing back, like he was leaving something behind.

And he was.

___

Flashback: The Night They Forgot

Tokyo skyline sparkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Stark penthouse suite, draped in the indigo hush of 3 a.m. A warm summer breeze wafted through the slightly open glass doors, fluttering sheer curtains like soft ghost hands. Music from the party had faded into silence hours ago, and the world had gone still—except for two people.

Y/N was curled on the plush rug in the center of the living room, barefoot, wine glass in hand, her head thrown back in laughter that spilled like honey. Tony Stark, half-sprawled across an ottoman with his tie loosened and his shirt untucked, watched her with a crooked smile and glassy eyes.

“I swear,” she gasped, brushing a tear from her cheek, “you told the Prime Minister his tie looked like ramen noodles.”

Tony raised a finger, eyes serious but wobbling slightly with the alcohol. “Correction. I said elegant ramen noodles. Very dignified.”

Y/N laughed harder, nearly tipping over. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m charismatic.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Guilty as charged,” he muttered, swirling the last inch of scotch in his glass. The amber liquid caught the city lights like molten gold.

They were drunk—comfortably, quietly drunk. Not sloppy, not reckless. Just loose enough for masks to slide down and truth to rise to the surface.

Silence fell again. Not awkward, just… full.

The kind of silence that only two people who had known each other for years could sit in without needing to fill.

Y/N exhaled, leaning back on her hands, her wine glass now forgotten. “You know,” she said quietly, “I don’t think we’ve ever just… stopped. Like this.”

Tony’s gaze flickered to her face. The light caught the curve of her jaw, the line of her throat. She looked… peaceful. Real.

“No board meetings. No world-saving suits. No press. Just… this.”

Tony’s voice was rough when he answered. “It’s dangerous.”

She blinked at him. “What is?”

He tilted his head. “Stopping.”

She frowned. “Tony…”

“Because when you stop,” he murmured, setting his glass down with a soft clink, “you start to notice things.”

Y/N sat up straighter, brow furrowing. “Like what?”

Tony didn’t answer immediately. He shifted to sit beside her, shoulder brushing hers. The air changed. Denser. Charged.

Her breath hitched. “Tony?”

His voice was barely above a whisper. “You.”

Her heart skipped.

He looked straight ahead, not meeting her eyes, as though afraid she’d vanish if he did. “I notice you.”

Her mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

“I think I always have,” he went on, more to the city skyline than to her. “Since MIT. You were the only one who called me out. The only one who saw through the crap. You were real.”

“Tony…” she whispered, unsure if she was pleading or warning.

He finally looked at her. His brown eyes were glassy—not just with alcohol. With something deeper. Older. Fragile.

“I love you.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

His smile was tired. “But… you don’t love me.”

She opened her mouth, panic bubbling behind her lips.

“Don’t say anything,” he said softly, raising a hand. “I’m not saying it to get something back. I just needed to say it once. Out loud. Before I forget.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned into silence. Her pulse roared in her ears. Somewhere behind her ribcage, something cracked open—but no words came out.

Tony leaned back slowly, eyes closing. “You’ll forget this. I probably will too. Let’s just chalk it up to the scotch.”

They both fell quiet. Outside, the wind rustled the curtains. The world breathed.

Within minutes, he was asleep, slumped awkwardly on the couch, one arm hanging down, fingers twitching lightly.

Y/N stayed awake.

She watched the rain start to fall on the balcony. Watched the glass reflect the flickering lights of a world that would keep moving in the morning.

She wanted to speak.

She wanted to reach for him.

But something—fear, guilt, maybe timing—held her still.

When the sun rose, she woke up with a blanket draped over her shoulders, her wine glass tipped on its side.

Tony was asleep in the armchair, snoring softly, face turned away from her.

Neither of them said a word about that night.

And neither of them ever truly forgot.

Present Day– The Quinjet

As the engine rumbled beneath them, Tony sat in silence.

His fingers tapped restlessly against his knee, his gaze distant.

He didn’t see the bruise Wanda had seen.

Didn’t see the winces Y/N had tried to hide.

Didn’t hear the crack in her voice when she said, “I’m just tired.”

But now, the silence was louder than any alarm he could invent.

He glanced at his phone again.

Still nothing.

Still gone.

Still silence.

And this time, he was afraid of what that meant.

___

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting the tower in a warm orange glow as the quinjet touched down on the private landing pad. The mission had been grueling—a high-speed intercept in the Mojave desert, explosions, a collapsing facility, and a few bruised egos—but overall, a win. Still, Tony Stark’s mind wasn’t on the victory.

It hadn’t been on the mission either.

It was on her.

Two days. Forty-eight hours of silence from the one person who never once left him hanging. Not a text. Not a call. Not even a passive-aggressive sticky note on his coffee machine. Y/N L/N was the most dependable person in his world—and now, she’d vanished.

The moment Tony set foot in the hangar, he peeled off his gloves and called out, “FRIDAY, is Y/N back at the tower?”

“Negative, sir. No activity on her keycard. Last record still shows her exiting the premises three days ago.”

Tony clenched his jaw. “Ping her phone again. Last known location?”

“Still off. Last ping was from her apartment.”

He was already halfway to the elevator before Natasha called out behind him, “Tony, where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

Everyone knew.

He had just stepped into the elevator when the familiar chime sounded—and the doors opened before he could press a floor.

And there she was.

Y/N.

Wearing a pale blue long-sleeved blouse that clung to her too-thin frame, dark jeans, and—of all things—a deep red scarf wrapped around her neck. In the middle of a New York summer. Sweat lined her brow, and her lips were pale.

But it was her eyes that stopped Tony’s heart.

They were empty.

Not tired, not distant.

Lifeless.

“Y/N,” he breathed, stepping forward. His voice was quiet, stunned, but laced with relief. “You’re here.”

