#*shrugs* i dont make the rules

[mossterunderthebed]

i just think. yuuji shld get to be the senpai this time. as a treat

[gunsatthaphan]

idk hate on gmmtv all u want but them bringing back an OG couple from a 5yr hiatus to cast them in an extremely risky remake of a show that's highly critically acclaimed, fighting copyright issues for over a year, getting a ban on youtube, STILL releasing the show on live tv with subtitles and THEN end up making the adaption better than the original, fixing the messed up side couple, giving all 3 couples healthy and loving relationships, a proper development with good pacing, not cursing the 11th episode with dumb drama AND making karan and achi the first gay couple to have a wedding on a gmmtv show is highkey iconic say what u want-

[mayhasopinions]

L-starion

[rthwrms]

i thought magic was real but you have to believe in it but it turns out that magic is real whether you believe in it or not

[golden-afternoon]

Whoa okay hi another one hit me like a freight train unexpectedly. What can I say? I needed to make him cry.

Warnings - gn!reader, dacryphilia, chair bondage, trying to not get caught, again this was a possession that overtook me so this is all straight from brainrot to page. This is becoming more frequent. Should I be concerned? ...nah I'm sure its fine

He’s always been beautiful. But right now, you were certain he couldn’t possibly become anymore perfect.

The most striking carnelian eyes staring up at you, coated in a delicate gloss from tears that haven’t quite fallen yet. Lashes long enough to make any woman envious clump and cling together, lined with pretty little dew drops of tears that shine in the low light of his room. Another tear slips from his eye to slowly trail down his cheek, disappearing in a still damp track where dozens of tears had been rolling not long before.

Gritting his teeth, he draws in a hitching, shaky breath, his exposed chest visibly stuttering with the effort to remain silent so as not to alert his roommate to his predicament. Not that he wanted it to stop, though one may have easily assumed as much, what with how tightly he was tied to his desk chair, rendering him almost entirely immobile besides his hips and head, completely at your mercy.

Poor thing, he did his best to remain quiet even with the intense feelings no doubt gripping him after having been teased mercilessly by your gentle hand for the better part of an hour. He counted at least three ruined orgasms, but honestly with how much of a mess his mind was at this point, he couldn’t be entirely sure. Hips thrusting meekly at the air, limited by the bindings he had oh so eagerly suggested you use, he sunk his teeth into his plush bottom lip, tasting the familiar flavor of iron run across his tongue from the force.

You however, merely chuckle innocently at his misery, placing both of your hands on the back of the chair behind him. The most sugary sweet of smiles forms on your lips as you lower yourself to his eye level, giving you an even better view of those pretty eyes.

“Hmm? What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Your soft teasing voice seems to spark a fire behind his eyes, a fire you are all too familiar with. His mouth opens with clear intent to offer a biting word back at you, but anything he may have thought up dies instantly in his throat when he feels your hand curl around his flushed, leaking cock once more. His head drops at once at the sudden rush of feeling against his aching length, he can feel it throb against your palm with joy at the sensation. All he can muster is a cracked little whimper that sounded far more pathetic than he ever cared to be in front of you, much to his growing shame. He had expected to be able to hold out longer than he was, fully going into this with his head held high that he would never crack, yet here he was, biting back needy whines as he rocks his hips with his limited range of motion, desperately craving every bit of friction he can get.

And yet… as much as his helplessness was causing him pain right now, something about the way you looked at him like this made him know full well he was going to ask you for this kind of stress relief again in the future. Probably even sooner than he cared to admit.

Slowly, he lifted his head to face you once more, gazing up at you from under his uncharacteristically messy blonde bangs. His expression was so pitifully needy that it sent a shiver down your spine, the heat of his look going straight to your core in an instant. He blinks and it sends more of those crystalline tears down his face.

Truly, he couldn’t be any more beautiful than he is right now.

[axemetaphor]

saw a post on my dash yesterday that was like "so I know people tend to characterize Jinx as some kind of sex god—" and it gave me intense whiplash because I've always read her as extremely aroace and I don't really engage with the Arcane fan base at large on here. post is quite literally living in my mind rent free because what on earth do you mean

[bootlegramdomneess]

Sydney can always spot when Carmy is full of shit or being shit and so does Natalie. That's why they're soul sisters.

[asstrongasyouthink]

#'intentional fucked up' tends to be tagged for and warned for#'unintentional fucked up' is when a fic is rated gen#and the author thinks they're doing something wholesome#and it is literally THE MOST fucked up shit#that can be passed off as cutesy if you've never actually been in a healthy relationship before#and really do think harming someone with jealousy is what it means to be sexy#this is such a vibe#it's amazing how much antis write the latter and attack authors for the former lsdafkjfasd

Sometimes you read a fic where the author is clearly and intentionally writing dead dove content like:

These garbage boys are going to torture and gaslight each other until they’re inextricably intertwined 😈 they are going to make each other the most fucked-up and worst versions of themselves 🔪 they will be so codependent and broken they will never be able to be with anyone else after ☠️

And, like, this is probably written by a pretty normal, well-adjusted person. Genuinely. The dove is dead but the author knows that the dove is dead because they killed the dove. On purpose. Gleefully. They were like “wouldn’t it be fucked up if…” and then wrote the if.

But then sometimes you read a fic where the author is like:

uwu these soft boys are soooo cute and in love 🥰 they’re so sweet and pure and good 💕 I just want them to be cutesy-wutesy and in lurveeee forever 😍 this is my new fic about soft boys being soft 💋 this is the height of romance 😘

And then the fic is. Not. The relationship is THE must fucked up, manipulative, passive-aggressive shit show where both characters are being awful to each other, but in the most socially-acceptable heteronormative way where you could 100% picture a friend of a friend telling you this bizarre story at a party while you’re sitting there like wow 😬 straight people are wild who acts like that?

I don’t read fics like that often, but whenever I do I’m always like................... 👀 you good? You doing okay? You seem to think this kind of behavior is, uh. Normal. And, uh, romantic? But these characters certainly seem to hate each other. Not in the narrative, in the narrative they’re super in love somehow but uhhh. Um. You good?

There is such a chasm between people writing something fucked up on purpose vs someone writing something fucked up on accident. And the latter is where things are not tagged properly, and they’re infinitely more disturbing imo.

[raredrop]

im glad i havent run into the tiktok drama artists on art fight

ive never really noticed anything the few years ive been doing it outside of maybe my ocs getting misgendered (they SHOULD all be labeled with their pronouns) or that time a child character was given boobs

perhaps they just havent seen me or the fact that im most likely older than them makes them nervous

[mossterunderthebed]

ah, but you see, gojo is both my husband AND my wife and that is why he is the most marraigable strongest.

[malewifesband]

EDIT: if this post has made you think about whether or not you are autistic, im really glad! i hope you get some better understanding of yourself and are able to find community and support

however before you go and tell a therapist and seek an official diagnosis please read this thread and consider the points made therein:

autism is highly stigmatized. be fully informed about what you gain and what you lose from having an official diagnosis before seeking one.

EDIT OVER ENJOY THE POST

people do correctly identify that laios is autistic fairly often but a lot of the reasoning begins and ends with his special interest and social difficulties, but honestly it goes far deeper into the build of his character than just those two things

his pain tolerance is wildly inconsistent, unable to tolerate a drop of hot oil (or any heat) but able to shrug off both his leg being bitten off and it being reattached

hes sensory seeking in the extreme. he rubs the bat bones against his face, pets and fluffs the shapeshifter tail.

his desire to eat monsters comes from three very autistic places. 1) the rules for why monsters are not okay to eat but animals are are arbitrary to him so he cannot follow them easily: he cannot understand the 'feelings' argument others make. 2) this too is a sensory seeking behavior. he wants to experience these new things, new flavors and new textures. 3) it completes his knowledge of the monster in question to also have data on its edibility. because he cannot draw that arbitrary line around all monsters, he wants to evaluate them case-by-case and see if real patterns emerge. butchering and eating the monsters improves his knowledge of them greatly and highlights their importance in their ecosystem, as well as making him a part of that same ecosystem

he cannot emote the way others expect him to. he compartmentalizes his feelings (to an unhealthy degree) because he needs a pragmatic solution. so as long as there is a problem to solve, that matters far more than evaluating his emotions and allowing himself to experience them. while this is also a coping mechanism for ptsd, it is a trait found in many autistic people regardless of trauma, as we have trouble sorting the feelings we have and often need time to think about what we feel, so it becomes easier to simply not do it and pretend we dont need to. laios emotions certainly affect him, with or without his processing them, but others do not see what they expect to see and thus dismiss that he is feeling what they would feel

he is incredibly gifted with pattern recognition, observation, and analysis within realms he understands. to understand subjects that dont come easily to him, he must filter them through his established schema (his special interest--this is why they are so special! they help us sort the world). when he isnt sure about the social cues and details hes observed in the shapeshifter arc, he filters it through the lens he understands best: monsters. he was making correct observations about his friends all along, but he could not be confident in that the way he was about their behavior when it came to his interest (chilchucks caution, senshis passions, and marcilles carelessness)

[brokenmenswhore]

i need more of that dont look seriesss i need sirius and reader to go against remus’ rules or summmm please and thank you if u choose to do so

whatever the people want, i shall give them 🙇‍♀️

don’t look | remus & sirius

part 2

pairings: remus lupin x fem!reader, sirius black x fem!reader

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), language

part 1

────── ☾ ──────

Sirius opened his mouth to say something as Remus approached, but Remus put a hand up to cut him off.

