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ayylovley · 7 months ago

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another Gun x reader smut with him being patient and sweet when he takes his s/o virginity pls 🥹🥹 btw ur smut is so soooo gooooddd ❤️❤️

oo ok he’ll be a little nicer than when he has a partner who hasn’t had sex and since he doesn’t really know how to be gentle it might take a couple of times but once he pops that cherry and finally gets in without pain he ain’t stopping 😭

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 𝕾𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙 & 𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖗༘ ⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚

Warnings; praising, dirty talk, salivating, daddy kink, penetration, oral (fem receiving), edging, that’s all I could think of. Filth. You get the picture

Maya; I’m so sorry this took forever!

Word count; 2.6k

“Go ahead and lay down…”

Gun’s tone is a little different this time, softer than usual. But not enough to let your guard down, even so, you’ll need to be cautious. You already knew this when this is what you signed up for. “W-what position do you want me in?” You ask trying not to sound too nervous but the shakiness in your voice says it all. But Gun couldn’t help his growing sly grin.

“My, asking questions already? You’re already pleasing me like a good girl. Very well. Get on your hands and knees on the bed.”

With your body still trembling more than you’d like, you obey his soft commands and climb on the bed getting into the position that he wanted, letting your most sacred parts of your body on display for him. While you’re naked and ready for the taking, Gun takes a moment to really get a good view of you. Why rush into things? He’d like to take his time with someone who hasn’t been used up, yet.

His eyes follow every inch of you, the color of your clit and hole thats just begging for his cock to stretch it out and hear you sing. The shape of it, how tight you look, and now he wants to know how you taste. But he’ll be patient, he needs to touch you first, prepare you for what’s to come.

His fingers reach up to delicately hover and lightly caress you, to find out what part of you is the most sensitive. When his fingertips feels like a feather is tickling your hot slit, you gasp a little bringing your lower body away from his touch briefly as a reflex.

Gun catches this and bites his bottom lip already brewing up plans to get you to squirm. “I’ve found it…”

His words leave you more nervous, he’s a cold bastard and you don’t want to get on his bad side so you just wait for his next action. The pads of his fingers rub slowly and press against your throbbing area, with your lips muffled against the pillow you moan from surprise that seems to please him.

“I wouldn’t want to break you too soon, after all, you won’t be loose just yet. But I plan on making you my little slut after this night.”

His words leaves your heart swelling beneath your chest trying to process what you’ve gotten yourself into. But there’s no regrets, you wanted this and so did he. More so he wanted this first but his seduction and how hypnotizing he could be you just fell apart. Gun continues to use his fingers from one hand, the sound of flicking from a cigarette fills your ears from behind you. Even when he’s about to fill you up he needs a damn cigarette? With the hand that isn’t violating your cunt, he uses it to inhale the needed nicotine down his throat before letting out a content sigh.

The smell of the stick waves under your nose as you keep feeling his light touches upon your area. You’ll give it time before you decide to beg, but the longer you wait the more the nerves build up. Finally when the tip of a wet muscle drags down your sensitive skin, you gasp again becoming a slight moaning mess from just two or three dragging licks from his tongue. You could hear the evil chuckles behind you, making his breath blow on the spot.

“It seems that you’re so desperate for pleasure and you won’t beg? Now I’m curious. Let’s see how long this lasts…”

A few few more strokes, he sees the view of the delicious sound of your slick leaking out of your core “mm, you taste so good. I wanna taste every inch of you.” There’s a groan past his lips before he buries his whole face into her pussy practically inhaling it. His teeth sucking on your sensitive spot oh-so-gently. You can practically see stars from how he’s treating your virgin area more gentle than you’d thought while at the same time he clearly wants to devour you.

“Mm, still won’t beg?”