Without thinking, without planning, Tony closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her. He felt her flinch, just barely, before she melted into him for half a second.

Then, just as quickly, she stepped back.

He caught her wrist gently, confused, but she didn’t look up.

“I’m resigning,” she said coldly.

The words hit like a sucker punch.

“What?” Tony blinked, not sure if he’d heard her correctly. “What do you mean, you’re— No. You don’t resign. That’s not… what are you talking about?”

“I’m leaving, Tony,” she said flatly. “Effective immediately.”

His heart thundered in his chest. “Why?”

She didn’t answer. She stared at the far wall, hands clenched tightly by her sides.

“Y/N,” he said again, gently. “If this is about something I did, or said, or didn’t do—please, talk to me. Just… just look at me.”

Still, she said nothing.

“Y/N,” his voice cracked, “please.”

Her lips trembled slightly. And then she turned—finally turned—and met his gaze.

The words she said next were sharp. Cold. Cruel.

“I never cared about you, Tony.”

His world tilted.

“I used you,” she continued, each word deliberate, slicing through his chest like a blade. “For the fame. The money. The access. That’s all.”

“No,” he whispered. “That’s not true.”

“You were never my friend,” she added. “I pretended. Because it was easy. Because being close to you made things easier for me.”

Tears welled in his eyes, hot and unchecked. “Why are you saying this? Why are you—?”

“Because it’s the truth,” she snapped. But her voice broke at the last word.

Tony reached for her, his hand trembling. “Don’t. Don’t do this. Please. We’ve been through everything together. You—You’re not just my assistant, you’re my—” He swallowed hard. “You’re my person, Y/N. You don’t get to walk away and say none of it mattered.”

“I already did,” she said softly.

The elevator doors slid open behind her, and she stepped back.

“Goodbye, Tony.”

The doors began to close, but not before he saw it—the way her lip quivered, the way her fingers curled tightly at her sides to stop the shaking.

Then she was gone.

And Tony stood there in the empty hallway, heart splintering in his chest, breath ragged.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Inside the Elevator

Y/N pressed her back against the wall the moment the doors sealed shut. Her knees buckled.

The sob came without warning—a strangled sound caught in her throat. She buried her face in her hands as tears poured down her cheeks.

Every word she’d spoken had been a lie. A necessary, brutal lie.

Because if Tony knew the truth—if he saw the bruises, the pain, the shame—he would never let her go. And she couldn’t bear the thought of dragging him into her own shattered world.

He deserved better.

He deserved peace.

Even if that peace meant breaking his heart.

___

Flashback: The Promise

Snow fell quietly in Malibu that night, incredibly rare,blanketing the coastal cliffs and rooftops in an uncharacteristic silence. The usual crashing of waves was softened under the hush of the storm. Inside the Stark estate, everything felt unnaturally still—like the world had stopped spinning for just one night. A fire crackled in the living room, casting flickers of amber light against the tall windows and polished hardwood floors.

Tony Stark sat on the floor, his back slouched against the couch, a half-empty bottle of scotch cradled loosely in one hand. His tie was undone, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes red-rimmed. The grief hung off his shoulders like lead, pulling him down into a place even his genius couldn’t reason his way out of.

Y/N sat beside him, cross-legged, silent, her gaze not on the fire but on him. Her heart ached in her chest watching him like that—hollowed out by loss, broken in a way she had never seen before. The confident, witty, larger-than-life Tony Stark was gone. In his place sat a grieving son who looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“They didn’t even call,” Tony murmured, the words barely audible over the fire’s pop. His voice was raw, like it had been scraped thin by hours of silence. “Not a message. Not even a damn voicemail.”

Y/N didn’t interrupt. She knew better than to fill the quiet with empty reassurances.

“I hated him,” Tony said suddenly, a sharp edge cutting through the stillness. “My dad. Howard. He was cold. Distant. Always more interested in his work than in me. I spent my whole life trying to get his approval. And now… now he’s just gone.”

She reached out, gently taking the glass from his hand before it could slip. “tony—”

“I didn’t want him to die,” Tony snapped, pain flickering across his face. “I just wanted him to see me.”

His voice cracked at the end, and that’s when it happened—he broke.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his shoulders trembled as sobs tore their way out of him. His grief was messy, unfiltered, and real. He was just Tony. A son who had lost his parents and didn’t know how to carry the weight of that silence.

Y/N shifted closer, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into her chest like she was trying to shield him from the world. He buried his face into her shoulder, trembling against her warmth. Her fingers threaded through his hair, soothing, soft.

“They always left,” he whispered hoarsely. “Meetings. Events. Work. They were never there. And now they’re never coming back. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“I’m here,” she said, her voice a gentle promise against the firelight.

Tony’s breathing hitched. “I keep losing people. Everyone I love… they leave. They always leave.”

She leaned back just enough to take his face in her hands. Her thumbs wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks, and her eyes—glassy but firm—met his with quiet determination.

“Not me,” she said.

His brows furrowed slightly, like he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

“I’m not leaving, Tony. I don’t care how many board meetings you blow off or how many bad headlines you rack up. I don’t care if you push everyone else away or build a fortress around yourself—I will still be here.”

His gaze locked with hers, searching for a catch, for a reason not to believe it. But there was only sincerity, unwavering and honest.

“I promise you,” she said, her voice trembling but strong, “no matter what happens, I will never leave you.”

Something in him softened. Something fragile. He exhaled slowly, his face still damp, and leaned his forehead against hers.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to,” she said. “You just have to let me stay.”

Present day- Y/n’s Apartment

The apartment was dark.

Not the kind of dark that comes from turning off the lights—but the kind that settles deep into the walls, into the air, into the skin. It was a suffocating stillness that wrapped itself around every sound, dulling it, burying it.

Y/N stood in the kitchen with trembling hands as she tried to wash the dishes from dinner. The water was warm, but her hands felt ice cold. Her knuckles were red from how tightly she gripped the sponge. Her back ached. Her cheek throbbed. Her stomach still curled every time she heard the sound of Atlas’ footsteps pacing behind her.