“Nope, don’t even, I’m still mad at you,” Remus stated, walking past Sirius.

“Oh come on!” Sirius called to him, “look, I said I was sorry.”

“I know, but I’m still mad,” he called back, “and jealous, I guess.”

Sirius shrugged, “well maybe you should stop eating out your hot girlfriend in a communal space, Moons, what did you expect?”

Remus stopped in his tracks. He turned around and approached Sirius, stopping only a few feet away from him.

“You know you aren’t supposed to look at her like that.”

“Jeez, Moony, you aren’t my dad.”

Sirius’s nonchalance bothered Remus. Remus was hot-headed, and it was nearly the full moon, which meant his emotions were heightened even more than usual.

It also meant he was hornier than usual.

He marched to your dorm, swinging the door open, despite the two other girls sat on the floor, textbooks sprawled across their laps as you all studied together. “I need you.”

Your eyes shot up at him, the other girls scanning his figure up and down. “Rem, I’m studying,” you told him, as if he couldn’t see you doing just that.

“Please, I just need to borrow you for a minute.” Remus tried not to sound desperate, but he most certainly did. He didn’t care if the girls knew he wanted to borrow you to fuck you senseless, he only cared that he remained level-headed until he was alone with you.

You gave a smile to the other girls, closing your textbook and placing it on the floor before standing up and following Remus to his dormitory. He anticipated that it would be empty, but instead he found Sirius, cross-legged on his bed, a book in his lap.

Remus contemplated his options. Ever since Sirius’s infraction, he had avoided being with you in front of him, worried Sirius would try something again. However, today, he was angry, and he wanted to piss off Sirius by asserting his authority and dominance over you.

He pushed you onto the mattress, immediately hiking up your skirt and pulling down your underwear.

“Remus!” you squealed, taken aback by his haste.

He shushed you, saying, “need you bad.”

“Remmy, it’s not even a full moon tonight, you can usually wait until later in the da-“

Remus cut you off by shoving two fingers into your hole, not caring about warming you up as you squirmed from his touch.

“Shit,” you whined as his mouth connected with your clit, his tongue lapping up any wetness.

You moaned, your hands gripping his hair as he continued to shove his fingers in and out of you, his unoccupied hand pushing (with difficulty) his trousers down until he was left in his underwear, his hand sneaking past the waistband to lightly stroke himself at the sight of you.

Sirius was already in a fight with Remus over watching you, and part of him didn’t want to make anything worse. Part of him also thought that since they were already in a fight, what did it matter? He would just have to be more careful.

You whimpered when Remus hit a particularly good spot, and Sirius looked toward you through hooded lids, ready to retreat his gaze if Remus checked in on him, but Remus was focused only on you.

He had almost forgotten Sirius was in the room, his desperation and need growing more intense with each moan and whine you let out.

He pulled away from you, pulling his boxers all the way down before crawling on top of you.

“I need to feel you, pretty girl, are you ready for me?” he cooed, stroking his cock faster and faster as he waited for you to respond.

“Please, Remmy,” you begged, and he nearly came in his hand at the sound.

He lined himself up at your entrance, slowly pushing in despite his need. He would never give up watching your face as he pushed into you, even if he was desperate. The way your face contorted, the small whimpers that left your lips, the way your hair looked sprawled out on the pillows, the way your skirt bunched up around your waist-

He bottomed out inside of you, immediately starting to thrust in and out of you.

“Shit, Rem,” you moaned at the feeling, “you can use me.” You knew what he needed when the full moon was near, but your statement still drove him crazy as if he had never heard it before.

Remus placed both of your wrists above your head, holding them with one hand as his head dipped in the crook of your neck, his unoccupied hand finding your clit and rubbing fast circles as he fucked you. He didn’t care about timing, he just needed you bad. He needed to come inside of you, but he needed you to come first, even if it all happened quickly. He adored the feeling of you coming on his cock, and needed to feel it to achieve his own high.

You turned your head so that Remus had more room to rest his on your shoulder, and you glanced at Sirius, who shifted his seated position as he heard you moan. You remembered the last time he was in the room, and you hoped he would look over at you again, your eyes focused on him as Remus pounded into you at a ruthless pace.

He finally did glance at you, but he did a double take, checking if you were really looking at him, and you were. You nodded your head up and down, a way to tell him it was okay with you if he watched, and that you wanted him to do as such.

His eyes remained on you, scanning your body up and down, watching your thighs fall more and more open as Remus’s hand moved faster and faster on your clit.

He loved seeing you with your hands above your head, a new sight for him, Remus having full control over your body.

Your back arched off the bed, causing the pressure on your wrists to increase as your climax threatened to hit, Remus’s hand and his cock almost too much to hold it together.

“Sir- shit, I’m gonna-“

You squeezed Remus’s cock like a vice, your high washing over you as your thighs shook.

“Shit, baby,” Remus breathed.

He didn’t catch your almost-slip, but Sirius certainly did, his eyes darkening as he watched you come down from your high, your body still shifting back and forth on the bed from the force of his best friend’s hips snapping against yours.

“Gonna come in you,” Remus moaned, a final few, sharp thrusts sending him over the edge as he came, groans in your ear that only you could hear as he spilled his seed inside of you.

You signaled for Sirius to look away as Remus let go of your wrists, pulling out of you before standing up and gazing at your fucked-out frame.

“Thank you, baby,” he placed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “let me get you cleaned up.”

He stretched a hand out to you, and you took it, allowing him to guide you to the bathroom.

✶

Sirius did not speak to you for an entire week after that.

You tried to spark conversation, but he always found an excuse to leave the room or divert his attention. Remus noticed, but assumed it was because of the first time he watched you, and he quite enjoyed the thought of Sirius leaving you alone.

You were seated in the common room, everyone apart from you and the boys at a party in the Ravenclaw dorms. The boys had decided to skip this particular party thanks to Remus, who was falling behind in Transfiguration, and who cursed the Ravenclaws for throwing a party the night before a massive Transfiguration exam.

“I can’t fucking focus,” Remus spoke, annoyed at his inability to comprehend the subject.

“I have some extra notes in the dorms,” James spoke, “I can try to find them, maybe they’ll help?”

“Yeah, alright,” Remus agreed, “worth a shot.”

Remus sighed, placing a kiss on your forehead as he and James retreated up the stairs to search for James’s extra notes.

You turned to Sirius, who avoided meeting your gaze.

“Please talk to me, Sirius.”

He ignored you completely.

“Siri, please.”

The pet name broke him out of his mindset. “Don’t call me Siri.”

“Why not, Siri?” you teased.

“Because it does things to me. Stop.”

“Why?”

“Seriously, Y/N-“

“Seriously what? Why won’t you talk to me?”

Sirius lowered his voice, whisper-yelling, “what do you mean why won’t I talk to you? I’m finally in a decent spot with Remus, what am I gonna do if he finds out I eye-fucked his girlfriend again while he was in the middle of railing her?”

“What does that have to do with you speaking to me?” you questioned.

“Because every single time I look at you, I see- I see you like that.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at Sirius’s confession. “Really?”

“Shut up.”

“You like what you saw?” you teased.

“Shut up.”

“You wanna see more?”

“Stop,” Sirius warned.

You listened intently up the staircase, and heard James yell, “I fucking swear they were here! Check in that one.”

You propped your legs up on the coffee table, allowing your legs to fall open and give Sirius an unobstructed line of sight to your core.

“Do you wanna see more?” you asked again, running a finger over your underwear, just above your folds.

“Don’t fucking tease me.”

You nodded your head no, you were indeed not teasing him. You really were going to touch yourself.

You moved your underwear aside, giving Sirius full view of your most sensitive area as you put one of your middle fingers into your mouth.

You made a show of sucking on the digit, wetting the skin before slowly inserting it into your now-wet hole. You let out a light whine, so as not to alert Remus of what you were up to.

Sirius tried to restrain himself, but he quite literally could not take his eyes away from you. He was obsessed; a man starved who finally found sustenance. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

You began to move your finger faster and faster, your other hand coming up to squeeze your breast over your shirt.

“Shit, Siri,” you moaned, and Sirius nearly lost it right there.

He stood up and approached you, gripping the wrist that was moving your finger inside of your hole.

You assumed he would stop you, but instead, he pulled your finger out, pressing two of his fingers to your lips and allowing you to suck on them.

When he was satisfied with how wet they were, he replaced your finger with his own, his pointer and middle entering you slowly as you threw your head back.

Sirius turned his head to the staircase, hearing “well why wouldn’t they be with literally every other set of notes?” and “fucking hell, can you check the trunk over there?”

Sirius met your eyes, watching you squirm as he fingered you, his thumb finding its way to your clit and rubbing circles, a small smile finding its way onto his lips as he watched your reaction to his touch.

As he pumped his fingers faster and faster, he began to curl them against your spongy walls, a euphoric feeling.

“Siri, fuck,” you whined.

Sirius’s unoccupied hand went to your mouth, covering it to keep you from being loud enough for Remus or James to hear.

“You’re so fucking pretty, did you know that?” Sirius spoke, hand still ruthless on your core, “staring at me with someone else’s cock in you, thinking it won’t affect me?”

You whined under Sirius’s hand, your hips beginning to grind on his hand as he continued speaking.

“Silly little girl, don’t you know Remus said we shouldn’t look at you? You keep breaking his rules, and that’s only something bad girls do. You’re not a bad girl, are you?”