He resurfaced and rubs the digit of his index finger across your aching clit, your hands fingers clench on the bed. At this point you’ll break apart and he hasn’t even done anything yet. That might be embarrassing for you. So you’ll swallow your pride and nerves, “Gun… please! Please, please fuck me!” The hint of whiny tones that escape your lips make Gun smirk almost menacingly “Now was that so hard, princess? Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. For now.”

You stay in the doggy position on the bed while you prepare for Gun’s thick cock ahead. The rub across your slit from his tip followed by a sudden slap with his shaft sending a loud wet ‘smack’ sound. You joint up earning a little yelp, making Gun groan turning into a little dark chuckle “it seems that you want it more than you lead on.”

Slowly he positions his tip around your entrance and carefully pushes inside, “stay nice and wide for me, baby.” He coos as the palm of his hand stays on your ass cheek, watching as he slides deeper trying to be considerate with any pain you feel. You whimper when he fills up your walls, it does hurt you but you stay calm and try to be relaxed so he can just pound into you.

It’s not so bad that you need him to stop, but it’s enough to make your knees that were pressed on the cushions to shake a little. “Shh, you’re doing so good. Taking my cock like a good girl.” He slides deeper until his balls are now up against your clit. You immediately drag out a moan once all of the uncomfortable feeling has disappeared and replaced with the wanted pleasure.

You can’t help but grip around him so tight that he hisses through his teeth, “Hey, now (Y/N). You keep squeezing me with that tight pussy of yours like that and I’m gonna cum too early. And you won’t get to have yours~”

You bite back any whiny protests about how you can’t help it, it just feels too good already but instead you obey his soft commands and try not to squish your walls on his shaft.

With slow movements from his hips creating a series of low gushing sounds he tips his head back inhaling when his lips part. Your own noises of pleasure were drowning his ears, you just sound so sweet. “Damn, (Y/N). You feel so… fffucking good.” He sighs as his hands begin to roll down your back to the curve to your ass.

Your whines and breathy screams just makes him want to pound into you with no mercy. But he’ll stay patient before he gets to do that. He grinds against your walls, making sure you feel every inch of his length and seeing how he’s making you coax his shaft with how soaking wet you are. “Ahh! Gun!” You squeak a little while you’re slowly being opened up for him to fill you up further.

“What’s wrong? You want me to fuck this pussy until you can’t take it already?” You can hear the cockiness in how much he’s enjoying making you so needy. “Are you sure you can handle it?” His palm brushes over your cheek again, then dives right in between your legs to rub on the hood of your clit. He moans at the feeling of how much you want him.

“Yes! I can handle it now I can take it!”

You know that you’re only digging your own grave but you had a slight idea what you’re signing up for when you agreed to do this with Gun in the first place.

Gun lets out a little throaty chuckle, “if you say so. Very well. But I’m not stopping or slowing down.”

You let the warning sink in your head for a second before he picks up the pace with every thrust. The way you scream for him was just so delicious he couldn’t help but pound into your tight hole even faster. “So tight. And all mine.” Swiftly landing his palm on your bouncing skin following loud smacks from his hips hitting your ass, he groans when you open up more and more like your pussy is letting him in so easily.

“You’re being such a good girl, (Y/N). I’ll give you a sweet reward after.”

The praising causes your walls to grip on his shaft once more before immediately letting go trying not to make him cum just yet. But getting validated by this man makes you want to stay obedient to every command he gives.

Loud cries fall from your lips as salty tears stream down your red puffy face, so much sensitivity in your gummy walls as his thick hot cock strokes with no mercy leaves you already feeling drained. Gun tips his head back panting and groaning at how good this feels, how you’re being such a good girl for him, like he can almost smell your fear that leads you to not want any punishments.

Although… Punishing you for absolutely no reason whatsoever would be quite a treat too. But he’ll probably wait for that for another day. Since you will see him again, and he’ll make sure that you know this too. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore, he presses his large inked hand down against your back.