He had been in a mood since the moment she returned from the Tower that day—furious that she had gone back at all. Furious that she had looked Tony in the eye when she quit. Furious that she dared to breathe without his permission.

“You think I don’t know what’s going on?” Atlas’ voice was calm. Too calm. It was the kind of calm that came before the storm. “You think I don’t see the way he looks at you? Like you’re some kind of prize? You think I’m stupid?”

Y/N said nothing. Her silence only made it worse.

“I told you not to go back there. I told you, Y/N,” Atlas growled, stalking toward her. “But you don’t listen, do you?”

“I only went to say goodbye,” she whispered.

“That’s not your job anymore!” he bellowed, slamming his hand down on the countertop. The dish in her hand shattered. She flinched hard.

Atlas grabbed her by the arm. “I told you—no more work. No more Stark. No more Tower. You stay home. You stay here. With me. That’s how it’s going to be.”

“You can’t control my life,” she said, trying to pull away. “You don’t own me.”

He yanked her forward until their faces were inches apart. His voice dropped to a poisonous whisper. “You think I can’t touch him? I know who he is. I know who all of them are. That precious little team of yours—you think they’re untouchable? You think I can’t get to them?”

Her blood ran cold.

“You’d hurt Tony?” she asked, voice barely a breath.

“If it means keeping you in line?” He grinned cruelly. “Try me.”

That was it. That was the breaking point.

Y/N spun toward the counter, her fingers grasping desperately for the knife she’d used to chop vegetables earlier. Her chest heaved. Her vision blurred. Her survival instincts screamed louder than her fear.

“Don’t,” she warned as he stepped toward her.

He didn’t stop.

She raised the knife.

Atlas lunged.

He grabbed her wrist and twisted it so hard she thought something snapped. The blade clattered to the floor. He shoved her backward, sending her crashing into the cabinet. Pain shot through her spine as she slumped to the floor.

“You stupid bitch,” he seethed, and kicked her in the ribs.

She gasped, curled in on herself.

His hand fisted in her hair, yanking her up. She cried out, trying to claw at his arms.

He raised his fist—

Knock knock knock.

They both froze.

“Who the hell—” Atlas whispered.

Knock knock knock.

Y/N’s heart stopped. She knew that knock.

Atlas let go of her, shoving her hard to the ground. “Don’t make a sound,” he hissed, dragging her across the floor toward the pantry.

“No—no, don’t—”

He threw her in and slammed the door, locking it from the outside. “Stay quiet. You say one word, and I’ll make you regret ever being born.”

She sobbed silently in the dark.

The front door opened.

“Hey,” Atlas said cheerfully. “Tony, right?”

Tony stood in the doorway, frowning. “Where’s Y/N?”

Atlas chuckled. “She’s not here. Out getting groceries or something. I can tell her you stopped by—”

But then Tony heard it.

A scream. Muffled. From inside.

His blood ran cold.

“What the hell was that?”

Atlas tried to close the door on him, but Tony shoved it wide open and stormed inside. “Where the fuck is she?”

“I told you she’s not—”

Tony punched him. Hard. Atlas stumbled back, spitting blood.

Tony didn’t stop.

He grabbed Atlas by the collar and slammed him into the wall. “Where. Is. She?”

Atlas fought back, swinging wildly. Tony took a blow to the side of the head but barely flinched. Rage had consumed him. He tackled Atlas to the ground. They wrestled—grunts, fists, blood.

Then Tony saw it.

A smear of red near the pantry door.

He turned and ran.

“Y/N!” he shouted, voice cracking.

The door was locked. He kicked it once. Twice. The third time, the wood splintered and burst open.

There she was.

Curled up in the corner. Blood on her lip. Her scarf pulled loose, revealing the dark bruise that spread across her neck and collarbone. Her wrists were scraped. Her knees were trembling.

“Oh god,” Tony breathed, rushing to her.

“Tony,” she whimpered, her body trembling as his arms wrapped around her.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, holding her tightly. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She broke.

The dam inside her shattered, and she sobbed into his chest, her fists clutching his shirt. Tony kissed the top of her head and whispered every word of comfort he could think of.

“It’s over. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her gently. Then, without another word, he lifted her into his arms—bridal style, cradling her against his chest like she was made of glass. He didn’t even look at Atlas on the floor, groaning and bloody.

He didn’t need to.

“I’m taking her home,” he told the shadows.

And then he left—carrying the one person who had always carried him.

___

The sliding doors to the med bay hissed open, revealing the bloodied mess of Tony Stark’s shirt, though none of it was his. Y/N lay unconscious in his arms, a painful contrast to the woman who used to stride through these halls with grace, sarcasm, and a coffee cup always in hand. She looked so small now. So fragile.

Bruce was already there, alerted the moment Tony’s voice cracked over the Tower comms.

“Help her,” Tony whispered, his throat raw, eyes bloodshot. “Just—please, help her.”

Bruce nodded, gently guiding Tony to lay Y/N down on the sterile bed. Machines came alive, monitors flickered, and a soft whirring filled the room. Natasha and Wanda arrived a moment later, their expression unreadable as they took in Y/N’s bruised face and split lip. Her eyes flicked to Tony’s trembling hands, still speckled with her blood.

“She’ll be okay,” Bruce said after a few minutes. “She’s got a concussion and a fractured rib, some internal bruising. But she’ll heal.”

Tony didn’t move. He just stood there, fists clenched, jaw tight. His eyes hadn’t left Y/N once.

Hours passed.

She finally stirred beneath the pale white sheets. Her eyelids fluttered like a breeze barely nudging a curtain. Tony, who had been sitting beside her with his head bowed and hands folded like he was praying, sat up straight.

“Y/N?” he whispered.