Sirius only moved his hand from your mouth to hear you respond. “Maybe I am, Siri,” you moaned.

Sirius placed his hand back over your mouth, his fingers fucking you faster and faster after you spoke. “You wanna be a bad girl? I’ll treat you like a bad girl. Isn’t that what you want, huh? Staring at me when you have Remus inside of you?”

Your high was dangerously close, Sirius’s fingers better than you could have ever imagined, when Sirius heard “fuck this! I’m just gonna go back downstairs.”

Sirius immediately pulled away, placing your legs back in a normal seated position as he sat back down across from you, scanning the pages of his textbook as if nothing had just happened.

“Sorry that took so long, dumbass couldn’t even find the extra notes,” Remus said, plopping down next to you and throwing an arm around your shoulders, “did I miss anything good?”

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

SOULMATE SOAP HAS MY HEART. I DONT THINK THERES ANYTHING I WOULDNT DO FOR HIM

67 / 2.8k / soap soulmate au, epilogue

...

"Anything, you say?" Soap's eyes sparkle. "A dangerous proposal, hen."

You roll your eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I know what you said." He grins at you as he towels himself off. "I’m wonderin' what exactly I could get away with, bein' offered anything. No limits, no boundaries..."

You can't help but let your gaze trail down his form. He's totally naked and still dripping wet. "Anything within reason."

"Where's the fun in bein’ reasonable?"

You lean back, pulling your feet up and crossing your legs atop the low hotel coffee table where you're seated.

You and Soap have been getting to know each other here—intimately, as soulmates and people—for the past two days. You don't live near Glasgow and wouldn't tell Soap where exactly you call home, so he offered to get the two of you a hotel suite near the mountains while the higher-ups figure out what to do with you.

You figured he'd offer to take you out on a date or something, but so far you haven't made it out of the hotel room yet. It's more like a honeymoon than a vacation. You can't say you're disappointed with all the things he's shown you, though.

"Oh, so it hasn't been fun for you yet?"

Soap laughs at that and throws the towel to the carpet. No point in modesty. You’ve seen and touched every scar and bruise on his powerful body, but it does nothing to deter your gaze.

"Been plenty fun. But now I know I could be gettin’ away with even more if I play my cards right."

"Such as?"

"Marriage."

You scoff. "Pervert."

"Am I?" He leans toward you and braces his hands on the edge of the coffee table. He loves the way you try to resist looking at him but can’t help yourself. Your gaze keeps trailing down to his abs. "I think you like the idea of me down on my knees. I’ve seen you enjoyin’ the view."

Your back straightens. He's so cocky. Still, your eyes don't meet his. If anything, they dip lower. "Laswell called while you were in the shower."

"Did she?" He strolls across the space between the bathroom and the bed to his duffel bag. You lean back and watch him languidly as he digs around for his phone, his handsome mouth settling into a frown. He won’t find it. He sees why once he glances over at you to see your catlike smile.

Soap crosses his arms and looks down at you. "Resigned to petty thievery now, are we?"

You shrug and hold his phone out, letting it dangle from your fingertips like a mouse by the tail. "It's not like I have any other jobs to preoccupy my time."

He pauses to admire the view down your tank top—his tank top—and then snatches the phone away. "How many times do you want me tae beg and grovel for forgiveness? Not that you deserve it, ye wee hellion,” he mutters, scrolling through his recent calls.

"At least three more times." You lean back on your hands as he walks away. "Aren't you going to ask me what she said?"

"Are you going to tell the truth?"

"I was considering it."

"Were you?”

You sigh and watch him raise his phone to his ear. You miss when he hung on your every word.

"Go for Soap."

Soap makes a show of talking on the phone with Laswell. He tries not to glance at you too much. You and your sharp pout and the black tank top you’re wearing and how it rides up on your hips and leaves nothing to the imagination. He’ll have to do something about that later.

"Aye. Understood." A slow grin stretches across his face. "Now that is good news. Pleased to be workin' with ya, Laswell."

He hangs up. You cross your arms. "Well?"

Soap tosses his phone on the bed and turns back to you. "Ought to chew you out for answering a call on a secure line."

"Kate already did."

"Did she, now? And you’re on a first-name basis?" Now he is amused. "Don't think I'm not keeping track of every little rule you’ve broken so far. You’re in enough trouble as it is."

You bounce your leg against the tabletop. "What did she say?"

Soap closes the space between you. In the time it takes him to reach you, you stand up, bare feet on the low table. It puts you barely above eye level with him.

"She didn't tell you the news, then, did she?" His lips twist into a smug smirk. "Serves you right."

You stare him down. You don't often get the chance to, so you capitalize on it for all you're worth. "She did," you lie.

"You’re lying, darlin’."

"How would you know?"

"You'd be right pissed off already, for one." He wraps his hands around the backs of your bare thighs idly. His thumbs brush the underside of your ass. "For two, I know better than to take you at your word. Might as well start assuming the opposite of what you decide to tell me."

"That's not a nice thing to say to your soulmate."

"You’ve never been nice to me in your life." He pulls you closer, making your legs part so he can hike his thigh up between them, his foot flat on the table between yours. He grins at you. "I seem to recall you threatenin' me that first night we met."

You push against his chest to steady yourself. "I was trying to protect your dumb ass. You were going to get yourself killed."

Soap’s hand slides up to the small of your back to help you balance. "Didn't get killed, though, did I?"

"Only because I told you to hide."

"My guardian angel."

"You're lucky you got away when you did. If you compromised us, I would've gutted you."

"Vicious, vicious woman."

"Stubborn mule of a man."

"Gorgeous, disobedient pain in my ass." Soap takes your chin in his fingers and lifts it, drifting closer to your lips as if drawn in. "Not tae mention ornery."

"You're ornery."

"Now, that's hurtful. You ought to give me some sympathy."

"Give me one good reason why."

His hands slide up to cup your ass. "Because I’m your soulmate, and I’m entitled to a little sympathy for the fact that your brazen attitude makes me crazy."

You rub at his collarbone. "If you're my soulmate, it follows that you deserve it."

Christ, he loves when you say shit like that. He leans in to mouth the underside of your jaw and murmur directly against your ear. "You know what I deserve? And you’re gonna give it to me?"

You tilt your head up. His lips slide further down your neck. You preen. "Someone has to."

He lets out a dark huff of laughter at the response. You’re all too eager to push back at him, and nothing gets him hard faster than a challenge.

Just as he latches onto your neck and begins marking you with a new hickey, you push him backward onto the hotel bed. Soap laughs as he lets himself fall. Then he sits up on his elbows and leers at you. His hair is already mussed and his breathing already heavier than normal.

You climb over him, plant your palms on his shoulders, and press him down into the comforter. Right as you stoop down to catch his bottom lip in your teeth, though, you look down at him from above and frown. "Wait, but what did Laswell say?"

Soap pauses. “Now?”

"Yes." You can’t stand not knowing. "Tell me."

Soap grabs two handfuls of your ass and squeezes in annoyance. Ruin the mood, then. "She said she heard back from the program." The program meant to protect the soulmates of military operators and other agents who could be compromised by the existance—or any knowledge whatsoever—of a soulbond. Like witness protection.

You suck in an annoyed breath. "Are you really gonna lock me up in some safehouse?"

“I’d love to—chain you up, put you in a cage, keep you somewhere all safe and sound so nobody else can touch you.” Soap watches you with an off-kilter gleam in his eyes. His words draw an image in your mind that isn’t remotely unpleasant. “But it won't be with the program, no. They denied the request."

You perk up. "Really?"

Soap grins at how excited you get. “Aye. Said your old job makes you a security risk. Too hot to handle.” He lets out a huff as his hand slides up your bare thigh. “But don't get too excited. Laswell found another opening. Or… made one. Something in her sector."

You sit back in surprise. "CIA?"

"Aye. Turns out your impressive track record of selling violence for money makes you a font of useful intel. " Soap watches you, gauging your reaction. "Couldn’t let that go to waste, now, could they?"

You glare down at him. "What's the catch?"

Soap can see the wheels turning in your mind. He grins. "Oh, hardly a thing."

Your hands tighten on his shoulders in warning. "Johnny."

He grins up at you, all teeth and confidence. He loves the way you say his name. “You should go into intelligence. You’d be a hell of an interrogator. You’d get me to tell you anything and never even bat those pretty eyelashes at me."

"John, I swear to God."

He laughs as he sits up on his elbows, his free hand running up your leg to wrap around your hip. "Alright, alright. Pushy." This is almost how he wanted you: straddling him on the bed, hips pressed together. "You're the perfect hire because you come attached to your own soldier, aye? Package deal. Someone to keep an eye on you."

"What, like a handler?"

"Somethin' like that," he muses, tracing his finger along your spine.

You give him a doubtful look. There's no way Laswell would stoop so low. But seeing the shit-eating grin on his face gives you a sinking feeling. "I'm an asset?"

"Course not. An asset would've defected of their own free will. And since you runnin’ away with me is still off the record as of yet…"

Still perched across his hips, you cross your arms. "And what if I say no?"

Soap narrows his eyes.

The world flips. You're on your back, pinned underneath him against the bed. He presses your wrists against the comforter. "Then you'd be a hostage."

You pull at his grip, but it does no good. "You can’t do that."

"I can."

"Says who?"

He leans close. "Says your new handler." He lets the word sink in, lets it make your mind race with indignant heat. That's how he likes you best. His lips trail along the side of your neck, mouthing at the sensitive skin there in a way that makes you arch up. "Talk or don't. Either way, I'll have a convenient excuse to keep you locked up tight."