Pressing his palm into the spot between your shoulder blades to keep you still while he drives in faster, his curved tip hits just the right area you needed. Making your eyes roll back and begin to drool. For a brief moment you stop your screaming while your brain was turning blank. The only sounds being the rough slapping from his hips making contact with your ass cheeks that would be very sore once he was done.

When your able to find your voice again your toes curl and squeeze with a sudden heat wave experience down your body you couldn’t quite help but sob for.

“Ohh fuck! You wanna cum, I can feel it. But not yet, sweetheart. I won’t push you too hard since this is your first time but soon, you’ll be able to edge for hours…”

That sounded more like a threat than a promise.

While he continues to hit against that sweet spot you find it more difficult and uncomfortable with how you try to deny your orgasm. It feels like your body just needs to burst. And Gun makes it harder purposely of course when he then pulls you back gripping on your waist to watch your ass have ripples from the constant bouncing and slapping.

Your mind gets a little foggy, and your vision briefly spins in circles but you try to hold back as much as you can, noticed by Gun he moans at how obedient you’re being underneath him. The springs from the mattress creak mixed with your longing screams from your throat you made from reflex.

When his balls swing and smack against your clit roughly it adds to the friction and getting it harder to keep in check with your climax. When finally after an only minute you can’t take it anymore.

“Please!! Gun, I don’t think I can do this any longer ple-ease!!”

At the sounds of your begging Gun needs to hold back his own urge to release just so you can have yours like a gentleman.

“Ohh ffuck, do it. Cum on this cock! Then I’ll cum on your face!” With his permission your body tenses up to squeeze out the thick cum across his shaft. From how tight your walls clench from that orgasm he hisses and pulls out as quick as possible so he’d flip you over and pull on your hair making sure his juices spray and land on your face. He moans out breathlessly as he watches himself paint on you, rubbing his tip across your chin and forehead letting it dribble on your skin.

Gun chuckles a little letting the sight sink in. He nods in approval, so much pride and arrogance that fuels the fact that he claimed you well, but he wasn’t done. Nope. He was ready to see just how far you could go before he could make you pass out from exhaustion.

“Go ahead and spread your legs, I’ll give you the sweet reward I promised you.”

A heated sensation is felt on your face and ears but you nod and lay on your back feeling the damp blankets from the amount of sweat you have. Gun groans at the sight with his cum still coated on your face while your own cum is leaking out of your warmth.

He dives right in with no mercy or hesitation upfront. You can almost scream just from how amazing his tongue and lips feel against your pulsating clit as he spreads your folds open with his fingers.

He moans from your taste making him go wild, burying his nose nuzzling it while inhaling you. Sucking the hood of your clit giving it little nibbles your brain pauses for a moment, his fingers slipping into your opened core just adds to the pleasure with slow motions listening to your juices up against his face. You can see his black eyes get a little hazy.

You knew you’d have to ask for permission to let loose in his mouth but then it just felt so good that you greedily didn’t want him to stop. Gun focuses on between your folds for a little bit before replacing his fingers for his tongue circling around your entrance while his thumb pressed against your clit with very motions. Your eyes can’t help but get to the back of your skull while in the middle of seeing stars.

He catches your pleased reactions and has it purposely difficult not to release just yet. Just when you’re on the brink of asking for it he pulls away with a sudden warning expression. “Ah… I plan on edging you further, even if your body can’t take it anymore.” He’s just so addicted to breaking you already.

Your nails scratch and dig into the wet blankets below you, ten minutes of holding it all back goes by and you somehow feel like you’re weak knowing that you might not be able to go through with this little game of his.

Another ten minutes and suddenly you can’t get enough, even if you’re trembling hard your body threatens to cum with no control over it. But you are still successful with this aching feeling. “Hah, p-please Gun! I wa—“ Gun’s hand crashes down on your mouth silencing you shaking his head. “I don’t need you to beg, that’s not what I want right now. I want to see you falling apart. I guess I just wasn’t so clear about that.” His heavy body hovers above you, quivering and in pain.