She blinked slowly, as though reality was too much to take in at once. Her lips parted, cracked and dry.

“Tony…?” Her voice was hoarse.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here,” he said, moving closer to the bed, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead with a touch so gentle it nearly broke him.

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, as if trying to remember how she got there—but then the pain returned to her face, and she looked away.

“I—I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she said softly.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through this at all,” he replied, his voice cracking. “God, Y/N… why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was protecting you,” she muttered, her eyes fixed on the blanket.

Tony’s face twisted in pain. “From what? Him? He’s nothing. He’s no one.”

“No, you don’t understand…” Y/N closed her eyes, tears slipping out, tracking through the bruises on her cheek. “He said if I told anyone… if I tried to leave, he’d hurt you. Or your friends. He made me believe he could.”

“You were scared,” Tony said, trying to hold himself together. “You shouldn’t have had to handle that alone.”

“I thought I was strong enough,” she whispered. “I thought I could take it if it meant you were safe. But every day, it got harder to breathe… and then you kept looking at me with so much concern and I—God, I hated lying to you.”

Tony reached for her hand, slowly, letting her decide. When her fingers curled around his, he felt something in him crack and realign.

“I thought I lost you,” he said quietly. “When you walked into the Tower and said you were quitting… I—I didn’t know how to breathe.”

She looked up at him, her lip trembling. “I didn’t mean any of those things I said to you.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it still broke me.”

“I’m sorry,” she choked.

Tony stood, leaning in close, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

“You remember that night after my parents died?” he asked softly. “You sat with me all night. Promised you’d never leave me.”

Y/N nodded, the memory like a shard of sunlight through storm clouds.

“You didn’t break that promise,” he said. “You were taken from me. There’s a difference.”

“But I still hurt you.”

“And I still love you. Since the day you called me ‘Mr.Flirtbot 3000.’ in the rain that day.” Tony replied instantly.

Y/N froze.

He looked down, then met her gaze again, eyes swimming with vulnerability. “I never told you. I was afraid I’d ruin what we had. But now I know—I ruined it by staying silent. And I swear to you, I will never stop fighting for you. Never again.”

She bit her lip, a sob threatening to escape, but instead she whispered, “I love you too, Tony.”

A tear slipped down his cheek. “Say it again.”

“I love you, you stupid genius,” she laughed through her tears. “You, with your lab, your coffee addiction, your Flirtbot 3000 smile… all of it.”

Tony leaned in slowly, as if asking for permission. She nodded. Their lips met, soft and shaky and filled with years of unsaid things.

When they pulled apart, Tony tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and whispered, “You’re home now. You’re safe.”

Y/N smiled weakly, her fingers lacing through his once more. “Stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

(Outside the med bay, the Avengers watched through the glass window in silence.)

Steve let out a slow breath. “Took them long enough.”

Natasha smirked faintly. “Better late than never.”

It had been three weeks since that night. Three weeks since Tony had kicked Atlas’s face in and carried Y/N, battered and trembling, out of the shadows and back into the light.

In that time, the bruises faded. The physical ones, anyway.

The emotional ones took longer.

But Y/N was healing. She started smiling again. Not the kind she wore like a mask, but real ones. They started small—hesitant, like a sunrise peeking over the edge of her world—but they grew.

Tony never left her side. Not once.

She stayed in the Tower, per Bruce’s recommendation. Pepper had flown in to help with logistics, giving Tony and Y/N space, while also handling damage control on the PR front—especially when footage of Tony Stark charging into a civilian apartment like a man on fire had nearly gone viral.

Still, none of that mattered.

Because Y/N was safe.

And slowly, steadily, the Tony who had once buried his feelings beneath sarcasm and machinery was learning how to just… be with her.

They had fallen into a rhythm—late night conversations, meals on the Tower balcony, stolen smiles during mission briefings. Y/N had rejoined the administrative side of the team. Not as his assistant—never again—but as herself. Advisor. Strategist. Member of the family.

But today, something felt different.

Tony had spent all morning fidgeting. He called it “updating FRIDAY’s interface,” but everyone in the Tower knew better.

“Just ask her already,” Wanda told him as she passed him in the lab. “Before you start short-circuiting yourself.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Because she was right.

(That evening)

The rooftop garden of the Tower glowed beneath the soft wash of fairy lights. Tony had set up dinner—quiet, private, overlooking the city skyline. The kind of evening that didn’t need grandeur to feel special.

Y/N stood across from him in a simple navy dress, her hair soft around her face. She looked… peaceful. Still. Strong.

“You’ve been staring at me for five straight minutes, Stark,” she teased, lifting her wine glass. “You short-circuiting again?”

Tony gave a crooked smile. “Maybe. Can’t help it when you look like that.”

She rolled her eyes but blushed.

“I have something I want to ask you,” he said, voice gentler now.

She tilted her head. “Okay…”

He rubbed the back of his neck like a nervous teenager. “I know we’ve been dancing around the… labels thing, but I wanted to say it. Out loud. Properly. I want you to be my girlfriend, Y/N. Officially. Publicly. Shamelessly. And also selfishly. I want to be able to say you’re mine.”

Her breath caught. Her smile faltered for a second—just a second—and then returned, brighter than ever.

“God, you’re such a sap,” she whispered.

“And yet here you are, in love with me,” he replied smugly.

She stepped closer. “Yeah. I am.”

“So… is that a yes?”

Y/N cupped his face with both hands and kissed him. Long, slow, certain.

When she pulled back, she whispered, “Yes. I’m yours, Tony. Always have been.”

___

The sun had long since set over the New York skyline, casting a faint orange hue over the towers of Manhattan. Inside Tony’s private suite at the tower, a gentle hum played from the speakers, some soft jazz he’d queued without really thinking—something soothing, warm.