Naturally. He lets the truth slip out so easily. Likely because he never intended to give you much of a choice. He's learned his lesson and knows very well not to trust you to stay in one place anymore. If he wants to keep you around, he needs to play dirty. Like you.

He trusts you with his life, yes, but not with your own. And certainly not with his heart.

You scoff. But instead of resisting, you relax your body and let him have his way. "Fine. If it makes no difference, do your job. You know what that is, right? Extract my intel."

He pauses with his mouth against your neck. You’re giving in already. He isn’t used to that.

He shifts his hands to thread your fingers together and pin them higher over your head. He lets his mouth brush your neck as he speaks. "I intend to."

"Go on, then. Let’s see a real interrogation. Nothing like that silly warehouse you had me in before."

Soap’s face falls into a scowl. Cheeky. "That wasn't an interrogation, hen. That was a rescue." He settles one muscular leg back between your thighs. "Bloody eager to test my patience. And for what?"

"Mm."

He lets his knee nudge up against your core and grind against it, skin to skin. "You want a fight?" His voice softens, barely. "You want control?"

You think about it. But ultimately, you let your eyes close and relax your body that much more under him. "No, I trust you."

“Oh?” You’ve never said that before. Those words sound good coming from your lips. “Do ye?”

You open your eyes a fraction to narrow them at him. "Don't look too far into it."

“I’ll look as far as I please. Trust me not to hurt you, trust me not to let you leave...” He kisses you. It steals your breath again. "Trust me to give you what you need. Am I close?"

"You're trying to rile me up."

A dangerous grin slowly spreads across his face. “That's what I do best, sweetheart. So you trust me, eh?" When he gets like this—dark and heated, predatory—Soap looks more dangerous than all the weapons he’s ever used combined. A man as trained and deadly as Soap can get downright lethal when he’s playing with you. “Are you sure you should be trusting a man like me?”

"No, definitely not. Horrible idea."

He lets a laugh rumble out of his chest and his knee grinds against you again, earning himself a soft gasp. "But you’re still doing it, aren’t you? And you know what I'd do if your sweet little ass pulled another runner."

"I'm shaking in my socks."

His eyes flash with heat as he smirks down at you. He can feel your thighs clenching around his leg as he continues to grind against you. "You ought to be," he murmurs. "You know I got you. And you owe me."

"Do I?"

"Aye. For runnin' away from me, for lyin', for makin' me hunt you down. For makin' me drag your ass out of a frozen river. For makin' me think you were gonnae freeze t'death the moment I finally got you in my arms." He gives you such a heated look, you find yourself looking off at the ceiling behind him rather than holding his gaze. "And that's not even gettin' into all the stitches I got 'cause of you. You owe me for every single one."

You swallow. "Are you planning to hold that stuff over my head forever?"

If you had any idea how it felt to see you disappearing into that river, you probably wouldn’t be asking that.

"That depends on whether you plan on bein' the sort who needs to be kept in line forever," he growls. "Or whether you're gonnae let me keep you safe, darlin', always where I want ye."

Your face warms and your chest flutters. Damn it. "Fat chance," you retort as quickly as you can to cover up the butterflies.

"Forever it is, then." He lets go of your hands and reaches up to grab your chin. Soap has big hands, strong, with too many scars along his knuckles given his young age. "You’d do well to remember that every time you think about runnin’ from me.” His knee grinds up against you again, a tease and a promise all rolled into one. “Now tell me again that you trust me.”

"Nnh." You squirm. "Johnny, c'mon..."

"No, go on. Say it for me. Say you trust me. Say it out loud." He leans in closer. He's hungry again. Starving. "Let me hear it again. Sounds as pretty as you look."

You roll your hips against his knee again, seeing stars against your eyelids when his thigh muscle clenches.

His grip tightens in warning as he fights to keep control of himself. "You’re pushin’ it, hen."

"Do something about it," you murmur. You wanted bite in your voice, but it's not quite there. "Handler."

Coming from your mouth, it does funny things to his mind. His muscles coil tight with need. But then he relaxes. He has all the time in the world to do everything he wants to you. He bites down gently on your ear, earning a breathless shudder from you. His hands snake under your hips, pulling them up higher as his body slides between your legs.

"That's right. All mine."

...

the end :) thanks everyone! soap loves you <3

...

← previous part / [epilogue]

part 1 / more Soap / masterlist

...

send me a prompt for more of him? :)

[pyxxiestyxx]

Class-C

The shot glass sat in front of you, innocuous in appearance.  If you couldn't smell the tang of citrus, if you didn't catch the occasional sparkle suspended in it, you might think it mere water.

In front of you, your affini friend rested her head on her hand.  She practically bled smugness, the leaves around her neck slightly fluffed as if she was preening.  You rolled your eyes, mirroring her posture for the hell of it.

"So this is your bet?  Aren't Class-C's something on the 'dont mess with' list for terrans anyway?"

Her voice was a rolling purr as she answered, "Yes.  This is different.  A heavily diluted solution of a specific strain.  No lasting effects, just the intense feeling of a Class-C dose for about two hours."

The bet was simple: You had to make it through thirty minutes without confessing your love for her, or begging to be her floret.   She thought you couldn't do it.  You thought she was full of shit.  You had plenty of xenodrugs before, of course.  Class A's and E's were fun and relaxing, but ultimately you were still in control of things.

Shrugging nonchalantly, you picked up the shot and threw it back, the sweet flavor hitting your throat and tingling slightly as it went down.  You flipped the glass face down and slammed it onto the table, then looked up at her with a satisfying smirk.  "Easy."

Her smile only widened.  "We'll see." She flipped open her tablet and pressed a timer, starting a countdown clock.  She showed you it had thirty minutes remaining, then flipped it closed.  "No using the time you have left for rallying cries.  Just you, me, and the lovely chemicals your brain is about to be swimming in.  When the alarm rings, I'll administer the counteragent."

You scoffed, leaning back in my chair.  "You didn't even wait until it had begun to kick in?  Wow, you must really be confident."

"Oh, it begins nearly immediately.  Already the drug is interacting with those neurons, mixing in with seratonin and oxytocin and a few other things besides."

You looked at her, doubtful.  "Yeah?  Then how come I don't feel any different?"

"Sweetie, you've leaned halfway across the table already.  Move any further and you're likely to crush that shot glass you slammed down so viciously earlier." She gestured at your posture, causing you to hurriedly sit back into your chair with a blush.

"Shit, I...sorry.  Got carried away." You glanced down at the shot glass, biting your lip as you realized that you *had* been rather violent with it.  You carefully flipped it back upright, wiping the outside clean with your shirt.  "Um.  Sorry."

"Dear, did you just apologize to the glas-"

"NO!" Your face was properly red now.  Oh *stars*, you had!  You had just done something that embarrassing in front of your Best Friend and what if she thought you were silly now?  Would she not want to hang out with you?  You hoped not.  You really enjoyed her compa....wait....

Frowning, you shook your head roughly, slapping your cheeks a little.  It was just the drug.  You were in control.  The drugs were doing this.  But unlike the A or E, it was more...subtle.  or rather, it was potent, but you didn't even realize it until your best friend had pointed it out.  Gosh, she's so kind...

"Um, t-thank you for helping me remember I was drugged." The words felt good to say.  You wanted her to know how much you appreciated her after all.  So you could win the bet!

...

The bet?

"Wait, what happens if I lose?" You realized you had forgotten to ask that before.  Worried, you turned to look at her.

"Well, what would you like to happen, pet~al?" You blushed, realizing it was just like her to wait until you were...compromised before asking this.  Well, jokes on her!  You're still in control.

"Nothing!  I don't want anything to happen.  No new rules, no teasing, and no domestication.  Got it?"

She nodded, sagely.  "Of course.  In that case, I take that to mean that should you win, you'll get all of those wonderful things~"

You sputtered in shock.  "I- no! I don't want to... I'm...you can't be serious."

"Awww, is something wrong?" She smirked, her eyes flashing purples and golds in a way that made your heart melt.  "All you have to do now is lose, then~ Or are you so stubborn, you can't admit that you l~o~v~e me, flower?"

"I-I...you... fucking...."  You felt the indignation mix with the heady joy of her attention, of wanting to give into her, of wanting to beg.  She was trying to goad you.  She wanted you to win now.  She had entirely turned the rules on their head. 

But she also assumed you would take her bait.  You shook your head, biting your lip.  "I...fine.  I admit it."

"Admit what?" She had begun to rise up slightly, her hands clutching the edge of the table.  She was absolutely getting off on this.  You couldn't even meet her eyes, looking away and down.

"I love you?"

"Mmmm....I don't believe you." You could hear the smile in her voice, full of wicked glee.  "Say it louder, for one.  And look me in the eyes~ and don't be afraid to put a little more emotion in it, dearie.  This is a confession, after all~"

You whimpered, managing to drag your eyes up to meet hers.  Reluctantly, you allowed the feelings you had been fighting for several minutes now to wash over you, letting them guide your words.  "I l-love you...I need you..."

"I love you...?" She trailed off, waiting for you to complete it properly.  You wanted to scream, but instead all that came out was "Miss?"

"Dear, it's just a game.  You can use the one you want to use."

"I love you, Mommy."

"And?"

"A-and I want...I need to be your floret.  I need it, please stars I need it.  I...oh gods it's...I..." The feelings crashed through you in waves.

"Go~od job, petal.  You did it."  She slid the table out of the way, stepping into a kneel in front of you.  "You said those mushy gushy feelings!"