The digits of his slim fingers easily slick past your pulsating hole, rubbing on the spot he knows he’d leave you destroyed with. “How’s that? Huh?” His tone mocking and mean, you can’t take it. “You’re fucking soaking. And you’re squeezing on my fingers so tight like some little whore. You’re definitely struggling yet you’re doing such a good job. I don’t know if I should reward you, or just want to make you suffer more…”

Gun definitely has a new obsession now. Maybe he’ll be thinking of you when he gets really excited when he’s fighting.

#lookism #lookism comic #lookism webtoon #lookism x reader

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purple-goo-writes · 2 years ago

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OMFG MY BRAIN JUST HAD THE BEST THOUGHT

PHANTOM BEING THE JL'S PROBLEM CHILD/FIRST PROTÉGÉ

like okay okay hear me out.

Danny is just starting out as Phantom when the JL is getting kicked off. This is like maybe six years before Batman even takes on Robin or something idk. But just the JL just formed they are busting their asses off getting Meta Rights when they find the Anti-Eco acts and this leads them to Phantom. Cause you know for shit that the League isn't gonna let those acts stay. Nope that shit gotta go especially so they can get Meta Rights.

One things leads to another

And somehow this leds to them all mentoring this sassy dead teen.

And Danny finds himself with a bunch of mentors and as basically the JLs test protégé. You know he is going to start a blog too as Phantom called My Life as Teen Vigilante. Which also helps said mentors down the line when more teen heroes pop up.

But also the fucking shenanigans!!!

Batman: Drop it

Danny: *puts kryptonite in mouth*

Batman: Damn it Danny!

Danny: *running as chews faster!*

---

Flash: Hey buddy I'm here to check-whatcha got there?

Danny: *wearing the crown of rage and star cape whilst sipping a smoothie* A smoothie

Flash: *rapidly reading through Amity News* What happened whilst we were in space?!

Danny: *slurpsss*

Flash: HOW DID NO ONE NOTICE A WHOLE TOWN DISAPPEARING?!

Danny: *big slurp*

Danny: And I'm ghost king now

Flash: YOU'RE WHAT?!

Canary: *trying to help danny with new powers*

JL member watching: sooo what power di he get now?

Batman: *headache brewing* he can now level a city with his voice

Danny getting ice powers: I am going to cause so may problems with this

Danny nearly freezing to death and causing the JL to freak out: Hello consequences to my actions

Que Batman ad Flash interrogating their ice villains on controlling ice powers cause Some How There Wasn't An Ice Hero Yet!

Dan Happens

Danny: Fuck what was Bats plan for evil future self?

Danny: Oh right *pulls out Fenton phone* Call Dad number 5

Batman: you forgot what rhe contingency plan for this was didn't you?

Or alternatively

Dan Happens

JL shows up after case they were off world: What happened?!

Danny: *laying exhausted in crater* Boy Do I Have A Story For You!

So on.

By the time most get their protégés, they've already had a test run with Danny, who likes to claim that he is each protégés big brother for it. The Kids love their Big Brother Danny...the JL doesn't love the new shenanigans Danny gets into with them.

In his defense, they left him unsupervised with said kids.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #justice league crossover #danny fenton #dc x dp prompt #mwhahaa basicallh the JL had a head start and it Solved A Lot Of Problems

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nameless-jamie · 2 months ago

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DO YOU MIND?

Glimpse Into the Future - Jamie Tartt x fem!PA reader

Masterlist

TW: cursing, jealousy

It was supposed to be a normal day—a quick photo shoot for the team’s upcoming campaign. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a group of talented athletes, some lights, a few cameras, and a whole lot of media attention.

But, of course, with Jamie Tartt involved, nothing was ever just normal.