Y/N stood by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, wearing one of Tony’s button-down shirts. It fell to her mid-thigh, sleeves rolled sloppily to her elbows, collar loose and teasing the curve of her collarbone. Her hair was down, still damp from the shower, her legs bare and chilled by the cool air, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Tony had been watching her from the bed, silently, his heart beating far too loudly in his ears. There was something about seeing her in his space, in his shirt, standing barefoot against the glass, that made everything real. Not a fantasy. Not a dream. Real.

She turned to him, catching him staring.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” she said, walking slowly toward him, her voice low and teasing. “That’s not like you.”

Tony let out a short breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Just… taking you in.”

She stepped between his knees, her hands on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve seen me a hundred times.”

“Not like this.”

There was something in his voice—deeper, rawer—that made her pulse flutter. He reached up and brushed his knuckles down her cheek, then along her neck, his touch light but electrifying. He took his time, letting his fingers slide along the curve of her waist, over the hem of the shirt she wore, where his name was still stitched on the pocket.

“I’ve imagined this,” he murmured. “But none of it came close.”

Her breath hitched, lips parting, her eyes dark with emotion—and need. She climbed onto the bed slowly, straddling his lap, her thighs on either side of his hips. Her hands moved into his hair, tugging gently as she leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was nothing like the first they shared weeks ago.

This one was slow but laced with hunger. It was heat and history, pain and promise. Tony’s hands slid down her back, gripping her tightly, pulling her flush against him. He groaned into her mouth, feeling every inch of her pressed against him, and it nearly unraveled him.

He kissed her like he was starved for her—and in a way, he was. Starved for her warmth, her skin, her voice, her body.

She unbuttoned his shirt slowly, one button at a time, dragging her fingertips over the revealed skin, kissing each new inch of him. He sucked in a sharp breath when her lips found the spot just below his collarbone, the place no one had touched in years.

“God, Y/N,” he whispered hoarsely, cupping her face and pulling her up to meet his eyes. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want you,” she said, voice heavy with need. “I want all of you. Every inch.”

That was all it took.

They moved together with rising urgency, the room filling with soft gasps and low moans. Clothes fell away between kisses and caresses—her shirt slipped from her shoulders, his hands worshipping every part of her as if memorizing her body.

When they finally came together, it was more than just physical—it was desperate, breathless, and holy. Their bodies aligned in a rhythm that felt written in their stars, hands tangled, lips never far apart. He whispered her name over and over again, his voice breaking with emotion, while she moaned his into his ear, gripping him as though afraid he might disappear.

They didn’t speak for a long time afterward, just laid tangled in the sheets, his arms around her, her head on his chest.

“You’re mine now, right?” Tony finally said, breathless, a grin tugging at his lips. “Officially?”

She chuckled, lifting her head just enough to look at him. “I was yours the moment you started calling me at 2 a.m. to ask if I remembered where you left your socks.”

He laughed softly, pulling her back down to him. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

She kissed his chest, right above his heart. “And I’m so in love with you, Tony Stark.”

As the night went on, they stayed wrapped up in each other—exploring, kissing, laughing, loving again. Not just once. Not just in need. But in joy, trust, and home.

And together they said:

“I love you 3000…..”

-the end

[judasgot-it]

Kaldo Dating Headcanons

Some nsfw themes ig sorry </3

He's both a stereotypical conservative "we have to court before we're married" type of guy

And also a bit of a freak

Will take his girl to a really nice party and then will also lick honey off of her toes bro is a certified FREAK

Had to put it out there. I refuse to believe he's vanilla lmao

Rich people are always the freakiest out there. Kaldo is no exception bro is 100% into that weird shit

I think he's a good boyfriend though, just a little weird about gender roles and probably messy as hell

He cooks but I dont think he cleans all too well. Bro grew up from generational wealth and inherited a powerful sword, cleaning is the last thing on his mind

Sorry to his girlfriend he can get better bro just kinda is used to the rich lifestyle and not having to do shit for himself

He 100% will do a whole bunch of random social rules the rich and old use when it comes to dating. For some reason, they work

Like "make sure you go on a date once a month" and "tell her you love her" kind of bullshit. I think Kaldo is a good guy and would not fumble a baddie.

Some don't. He once took his girl to a place his parents liked to go when they were courting and it was so boring they both cried

He also sends an ungodly amount of letters. You'd think he likes writing poetry more than he likes his girlfriend sometimes

He just misses her when he's away :(

Is actually really weird and will have a photo of her by him when he's eating if she isnt there. Yes even at meetings. Now Ryoh does it, because he deems it as a contest to see who loves their partner more

Bro talks about her as if thats his wife he's known for years when they've only courted for like a month or two. Everyone is sick of his ass bro is like 27 acting like he's 12

For some reason likes her magic more than his own. Like, he'll avoid using his as much as possible but this idiot is going to ask her to use a spell at the slightest convenience

Brags about it. He thinks her magic is really cool, even if she doesn't really care for it

Would 100% help her improve too. He's technically a teacher, so he really just can't help it

Bro tries to argue and give advice over stupid things, cause that's just his thing, but he gives up usually

Learned to just make her food. Does it silently too, she wont even notice that he's feeding her while shes sobbing about some random shit she saw while walking home

Food is probably their love language in the relationship. they can almost breakup but dinner would fix it no problem

Hungry ahhhh bastards over here

[sizzlingcoffeequeen]

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

Just thinking about having older boyfriend

The genius, billionaire, philanthropist, superhero, and ofcourse retired playboy

Tony stark he was 44 year's old with his sweet, beautiful,gorgeous of a girlfriend of 29 year's old, yeah it was a 15 year old age gap but you both won't have it in any other way. You have been in a very steady and happy relationship of 4 years and he has been nothing but a gentleman (and a daddy behind the closed doors of your bedroom).

You were epitome of energy with also being a well known certified yapper obviously, and Tony oh lord he was just happy to hear you babble yeah most of the time all the word's would sound like pingpong in his head, oh but baby don't let that fool you.