You nodded, pleased...until you remembered what that meant.  You weren't going to get anything now.  You had just said so.  Tears sprang up, and you had to stifle a sudden sob.  "I...it's..."

She was lifting you into her arms now, cradling you closely to her chest.  "Shhhh...petal, it's alright.  You didn't lose, silly."

"I...w-what?"

She smiled at you.  "How would love for another ever be seen as losing?  You won, silly."

You won. That made sense to you now.  Especially when She said it.  You beamed up at Her, letting Her wipe the tears away.  "I won..."

"You won!  And guess what that means, dear?"

"I'm...I'm a..."

"You're Mommy's little floret now." She tapped your nose as she cooed, causing you to giggle a bit.  A wiggling little thought in your head popped up, though.

"You tricked me, Mommy!"

"Did I?  Well, you knew we affini never play fair when it comes to cuties like you.  Awfully brave of you to make a bet with me anyway, wasn't it?  Almost like you wan~ted this, darling~" she purred at you, her eyes filled with light and warmth.  You thought you couldn't possibly blush more, but it turns out you definitely could.

"I...noooooooooo!!!  I didn't...I mean....maybe?"

"Silly little flower." She picked up her tablet, turning it back on and dismissing the timer, which had paused as soon as she had closed it.  "Now, let's get you home.  We have a contract to sign~"

[motthe]

Married+jayce viktor, visit relatives +she/her reader? Continuation please!! I gotta know more

i hope you enjoy the continuation!!!

warnings: more crazy family shenanigans

Dirty Santa had the family in an uproar when cousin Pat drew number one for the second year in a row. Seeing as your grandmother had made the pieces and walked around with the bowl, no one had any real proof Pat had cheated.

You were happy with your number. It wasn’t dead last like you’d hoped but close enough to see more gifts and get your pick of the litter.

Jayce was scrambling to understand the rules again with Viktor’s help, but even then you’d had to correct him on a few rules.

“Okay,” Jayce muttered, thick brows set in a determined line, “stolen twice and it’s frozen, no stealing back, number one gets to go again at the end and you’re stuck with whatever they trade you.”

“Perfect,” you said. “The rules change from family to family but that’s ours.”

Your more rowdy aunt who was a bit too serious when it came to any type of games shouted for Pat to get a move on. You sat back with your husbands, head cushioned by Jayce’s arm and one of Viktor’s hands in yours. You don’t know where your energy went after dinner, but you could fall asleep to your insane family after years of these events. Although loud and encompassing, it was home, and you were happy your loves were sharing in the madness.

“Who’s five?”

“That would be me,” sighed Viktor as he leaned forward. No one had a chance to offer him assistance as he snatched his cane and use the handle to snag a bag. Everyone whooped as it slid down the length and into his lap.

“Show off!” someone called.

Viktor merely smiled to himself, passing you tissue paper as he revealed a pack of pens, a book of crossword puzzles, and a few of those brain teasers you’d see in bookstores made of wooden figures or metal rings.

“That’s right on the nose for you,” you said, tossing the trash to your father who had the black bag by his chair.

“Yes, I’m quite happy with these,” he hummed, flipping through the crossword puzzles.

“I’m glad someone got them who will actually do them,” your mother sighed, clocking herself as the buyer. “They’re good for your brain!”

After a few more turns, Jayce browsed the lingering gifts on the table in the midst of everyone before eyeing the tool set in Uncle Jimmy’s arms.

“Now, son,” your family member began, mean mugging, “think about that decision.”

Jayce hummed, tapping his chin and staring at ceiling. He was so dramatic. God, you loved him.

Finally, he sighed and shook his head. “I’m thinking I need a new tool set.”

“Ooh, that’s cold,” Great Aunt Lynda cackled, sipping her wine. You could’ve sworn she mentioned a dry December when you all were fixing your plates. Apparently she’d had an incident at Thanksgiving, but you hadn’t been here. You all had gone to Jayce’s mother’s.

Now or made sense why your mother had made it clear that no was to bring beer into this house on the holidays—only wine.

Viktor was sipping some of his own as your number was called. Pulling yourself from his side, you looked over each gift that had already been opened. None of them appealed to you, so you went for the smallest gift bag.

Your husbands leaned in as you pulled out what was clearly a gift card, opening the little flap to see where you’d be buying from.

“How much we talking?” Aunt Pat asked.

“If it’s for fast food I’m taking it,” one of your younger cousins declared.

Viktor choked on a sip while Jayce shrugged, clearly confused as he read the brand. “I don’t dont know this store. Is it local?”

“Oh, it’s local all right,” Great Aunt Lynda said. Everyone snapped their heads to her when she spoke.

“It’s not fast food,” you announced, shoving the card back into the bag. “It’s for medicinal purposes, kiddos.”

“Ew! Medicine?” one of the twins whined, sticking out a tongue. “Who’d want that?”

“Ooh,” Jayce said, tapping away on his phone. “That makes a lot more sense.”

“Lynda there are kids playing!” Dad barked.

She waved a hand, draining her wine glass. “It’s a gift card. Be glad I didn’t bring a D-I-L-D-O—they were two for one!”

“A dodo?” one of the kids questioned.

Jayce lost it. You just shoved the gift bag behind your back and told them to move the game along.

In the end, you and your husbands got to keep your gifts. Aunt Lynda was all too happy to waddle over and talk about the best things to buy before you excused yourself for a bathroom break. Viktor was safe chatting away with Jimmy while Jayce was heading for another snack in the kitchen.

You had all of three, peaceful minutes in the bathroom before your phone lit up.

Groupchat: Jayce 💍 Viktor

Jayce: someone save me Lynda’s blocking the kitchen exit and there’s a mistletoe hanging above her!!

Viktor: That sounds like a trap.

Jayce: no shit!

Viktor: I meant for me. If I come to the rescue, I’m sacrificing my lips for yours.

Jayce: So you’re just going to leave me here?

Viktor thumbed up the question, hearing your laughter from down the hall.

You: Hold on my damsel in distress. I’m on the way.

Jayce: I’m glad to see SOMEONE loves me in this marriage

Washing your hands, you pocketed your phone and readied yourself for the last bit of the party which always ended in more christmas games or old home videos.

Only time would tell.

[amethystarachnid]

Hey if you're still writing requests, can you plz make one where Tony's kid/s hear him & yn one night (iykyk) and ask what are those noises and randomly popping the question how they were born..?? His responses to questions like this would be epic😂 You can write it however you want... Thanks!

Your recent works "Stuck" and "Prom" were awesome btw

LATE NIGHTS AND LITTLE EARS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said + family cuddle attack at the end

ᯓ★ TW(s): mild sexual content (but like three spicy scenes, only one more explicit), suggestive humor, and awkward discussions involving young children asking about adult topics

ᯓ★ I've tried being more explicit than usual in the spicy scenes and I dont know how it turned out...

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It starts, like most mornings, with screaming.

Not the horror-movie kind, though. The kid kind. The kind that comes with stomping feet, a door slamming somewhere down the hallway, and the unmistakable crash of a cereal bowl hitting the tile. It’s 7:03 AM. The sun hasn’t even crept through the curtains yet.

“Howard Stark the Second, I swear to god—”

“That was Nova’s fault!”

“Was not! You pushed me!”

You groan, already reaching blindly for Tony beside you, only to find empty sheets and the faint scent of coffee lingering on his pillow. Of course. He’s escaped. Again. Probably hiding in the lab with his AI and his fancy espresso machine while you’re left to referee the Hunger Games: Child Edition.

You throw the blanket off and shuffle toward the disaster zone, feet cold against the marble as you round the corner into the kitchen.

Nova is standing on a chair, her curls sticking up in five different directions, her favorite purple pajamas soaked in milk. She’s holding a spoon like a weapon. Howard is shirtless, pouting, arms crossed like he’s preparing for a legal battle.

And in the middle of the chaos—Tony Stark, billionaire-genius and traitor to mornings—leans casually against the island counter, sipping coffee like this is all just background noise to his suave little world.

You glare at him. “You heard that and didn’t step in?”

He shrugs, holding out your mug like a peace offering. “I figured you’d want to start your day with a warm beverage and the beautiful sound of our children expressing themselves creatively through violence.”

“Tony.”

“Babe.”

He winks at you, all smug and gorgeous in his sweatpants and vintage Black Sabbath tee, and you hate that it still makes your stomach flip. Even after ten years. Even after two kids and zero sleep and more milk-related incidents than you care to count.

You take the coffee, but not the bait. Not yet.

“Go upstairs and change,” you tell Nova gently, brushing milk off her sleeve. “And Howard, you don’t get to push your sister because she took the last Lucky Charms marshmallow.”

“She licked it, Mom.”

“Tony,” you say, not taking your eyes off Howard, “tell your son what we think about food-based revenge in this house.”

Tony takes a dramatic sip of his coffee, then says, “Only if it’s funny.”

You shoot him a look. He puts his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay. No food-based revenge. Unless it involves whipped cream and your mother.”

“Tony!”

Howard’s face twists into a grimace. “Ew! Why are you like this?”

Nova screams from upstairs, “I HATE MILK! I NEED A TOWEL!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I am running away. I am joining the circus.”

“You’d look hot in sequins,” Tony muses, setting down his mug. “But I have better ideas. One of them involves locking the bedroom door, and the other involves my mouth—”

The kitchen timer dings before he can finish. You groan.

“Did you make pancakes?”

Tony grins. “Blueberry. I added protein powder. Because I care about your glutes.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you trying to butter me up?”

He takes a step closer, crowding into your space. “Literally and figuratively.”

His hand slides around your waist, his palm warm even through the oversized hoodie you slept in. He leans in, mouth brushing your ear. “Five minutes. Closet. No one will notice.”

You let yourself close your eyes for one beat. Just one. Because god, the man is intoxicating, and he knows it. Always has. You remember what five minutes with Tony Stark can do to your sanity—and your vocal cords.

Then Nova yells from upstairs again. “I CAN’T FIND ANY PANTS!”

Tony sighs against your neck. “Our children are a menace.”

“Wonder where they got it from.”

He grins and presses a quick, heated kiss to your cheek before releasing you.

You move like a well-oiled machine through the morning madness. Pancakes are served. Nova is bribed into jeans with the promise of extra syrup. Howard gets a lecture about breakfast table etiquette while sneaking a bite of Tony’s second helping. You pack their lunches while Tony puts their backpacks by the door—only to realize they’ve drawn on them in permanent marker again. There’s glitter in Nova’s hair. A Lego in Tony’s shoe.

Somewhere between tying shoelaces and signing a permission slip, Tony grabs your hand. “You know I’m crazy about you, right?”

You give him a tired but fond look. “Even when I smell like milk and mediates sibling fights before 8 AM?”

“Especially then.”

He steals another kiss—this one longer, deeper—and you don’t fight it. Not even when you hear the twins gagging in unison behind you.

“Gross,” Nova mutters, grabbing her water bottle.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Tony calls as they head for the front door.

“You guys kissed! In front of us! That should be illegal!”

Howard points at his eyes, then at the two of you. “I’m watching you.”

The door closes behind them, the school bus rumbling down the street seconds later.

Silence settles. Blessed, beautiful silence.

You sigh, leaning against the counter. Tony is already beside you again, fingers walking up your thigh. “So. About that closet…”

You snort. “You are incorrigible.”

“And horny,” he says brightly. “Don’t forget horny.”

“I have exactly thirty minutes before I need to be on a Zoom call.”

He glances at the clock. “Thirty minutes is practically a romantic getaway in Stark Standard Time.”

You roll your eyes—but you’re already moving, letting him tug you down the hallway and into the closet. He locks the door with a flourish, spins you into his arms like he’s still the playboy from years ago. And maybe he is, a little. But now he’s your playboy. Your husband. Your chaos. Your partner in pancake crimes and stolen morning quickies.

He tilts your chin up, voice low and sincere this time. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Even in that hoodie. Especially in that hoodie.”

You arch a brow. “Is this where you ask me to leave it on?”

“Oh no, this is where I take it off very, very slowly.”

And maybe it’s not Paris or a penthouse or some wild escapade in Monaco, but in this tiny closet, surrounded by shoes and laundry and the faint echo of your kids’ chaos—you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

---

It’s chaos. Again.

You knew it would be. School pick-up always is. But today? Today is worse.

The moment you pull up in the car, Nova is standing outside the gate, arms crossed, face scrunched into a perfect replica of Tony’s trademark pout. Howard is next to her, holding a half-crushed science project and looking deeply betrayed.

You barely get the car into park before Nova is yanking the door open.

“I’m never speaking to Ms. Rivera again,” she declares, climbing into the backseat with the kind of melodrama that makes you want to laugh and scream all at once.

Howard flops in beside her with a heavy sigh. “She made me sit next to Logan. Logan chews pencils.”

You blink. “Wait—what happened to Ms. Rivera?”

“She said I couldn’t glue glitter on my rocket ship because it’s ‘not realistic,’” Nova huffs. “But it’s space! Space is supposed to be magical!”

“She doesn’t understand the vision,” Howard mutters solemnly.

“Clearly,” you reply, pulling back into traffic. “So, glitter rockets and pencil chewers. Got it.”

As you drive, your phone buzzes. A text from Tony.

bring the tiny chaos goblins to the lab. surprise for them. and for you 😘

You smile despite the traffic, then glance in the rearview mirror. “Wanna stop by Dad’s lab before we go home?”

Nova perks up immediately. “Is Dum-E there?!”

Howard leans forward. “And Butterfingers? And the cool robot arm thing that almost decapitated Dad last week?”

You hum thoughtfully. “All the above. But only if we all agree not to glue glitter to anything inside Stark Industries. Deal?”

Nova hesitates. “What if it’s tastefully applied?”

“Deal, Nova.”

She sighs dramatically. “Fine.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re stepping into the glass-paneled elevator of Stark Tower, kids practically vibrating with excitement. The AI greets you by name—well, greets you politely and then calls the twins “incoming small agents of entropy.” Accurate.

The lab is buzzing, literally. Lights flicker, machines whir, and in the middle of it all, Tony is crouched beside a new prototype—a sleek, four-legged bot that looks like a cross between a puppy and a drone.

Nova lets out a shriek of joy. “YOU MADE A ROBOT DOG?!”

Tony grins, looking far too pleased with himself. “Meet Bark-E. Still in beta. Sometimes mistakes shadows for threats. Or feet.”

As if on cue, the robot dog whirs to life, scans the twins, and starts barking—an adorably mechanical, high-pitched sound that makes both kids dissolve into laughter.

While they chase Bark-E around the lab, Tony comes up behind you, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“You like your surprise?” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple.

“I thought the robot was the surprise.”

“Oh, sweetheart. That’s the kids’ surprise.”

You tilt your head. “And mine?”

He smiles. That slow, wicked one. “You’ll see.”

But not yet. Not while the kids are riding Bark-E like a mechanical bull and trying to convince JARVIS to play Let It Go on loop over the speakers.

After about forty-five minutes, you pry the twins off the robot and promise ice cream at home if they behave on the way out. They do. Barely.

By the time dinner is done—chicken nuggets and mac and cheese, because parenting is survival—and the twins are finally tucked into bed, you’re drained. Exhausted. But also... alive. Somehow, despite the madness of the day, there’s a buzz under your skin that hasn’t gone away since Tony whispered in your ear at the lab.

You’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through emails you’ve already read three times, when you feel him behind you.

His hand slides over your shoulder, down your arm, then rests on your thigh. “They’re asleep.”

You glance up. “Are you sure?”

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear again. “I double-checked. They’re both snoring. Loudly.”

You turn your head slightly. “And you think that means we can just... sneak off and have a moment?”

“I don’t think,” he says, already pulling you to your feet. “I know.”

He leads you to the bedroom, slow and quiet, the way you used to sneak out of galas to find somewhere dark and private. The air shifts the second the door clicks shut. You barely get a word out before Tony’s lips are on yours—hungry, hot, and so very intentional.

“Shhh,” he whispers against your mouth when you let out a soft gasp, already tugging at the hem of your shirt. “We have to be quiet.”

You grin against his lips. “You saying I’m loud?”

He pauses, eyes gleaming. “Sweetheart, we broke the headboard last time.”

You laugh—and he kisses the sound right out of you, backing you toward the bed with that same eager, greedy energy that never seems to fade, no matter how long you’ve been his. Clothes fall away like a ceremony. Hands roam like they’re remembering. Reclaiming.

The sheets are cool beneath you, his skin hot and grounding above you. His mouth drags along your collarbone, your breast, your hip, before he settles where he knows you need him most.

You bite your lip, hard, to keep from making a sound.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your skin, teasing, adoring. “Just like that.”

His tongue moves with devastating precision, and your hands claw the sheets, toes curling, your body trembling as heat builds fast and sharp. You can’t help the little whimper that escapes—and he looks up immediately, smirking.

“You’re gonna get us caught.”

You glare down at him, breathless. “Then stop making me feel that good.”

“No can do, Mrs. Stark.”

And he doesn’t. He keeps going, patient and thorough and infuriatingly skilled. When he finally moves up your body, sliding into you in one slow, perfect stroke, your back arches and your fingers dig into his shoulders.

“Tony—”

“Shhh,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “I got you. Just keep it quiet, baby.”

It’s slow. Intense. Torturously quiet.

You’re both holding back—moans swallowed in kisses, gasps muffled in the crook of his neck. Every movement is deliberate, every thrust a silent promise, every brush of his thumb against your clit driving you closer to that unbearable edge.

He mouths your name like a prayer when you come, your whole body shuddering under him. You bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the cry that wants to escape, and he follows moments later, breathing hard, hips stuttering as he releases deep inside you.

For a while, there’s only the sound of your hearts pounding and your breaths syncing up. Then Tony chuckles softly.

“I think we pulled it off.”

You hum sleepily. “Pretty sure Howard talks in his sleep. If he says something weird tomorrow, it’s on you.”

Tony kisses your temple. “I’ll take the blame. Always do.”

He pulls the blanket over both of you, tucking you into his arms like the world outside doesn’t exist.

And maybe, for now, it doesn’t.

Tony’s still catching his breath when you nudge him with your foot. He groans, face buried against your neck like a man defeated.

“Come on,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair. “We need to shower. And put on actual clothes.”

“We just reached post-coital bliss,” he mumbles. “What kind of monster are you?”

You laugh, gently pushing him off of you and rolling out of bed. “The kind of monster who knows our kids have a sixth sense for us being naked and vulnerable. If we don’t cover our tracks now, we’re getting interrogated at 6 AM.”

Tony groans louder, but he follows. Mostly because your naked backside is swaying just enough to motivate him.

“You’re so responsible,” he mutters as you tug him into the ensuite bathroom. “It’s unsettling.”