Because he would always remember anything you said you liked or you were thinking of trying, and all the important things , he knew all the aniversary ofcourse and he won't just give you a half assed letter but baby he would splurge and throw a extravaganza party or even take you for vacation on a private island , you may ask why?..... because obviously he can and he knew how to treat you like a lady who should be cherished and worshiped as the goddess she is so obviously he won't back down.

Just as their was this age gap he was a busy man but he would always have time for his sunshine "you don't love me anymore" you said sadness dripping from your tone as you stood their at the doorway of his study as he was sitting behind his desk doing some work on his hologram for God knows hours, but only for him to look at you with the warmth he hold in his eyes his gaze softening seeing you stand their grumpily complaining oh god you didn't even try and was being so cute how could he dare not loving you as he gesture you to come in and patted his lap for you to take a seat, you scrambled your way in trying very hard to stay put and be mad at him.

But only for that bastard to pull you instantly on his lap cradling him and to pepper soft gentle kisses all over your neck and behind your ear at that damn stupid sweet spot which he knew very well that makes you squeal and blush like a freaking red tomato all the time "sweetheart how could you think that i can even dare to do such foul crime of not loving you, I'm sorry for getting stuck here" he said sweetly with the edge of teasing and playfullness in his tone which he used only for you and you only know this side of him as his beard slightly brushing against your soft skin around your neck as that man was just showering you with kisses and soft bites making you squeal and Jerk oh you could already sense that irresistible smirk playing on his lips knowing exactly that he was breaking the walls which you never able to hold for long aswell " I'm still very much mad at you, that sorry of yours and that charm isn't gonna work this time old man" you said firmly to not let your guards down easily not this time he just titled his head to look at you with amusement with that Calm and soft smile oh lord how is he able to do that only for him to cup her face with his hands his thumb gently crassing her bottom lip as he looked at her "so it's not a easy way out for me this time sunshine" he asked sweetly as your brain just malfunction to remember to put out words and basically just shook your head indicating no.

"Ahh........nuh......" you gasped biting your lower lip trying not to make noises to give him satisfaction as your mind was already turned mushy your eyes went hazey as the noise of your wetness dripping down your pussy filled with room as his fingers were moving in sync nice and slowly in and out of you dripping hole as your legs were spread wide open as he held you nicely snuggly into his lap you back press against his chest as he kept murmuring sweet nothings in your ears praising "that's it sweetheart, you're doing so well",

"look at you baby so wet for me m'so proud of darling,"

"shh... it's alright let it go cum for me sweetheart " he coaxed you with soothing words making it feel even more sexy as you were getting even more wet , you were sure you were staining his pants but for Tony he didn't care less about that as he was just looking forward to pleasure and apologise his sweetheart properly. "m'still- ahh ..... still mad.......mad at you" you babbled trying to manage to speak out the words inbetween your moaning and whimpering which you were trying so hard but god was he doing magic with his fingers and those sweet words as you didn't even remember to hold count of how many times you came after 3rd time. "that's why I'm asking for forgiveness sweetheart " he mumbled softly against your lips kissing you making you gasp as he swallowed your sweet moans and his fingers never stopped working their way out and hitting that gummy spot every single time making you see star's as you reached your peak one more time as you came undone against his fingers your body went limp as if the bones never even existed as he slowly withdraw his fingers making you whimper softly after the sudden emptiness as he brought the fingers to his lips licking them nice and clean while looking at you with love and warmth with the usual hint of mischief that never left his eyes "umm..... just like i expected sweetheart you're tasting like the sweet nectar i remembered" he said smoothly making you hide your face in the crook of his neck only for him to cuddle you closer comforting after all the orgasam he pulled out of you.

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

[oros-ash3s]

₊ ˚ ⭒ 𓆩✦𓆪 Sibling Questionnaire 𓆩✦𓆪 ⊹ ˚₊

✧ Who looks more like their dad? ✧

Out of the three of them, Elmira is the only one who has her dad present in her life. Crow was the bastard child of the family, the product of an 4-year affair their mother had with a commoner, while Aurora was adopted into the family when she was young. Which leaves Elmira as the only one who closely resembles their father, with his sharp nose, dark red hair, and pale skin.

✧ Who looks more like their mom? ✧

Crow looks much more like his mother than Elmira does, at least he used to, anyway. It’s a fact that he hated growing up, especially because it didn’t make his “father” any more sympathetic to him.

✧ Who eats the most? ✧

To be honest, none of them. The three of them have developed horrendous eating habits, all of them eating as little as possible. Though, when compared to her younger siblings, Elmira makes sure to eat at least one decent meal per day.

✧ Who has been in the weirdest situations? ✧

Definitely Crow. Having left home when he was only a teenager, he ran into quite a few odd people during his time on the streets. Elmira and Aurora both had very structured, orderly lives under their father’s command, which left them with not much room to get into weird situations.

✧ Who sleeps the most? ✧

Elmira, which isn’t saying a lot, seeing as Crow can’t sleep and Aurora is the definition of a workaholic.

✧ Who has the most stable romantic life? ✧

Crow, who actually has the experience for that statement to be true. Both Elmira and Aurora have never had the time to date, even if they wanted to.

✧ What is the worst habit of each? ✧

Elmira is easily persuaded by others, and doesn’t follow her gut instinct, instead just following along with the orders she’s given.

Crow is extremely defensive and apathetic, especially to those he doesn’t care for. He always puts himself first, because he’s the only person he can truly count on.

Aurora is angry and driven by rage. She sacrifices her health, her mental well-being, her relationships, all in the search of revenge.

✧ Who is the most dramatic? ✧

Aurora, who also loses her shit over practically any inconvenience.

✧ Who had the weirdest phase? ✧

Probably Aurora, who had a full-fledged emo phase as a teen.

✧ Who is the best cook in the family? ✧

Elmira is the best, and can cook quite well. She made many meals for Crow and Aurora while growing up. Both Crow and Aurora are terrible cooks.

✧ What is their best memory together? ✧

Though there are not many memories the three of them can name as happy, there are a few that they have as children that they all look back fondly on.

✧ What is their worst memory together? ✧

The day that Crow left — the day the three of them recognize as his death. After he disappeared, everything only got worse at the Koroleva estate.

✧ What is their dream trip together? ✧

Nowhere.

✧ Would you rather: Not be able to shower OR not be able to change clothes? ✧

Elmira: “I’m not extremely particular to fashion if it comes at the expense of my personal hygiene, so I’d say…. change clothes.”

Crow: “Shower. No question about it.”

Aurora: “Shower.”

✧ Who's older? ✧

Elmira is the oldest out of the three!!

✧ Describe each other in three words. ✧

Elmira: “Z… I mean, my brother, is caring, empathetic, and resilient. Aurora is hard-headed, determined, and goal-oriented.”

Crow: “Elmira? Stuck-up, small-minded, and ‘family-oriented’.” [He sneers the last word and laughs.] “And Aurora, hmm… Naive, hot-headed, and stubborn — as fucking hell.”

Aurora: “Elmira is bossy, responsible, and closed-off. And that… traitor?” [Her expression twists up in obvious distaste, eyes border-lining hatred.] “Dangerous, savage, and disgusting.”

✧ Who's their role model? ✧

Elmira: “I don’t have one that I can think of.”

Crow: “Myself.”

Aurora: “Father.”

✧ Who usually has the worst ideas? ✧

Elmira. I don’t even need to say anything else.

✧ Who is the certified "Bug Killer"? ✧

Aurora is DEATHLY afraid of bugs, ironically enough, considering what she does for work, and always has Elmira kill them for her. Crow likes chewing on whatever bugs he sees lying around.

⟢⠀ ty for the tag @seastarblue, as per usual ^^

I already did this on my alt account @dioles-writes, but I thought I’d also do another one here!! this may or may not have been my attempt at soft-dropping my new WIP, with the three most complicated siblings ever: Elmira (she/her), Crow (he/him), and Aurora (she/her).

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

taglist || @seastarblue @vesanal @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @bioniclechronicles @ohagi505 @lostcryptidinthewoods @lancedoncrimsonwings @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @whump-till-ya-jump @sharkblizzardblogs @sugaredparchment @fangedcinnamonroll

[verdemoun]

What if Mac and Davey survived their respective deaths (blood loss/freezing and beating)? I know theyd both be pretty screwed after going through that but still-

Also my headcanon is that before Kieran, one of the Callenders was the gang’s stable boy, so would that change things for Kieran?

When they go to put the coins on Davey's eyes, he splutters, says 'i ain't dead yet, bastards' and proceeded to lay there looking very close to dead for the rest of the Colter chapter. John gets some company while he's recovering from the wolf attack. And first time Davey can stand he's straight back to 'we need to find Mac', arguing the gang are more than fit enough to ride back into Blackwater.

Horseshoe Overlook happens as normal, except with Micah seeming extra annoying after his rescue because he now has the echo-chamber support of Davey 'yeah let's just ride back into Blackwater! We got Sean, didn't we? The money and Mac can't be that hard to find.'

Davey is also definitely not above egging on Bill when it comes to tormenting Kieran, because a) he doesn't need a reason to hate an O'Driscoll and b) maybe if Bill has a new toy he'll stop hanging out with Mac so much when they get Mac back.

Arthur, begged by Abigail, takes Jack fishing. Instead of a couple of men showing up dressed like they was from the city, a very bloody, black and blue with bruises Mac Callander calls to them from over the river, and is so weak he nearly drowns trying to wade through the knee-deep water to them. Sorry Jack, you're not escaping traumatic fishing trips.

Mac doesn't get the Sean Macguire miraculous recovery. It's slow, and torturous. Grimshaw, Strauss and Swanson speak in hushed tones about the possibility of needing to amputate his arm: a displaced fracture making Mac scream in pain at the slightest movement. And they've seen Mac walk off being shot before. To see him this physically broken is sickeningly wrong.

Davey's off working every job he can to get the money for better medicine, stronger drugs: definitely not because he can't stand seeing his brother in that state.

Bill doesn't leave Mac's beside, telling him he's gonna be fine, updating him on what's happened since Blackwater. John got attacked by wolves, they ran into the O'Driscolls and picked up the Adler woman with that mad look in her eye, killed some O'Driscolls, picked up a scrawny little O'Driscoll crybaby named Kieran, but he saved Arthur's life so he's paying off his outstanding debts to society looking after the horses.

Mac scoffs, but softens a little hearing the horses weren't neglected in his absence. Mac Callander is a certified horse girl, and with only limited social skills without a few beers in system, the horses had been part of his responsibility. When his babysitters let their guard down he immediately hobbles his way over, and his precious chestnut Tennessee walker Mace nearly tramples Kieran in the process of trotting over to greet his rider.

While tossing a few threats in and scaring the hell out of one Kieran Duffy, who still found a way to be intimidated by a man who looked on the verge of passing out from walking a dozen yards, Mac takes a seat on one of the many rocks in the clearing and starts correcting Kieran's horsemanship. Don't walk that close Baylock unless you want to die. Brown Jack needs to be fed separate because he's a bully. Old Boy's skittish on his left side, but if you approach from the right he'll let you catch him and then hitch him to a post for brushing.

Horsegirl to horsegirl communication takes over. Kieran recognises one of his own: only someone who loves horses would bother knowing all the gang's horses names, and their quirks. Mac is pleasantly surprised how little he needs to correct about Kieran's horsemanship, scrutinizing the polished saddles and admitting he did at least as good a job as he would.