You turn on the shower, testing the temperature. “And you’re so irresponsible it’s amazing we haven’t been arrested for public indecency.”

“Twice,” he corrects, stepping in behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “We have been arrested. Twice.”

“Right, and who sweet-talked their way out of it both times?”

Tony kisses your shoulder. “My hot, brilliant, morally flexible wife.”

You roll your eyes and lean back into him as the water pours over you both.

Of course, the “quick shower” turns into a slippery, steamy second round—because Tony Stark has zero self-control when your naked body is in arm’s reach and you’re laughing like that, cheeks flushed from the water and the way he touches you like you’re still the only thing in the universe that matters.

By the time you finally drag yourselves out of the shower and into pajamas—Tony in his unnecessarily tight sleep pants and a ridiculous Stark Industries tank top, you in one of his old shirts that practically hangs to your knees—it’s past midnight. The house is still. Blissfully quiet.

You collapse into bed, limbs tangled, hair damp, bodies finally at rest.

And for once… no interruptions.

Until morning.

At precisely 6:47 AM, the bedroom door flies open like a SWAT team raid, and the twins launch themselves into your bed like missiles.

“WAKE UUUUUP!” Nova yells, half on top of your stomach.

Howard dives for Tony, who lets out a strangled grunt as his son elbows him square in the ribs.

“Jesus—ow, okay, good morning, no need to attack the man, I’m delicate—”

“You said we could have pancakes today!” Howard declares, still perched on Tony like a feral cat.

Nova pulls the blanket off you both. “And cartoons! It’s Saturday!”

You blink blearily, groaning as Nova’s icy feet wedge themselves under your thigh.

Tony rubs his eyes and grins at the ceiling. “Why did we have children again?”

“Because we’re masochists,” you mutter.

“Right.”

It’s a typical Stark Saturday for a solid two minutes. Cartoons, demands for pancakes, squirming under the covers. But then Nova freezes suddenly, eyebrows scrunching like she’s solving a mystery.

“Wait… did anyone else hear weird noises last night?”

Tony’s eyes snap open.

Howard squints. “Yeah! Like… thumping. And then Mom made this sound like when you stub your toe but you’re trying not to yell?”

Your soul leaves your body.

“I—I stubbed my toe,” you say quickly. “Exactly. That’s… wow, good ears, buddy.”

Nova isn’t convinced. “And I think I heard Dad say something like ‘oh my god, yes’?”

Tony chokes on air. “That was—uh—I was watching a documentary! About—uh—quantum physics!”

You look at him like really? but he forges ahead with gusto.

“And there was this incredible experiment and I was very passionate about the outcome.”

Nova tilts her head. “Do quantum physics experiments make Mom giggle like that too?”

“Okay!” you say brightly, sitting up. “Time for pancakes! Who wants whipped cream?”

Howard narrows his eyes. “You never offer whipped cream unless you’re distracting us.”

You reach for your robe and sigh. “That’s because I’m always distracting you. It’s called parenting.”

Tony has his face buried in a pillow, quietly laughing like a man on the brink.

Nova crawls up beside him. “Dad. Are you giggling?”

“No, sweetie,” he says through the pillow. “I’m just emotionally overwhelmed by your curiosity.”

Howard frowns thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s ghosts?”

“YES,” Tony says quickly. “Yes. Our bedroom is haunted. That’s what you heard. Definitely ghosts.”

Nova gasps. “COOL.”

Howard’s eyes widen. “Can we set a trap?!”

You grab both their hands and pull them toward the door. “Only after breakfast. And cartoons. And not asking any more questions about last night. Ever. Again.”

They both nod solemnly.

Then Nova whispers to Howard, “I bet Mom and Dad were doing something weird.”

Howard nods sagely. “Yeah. Probably… like taxes.”

Tony leans close to you as you herd the twins out of the bedroom. “That was almost catastrophic.”

You shoot him a look. “Stark.”

He grins, eyes twinkling. “Yes, Mrs. Stark?”

You roll your eyes and turn back to the kids. “Alright, haunted pancakes it is.”

And somehow, despite the mortifying inquisition and suspicious glares from two seven-year-olds, it’s still the perfect kind of morning—chaotic, loud, absurd... and full of love.

Exactly what you signed up for when you married Tony Stark

The rest of Saturday is surprisingly smooth—almost suspiciously so.

You make pancakes. The kids watch cartoons. Tony pretends to “ghost hunt” with Nova using an old thermal scanner from the lab, while Howard builds a pillow fort so structurally sound it could probably withstand a mild earthquake. There are no tantrums, no glitter explosions, no emergency phone calls.

It’s just past lunch when it happens.

You’re sitting on the living room floor, helping Nova braid tiny ribbons into her dolls’ hair, when Howard suddenly looks up from his coloring book with that unsettlingly calm expression he inherited directly from his father—the one that usually means he’s about to ask something that will emotionally derail everyone in a five-mile radius.

“Hey Mom,” he says casually, like he’s asking what’s for dinner. “How did me and Nova come into the world?”

You freeze.

Like… freeze.

Tony, sitting on the couch across from you with a wrench in one hand and a half-disassembled Roomba in the other, slowly turns his head like a man who’s just been caught by a sniper scope.

You meet his eyes. You both silently panic.

Nova doesn’t even look up. “Yeah, I was wondering that too.”

Howard continues like he’s just hitting you with casual Sunday curiosity. “Did we come from a rocket? Or like… a lab?”

You blink. “A rocket?”

“Well, you and Dad are scientists,” he says, shrugging. “So maybe you built us. In the basement. With like, wires and lasers and science juice.”

Nova gasps. “I want science juice!”

Tony chokes. “There’s… there’s no such thing as science juice, baby.”

You clear your throat, trying to regain your footing in the rapidly spiraling conversation. “Okay, so—so first of all, no rockets. Or labs. You’re not robots. You’re not built.”

Howard’s eyes narrow. “So we weren’t assembled?”

“No.”

Tony jumps in. “You were... born. Like regular kids.”

Nova frowns. “How though?”

You and Tony both stare at her like she just asked how to dismantle a nuclear warhead.

Howard leans forward, totally serious. “Yeah. We know it involves, like… bellies. But how’d we get in there in the first place?”

There’s a beat of stunned silence where you mentally prepare to just hurl yourself off the balcony.

Tony puts down the Roomba and stands up like he’s giving a TED Talk. “Alright. So. Listen. This is… this is one of those very important questions that you absolutely deserve an answer to.”

You nod like a hostage. “Yup. Totally important. Super reasonable question.”

Tony points a finger upward, warming up. “But also one of those questions where the answer is like… a very complicated lasagna. With layers.”

Nova’s eyes light up. “I love lasagna!”

Howard looks confused. “What does lasagna have to do with babies?”

Tony continues, completely unfazed. “Well, the top layer—the cheesy, delicious layer—is the part you already know. Babies grow in a special place inside a mommy’s belly called a uterus. It’s like a deluxe baby hotel.”

You’re silently begging him not to keep going.

“And the next layer,” Tony says, gesturing like he's on a cooking show, “is how they get there, which involves… uh… teamwork. From both parents.”

You add quickly, “Teamwork. Loving, adult teamwork.”

Howard squints. “Like… like when you and Dad built the treehouse?”

“Yes!” you say way too fast. “Exactly like that! Teamwork, tools, and a lot of planning.”

Tony nods solemnly. “And some sweat. And maybe a splinter.”

Nova scrunches her nose. “Ew. That sounds messy.”

Howard tilts his head. “But how do you start building the baby?”

Tony glances at you. You glance at Tony. You both realize there’s no way out. So, you go for the parental classic:

“Well,” you say slowly, “when two adults love each other very much—”

Howard’s eyes go wide. “OH MY GOSH. You used magic didn’t you?!”

You nearly sigh in relief. “Yes! Magic. Science magic.”

Tony picks it right up. “Love-powered science magic. That’s exactly it.”

Nova gasps. “Is that why I sparkle when I dance?”

Tony beams. “Absolutely, sweetheart. Full of sparkle DNA.”

Howard looks impressed. “So you and Mom did love-magic teamwork… and then BAM! We happened?”

You clap your hands. “Boom. Nailed it.”

They both nod slowly, processing. And then—just like that—Nova goes back to brushing her doll’s hair and Howard starts coloring again like he didn’t just casually nuke your day with a conversation worthy of wine and therapy.

You exhale, flopping back onto the carpet. Tony collapses beside you a second later.

“That was too close,” you whisper.

“Too close? That was war,” he mutters. “I barely survived the ‘splinter’ metaphor.”

“I hate you for that, by the way.”

He smirks. “You laughed.”

You sigh, reaching over to lace your fingers through his. “I can’t believe we’ve got another ten years of this.”

Tony grins. “Ten years? Sweetheart, we’re gonna be explaining puberty in holograms by then.”

You groan and bury your face in his shoulder.

Nova looks up from across the room. “Do you think babies fart inside the belly?”

You both groan.

Tony whispers, “We’re not gonna make it.”

---

It’s Tony’s idea.

Which should automatically raise red flags. But he’s lounging back on the couch, one arm draped behind you, the other absently spinning a screwdriver between his fingers like a fidget toy, and he says it so casually you almost don’t catch the trap.

“Let’s go out tonight.”

You pause mid-sip of your coffee. “Out… like out where?”

He shrugs. “Nice dinner. Fancy restaurant. Kids can wear shoes that aren’t Velcro. You can wear that red dress that makes me forget my name.”