Mac is respected enough within the gang that when he barks at Kieran to get something to eat, because he needs his strength up if he expects to take care of the horses on his own, no one challenges it. The only things Mac knows is robbing, shooting, and being an overprotective big brother. Two of those are off the table for the forseeable future, and with Davey sneaking off with Micah at every opportunity all those big ol' protective instincts are now being directed at fellow horsegirl, Kieran Duffy.

Bill has his Mac back and chills out. Davey ends up going to the Downes Ranch instead of Arthur. Kieran gets an honorary place as fill-in Mac, which gains him a smidge of respect. No Horsemen Apocalypse, no Arthur dying, Davey shoots Micah for being a rat but passes away peacefully surrounded by his found family, and by 1907 Bill and Mac have taken over Hanging Dog Ranch as actual ranchers with Kieran still a stableboy because Mac never recovered enough strength in his arm do it all on his own. Rip Davey you had to die for science.

[tyxaar]

WHO BUILT THE ETHO STATUES????

Tyx's investigation/analysis of the info we have as of 05-4-2024

Two (2) mysterious statues of Etho appeared by Joel's gate. Nobody so far has fessed up to placing them, Etho and Joel both say they did not add them, but let's consider the evidence and most likely candidates, split up depending on identity.

Ethogirl Pranksters

In this first category we have Gem and/or Scar. They're both certified boat boys shippers and would find it very funny to put those statues there. This is all the evidence we have so far, but considering the fact that they're both Joel's neighbours it's not a bad place to start.

Mr. Joel Smallbeans

This is the least likely option in my opinion. He's outright denied building them and it seems like a prank rather than a bit done by himself.

The sneaky ones

Here we have Grian and Cub. Both of them are known pranksters who like to play around with the mystery aspect and hiding who actually did the prank. Thinking back now particularly to how Cub only fessed up to the Jingler bit 5 years after season 6, this is absolutely something at least one or both of them would do. Also they're both neighbours with Joel and Etho respectively.

Someone else

They thought it was funny lol. I'm thinking maybe Pearl, Impulse, or another neighbour. I don't have any actual evidence or ideas of why, but we have to consider all possibilities here.

Etho himself

Yeah this is my top pick personally, even though having someone else do it would be funnier. Etho can be a sneaky gaslighting bastard at times and has pulled some crazy shit before (thinking Shade-e-s) so yeah, building statues of himself and pinning it on Joel is surprisingly likely.

[ochitea]

i love your ocs, i think my fav is lucia :) what is some of your fav parts about each of your ocs?🤔 i know its a lot to ask, but im curious for most of the primary folder.. 😅

o wow that is a very tall order bc there are 18 profiles in that folder (20 ocs in total bc prudence got multiple ocs), n half of em are hidden unless u got a toyhouse account. a lot of em dont even have up-to-date info T0TTT

but i did all of em in order so have fun reading all of this shit

lucy - this one is hard,, the fact that he's so unapologetically self-indulgent? a certified bastard n slut? w/ so much hidden angst bc of his past selves?? he's just so flexible. also tits.

alura - the fact that shes the polar opposite of lucy. she's just so endearing to me bc she has so much of myself, much like lucy. u go girl give us ur lack of confidence

hana - she just carries a lot of my anger n inner self, so she means a lot to me in that regard. also her story parallels farris's story n i find that interesting. havent gotten the chance to rlly explore it tho

lucia - she wants love but she doesnt know how to love- n she got another chance in life when she finds it hard to keep living. makes me feel for her T0T

scarlet rose - its fun to think abt her being so stupidly chaotic bc she's just too op. also i like to make her death be so mysterious heheh

farris - he's also stupidly op, tho its bc he is god's fav mortal. its honestly impressive how much shit he managed to pull off. hes also just fun to think abt along w/ the other angels bc he's such a lil shit

elemiah - tbh i like how sick n twisted his love for lord death is. it makes me sick in my stomach every time i think abt it (esp that one comic ugh)

weatta - smth abt her is weirdly adorable for some reason. is it her design? or is it bc she's such a sad n pathetic wet cat? she's also fun to think abt bc of how crazy n stupid she can be. fucker doesnt know what chill is

ina - she's just so tragic,,, she didnt even get to live her life, dying so young n all. makes my heart ache.

snow - tbh idk what to do w/ her so she got nothing, but she's literally my first oc. its hard not to be attached to her

ember - hana's bully who becomes her one n only true friend. i need to develop her man she doesnt even have a finished design T0TTT

sylvain - i like how surprisingly chaotic he can be, despite his cute outer demeanor. but he also tries his best to help others, even to those who may not be so friendly ahemaureliusahem

aurelius - both his parents died n he doesnt even know that- n he grew up to be a weapon but hes doing his best to live n learn to be human n auuughhhhhh T0TTT

yuki - hot vampire demon lady. red flags galore. also tits.

iris - i just rlly like her wholesomeness, esp in contrast w/ her aspiring to be a pole-dancer (usually seen as a provocative activity) n being attached to the biggest fuckign slut. plus her backstory n the fact that she's now living a better life? tis heartwarming -w- also trans

poor guy - he's just so nice to everyone despite his bad luck n looking like the big scary goatman. also heh its funny to think that he gets involved in so much angel/deity shit despite being a regular ass guy (bc aint no way u can avoid alura's shit when u got a huge crush on her)

ellipsis - tbh im still developing her uhhhhhhhhh i like how she's the most normal one in her group lol shes doing her best

nighty - he lost his whole ass family man. just bc ppl thought they were demons. n yet he's just so goofy despite it all. also being a werebeast gives him cool powers. if i just think abt him for once, he might be interesting to explore.

damien - his contrast of being so nice n silly, but is also the most distrustful one in the trio.

chiara - just the thought of her being so conflicted w/ herself. her regrets constantly eating away at her bc she could've saved her partners!! n yet ppl see her as this strong, dependable, n confident woman. sry chiara ur story doesnt get much better i wanna see u suffer