Nova, sitting upside down on the armchair, perks up. “Can I wear glitter?!”

Howard glances over. “Are we allowed to go to fancy places? We’re loud.”

Tony waves a hand. “We’re Starks. We can go anywhere we want.”

You raise a brow. “That’s exactly the kind of energy that gets us kicked out of places.”

But the idea lingers. It’s been a while since you dressed up for something that wasn’t a gala or charity event or chaos-fueled tech conference. The thought of slipping into something silk and elegant, seeing Tony in a blazer that hugs just right, the kids actually clean and styled and not covered in suspicious playground gunk…

Yeah. You’re in.

Two hours later, the chaos of getting ready is in full swing.

Howard insists on wearing a tie, which turns into a twenty-minute battle against a YouTube tutorial and an uneven knot. Nova is determined to wear glitter tights under her dress, and after some negotiation, you allow it—because she istechnically wearing a dress and real shoes. Progress.

Meanwhile, you slip into the closet, closing the door behind you. The red dress Tony mentioned still hangs in the far corner, mostly untouched since your anniversary dinner last year. It’s sleek, figure-hugging, with a slit up the leg and a neckline that toes the line between elegance and hello there.

You slide it on. It fits like sin.

The door creaks open behind you without warning, and you don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.

There’s a low whistle. “Sweetheart.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “Too much?”

Tony’s leaning in the doorway, wearing a black suit with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, no tie, blazer cut to absolute perfection. His eyes rake down your body like he’s seeing you for the first time again.

“If we didn’t have kids waiting downstairs,” he says, voice low and already dangerous, “I would lock that door and make you very, very late to dinner.”

You smirk, smoothing your hands down the front of the dress. “We do have kids waiting.”

“I know,” he groans, stepping forward and sliding his arms around your waist from behind. “Why do we have kids again?”

“Because your ego and my hormones teamed up.”

He laughs, presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder, and lets his hands wander a little lower than strictly appropriate for the timeframe. “I love this dress. It should be illegal.”

“You say that every time I wear it.”

“And I mean it every time.”

You manage to escape his hands with a playful swat and make it back downstairs, where the twins are already posing dramatically like they’re attending the Oscars.

“Do we look rich enough?” Nova asks seriously.

Howard adjusts his slightly crooked tie. “I feel like I should own a company.”

Tony grins. “You do. It’s called Starklings, Inc. Specializing in mischief and luxury fruit snacks.”

The restaurant is upscale, candlelit, absurdly elegant—and predictably swarmed by paparazzi the second your car pulls up.

Tony slips out first, offers you a hand like a proper gentleman, and then lifts Nova from the car while Howard walks out like he’s been doing red carpets since birth. You’re met with the familiar onslaught of camera flashes and distant shouts:

“Mr. Stark! Over here—!”

“Is that your family?”

“Mrs. Stark, you look amazing—!”

Tony keeps one hand at the small of your back, the other protectively on Howard’s shoulder. The flashes bounce off his sunglasses, and he leans in close enough for you to feel his grin against your cheek.

“You’re the hottest person here.”

You elbow him gently. “You say that to distract me.”

“I say that because it’s true. And I’m trying very hard not to get handsy in front of the photographers.”

You glance down. His hand has, indeed, slid lower than is publicly acceptable.

“Tony.”

He corrects himself with a smirk and guides you all inside.

Once you’re at the table—a private booth with a view of the skyline—things settle into a surprisingly cozy rhythm. The kids order mocktails with extra cherries. You sip wine. Tony keeps sliding his foot along your ankle under the table like a man with zero shame and absolutely no concern for consequences.

You give him a warning glance.

He winks.

Nova draws a robot on her napkin and tells the waiter she’s going to build one that serves spaghetti. Howard eats his fancy grilled salmon with ketchup. Tony doesn’t stop looking at you the entire night, his hand always somewhere—your knee, your thigh, your lower back when you gets up to help Nova with the bathroom.

It’s subtle. Kind of.

Okay, not subtle at all. But it’s him.

As dessert is being cleared—Nova covered in chocolate mousse and Howard bargaining for another bite of your crème brûlée—Tony leans over and murmurs, “If I don’t get to unzip that dress tonight, I’m going to have a full-blown existential crisis.”

You smile sweetly. “Guess you’ll have to wait until the kids are asleep.”

He groans into his wine glass.

On the ride home, both kids fall asleep in the backseat—Howard drooling slightly, Nova curled up with a strand of her glitter tights stretched over her face like a superhero mask.

You rest your hand on Tony’s thigh as he drives. He glances at you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Best idea I’ve had all month.”

“Dinner?”

“Taking you out. Watching you walk around in that dress. Being reminded exactly how lucky I am.”

You hum, squeezing his leg just enough to make him shift in his seat.

“I hope you’re planning on making good on that zipper promise.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “That zipper’s already living on borrowed time.”

And somehow, amidst the glamour and chaos, the spark still feels as new and electric as it did before kids, before marriage, before anything was certain.

Even when the car smells like mousse, and one of the kids is softly snoring like a chainsaw.

You glance at Tony.

Yeah. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

The second the car pulls into the garage and the twins are carefully extracted from the backseat—sleepy, grumpy, sticky with melted chocolate—Tony gives you a look.

The Look.

The one that promises that the minute tiny people are unconscious in their beds, you're going to be very, very thoroughly reminded about the zipper situation.

You smirk back at him, both of you speaking silently across the car hood like spies.

Step one: Get kids to bed. Step two: Lose the fancy clothes. Step three: Absolutely wreck the newly washed sheets.

Easy. Foolproof.

You both move like a synchronized tactical unit. Pajamas, teeth brushing, wiping faces, untangling glitter tights. Nova mutters something about robot spaghetti in her half-sleep. Howard insists he doesn't need help but still manages to put his pajama pants on backward.

You're barely containing your laughter as you herd them toward their rooms, exchanging conspiratorial glances with Tony every few seconds.

“Alright, you gremlins,” Tony says, crouching down dramatically. “Tonight, you sleep in your own beds like champions. Like grown-up, sophisticated individuals who can eat grilled salmon with ketchup.”

Howard yawns and salutes. Nova mumbles something incoherent and shuffles to her bed like a zombie.

You and Tony high-five behind their backs.

Victory is so close.

You tuck them in, kiss their foreheads, tiptoe toward the door…

And then.

“Wait!”

Howard bolts upright like he’s just remembered a critical world-saving mission. Nova follows, wide-eyed and alarmed.

“We want to sleep in your bed!” Howard blurts.

“Yeah!” Nova clutches her stuffed unicorn with the force of a thousand suns. “Your bed is bigger! And fluffier! And it smells like cookies and Dad's weird soap!”

You and Tony freeze mid-step. Like deer. Caught. In existential-crisis headlights.

Tony clears his throat. “Buddy, we love you. But your mom and I were planning some very important... adult... lying-down activities.”

You elbow him sharply. "Tony."

Howard pouts. Nova’s lower lip quivers.

"We miss family sleep nights," Howard says, voice small.

Nova sniffs. “You used to let us sleep with you.”

Your heart cracks a little. Okay. That's not fair. They're pulling the nostalgia card and they're doing it well.

Tony runs a hand through his hair like he’s being physically pained by the loss of his plans. He looks at you. You look at him.

Surrender.

You sigh dramatically. “Fine. One night.”

Both kids explode in victorious cheers.

“But—" Tony holds up a finger, still clinging to scraps of authority, "—if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Which is how you end up raiding the matching pajama drawer—yes, Tony insisted on having one made years ago—and soon all four of you are decked out in ridiculous, soft, Stark-family matching pajamas: little arc reactors printed on the shirts and "Team Stark" on the pants.

You all pile into the giant bed in a mass of limbs and giggles and pillows. Nova immediately claims Tony, curling against his side with her unicorn jammed between them. Howard stakes his claim on you, plopping himself firmlyagainst your chest and wrapping an arm possessively over your torso.

Tony tries—tries—to edge closer to you, stretching out an arm, wriggling his fingers in your direction with the saddest, most dramatic look of longing.

Howard narrows his eyes and shoves Tony’s face away with one tiny but determined hand.

"Mine," he mumbles sleepily.

You clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter.

Tony blinks at you over Howard’s stubborn little head, looking personally betrayed. He mouths, This is war.

You smile sweetly, mouthing back, You lost.

He pouts for about five seconds before Nova wiggles closer and pats his cheek comfortingly. “Don’t worry, Daddy. You can have cuddles too.”

Tony surrenders with a groan, wrapping his arms around Nova and the unicorn, glaring at you playfully over the tops of both their heads.

You wink at him.

For a few minutes, the room settles. The twins drift off quickly, soft breathing and little twitches as they tumble into deep sleep. The low hum of the city outside fills the background.

You shift slightly, trying not to wake Howard, and meet Tony’s eyes in the soft dark.

He mouths, You owe me.

You mouth back, Tomorrow night.

He grins like Christmas just came early.

For now, though—you lay there, Howard snuggled against you like a koala, Nova draped across Tony like he’s a human jungle gym, the warmth of your family a soft, heavy comfort around you.

Tony reaches out across the tiny bodies between you, brushing the tips of his fingers against yours in the middle of the bed.

Connection. Even through chaos.

You squeeze his fingers gently and close your eyes, feeling him do the same.

Maybe the night didn’t go exactly the way you planned.

But honestly?

It’s kind of perfect.

part 2 with them trying for another kid? or something else? let me know in the asks ;)