Y/N was heavily pregnant, her belly swollen with Baby Tartt as she entered the studio, feeling every inch of the weight and the tiredness she had been carrying around for the past few months. Despite how uncomfortable she was, she had insisted on coming in. She couldn't leave Jamie alone with the media circus that was always drawn to him, especially not now while she was extra pregnant and feeling particularly useless in her job as Jamie's assistant. Jamie, the father of her child and her boss was more like her assistant these days... They weren’t married yet, but she loved him—a lot. She wasn’t going to relax at home when Jamie was out there in the spotlight or working his ass off on the pitch.

But there was something about this day. The air was thick with tension, even though no one would have known it unless they’d been paying close attention. That’s when she noticed her—the photographer's assistant.

Yup, the photographer's assistant had been hanging around the team for the entire shoot, a young woman with a wide smile and eyes that roamed a little too much over Jamie as he posed for the photos. Y/N could see it in the way the woman looked at him, the flirty glances, the playful comments. Her pregnant brain was immediately on alert and her jealousy level spiked.

Y/N felt the stir of irritation brewing in her chest, something she knew she could only partially blame on the hormones. The assistant was clearly flirting with Jamie, oblivious to the fact that Y/N was standing right there, her pregnant belly a clear indicator that Jamie wasn’t single. She probably didn't know Jamie that well; must live under a rock. Jamie Tartt's baby announcement went viral.

"Great, just what I need today," Y/N muttered under her breath, though she couldn’t hold back a little evil smirk. Oh, this was going to be a little fun.

The assistant leaned in too close, hands on her hips, flashing a grin at Jamie. "So," she purred, "you got any plans after the shoot? You could show me around the city, maybe grab a drink?"

Jamie—being Jamie—flashed a cocky smile and leaned back against the prop, crossing his arms in a way that screamed I'm not impressed. "Nah, I’m good. Got a few things to do, y'know."

"Oh?" The assistant raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "What could you possibly be busy with? The shoot's nearly over." Her eyes flicked over to Y/N and the rest of the team shooting glares at her, then back to Jamie. "You sure you don’t wanna... have a little fun after?"

Y/N’s hand tightened on the edge of the chair she was sitting in. Did she really just say that?

The assistant was definitely testing the waters now. Y/N was sure now, she didn’t even know she was Jamie’s girlfriend. Not that it would have stopped her, or so Y/N thought. But her semi-sexual comment crossed a line, and Y/N—well, she was done playing nice.

"You know, sweetheart," Y/N’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, "maybe you should be more focused on your work than flirting with people who are clearly taken."

Y/N wanted to give her statement a little more gusto by standing up from her chair and walking towards them, but her big belly made it really hard to stand up on her own, so Sam had to help her up.

The assistant’s smile faltered for a split second before she gave a tight laugh looking down at Y/N pregnant state. "Oh? Who's the lucky guy? He must be someone important if you're sitting around the club and giving out orders like that." She gestured to Y/N’s protruding belly.

The comment stung more than Y/N wanted to admit, her job was always something Y/N was proud of and now she was just viewed as some pregnant lady, that had no business 'chilling' in a football club. But she wasn’t about to let this girl think she could walk all over her.

Jamie, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with a bemused expression, was finally ready to step in. His lips twitched into a smile, but it was clear he wasn’t enjoying the exchange. He knew Y/N wasn’t the type to let anyone disrespect her, especially not when she was carrying their child. And he doesn't want her to get all riled up because the stress is bad for the baby.

Just as he was about to open his mouth and tell the girl off, she put her hands on his arm and squeezed his biceps. "Wow, you're really strong, Jamie."

"Do you mind keeping your hands to yourself?" Y/N snapped, feeling a surge of protectiveness rush through her. “And, by the way, it’s not very polite to flirt with someone who’s clearly not interested in you."

The assistant's grin didn’t fade immediately. Instead, she leaned in further, ignoring the obvious tension in the air. "Oh, I get it," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You got knocked up by a footballer or maybe a coach, huh? That's why you feel so important up in here and try to tell me what to do."

Y/N’s blood boiled, but before she could respond, Jamie stood up straighter, the playful grin never leaving his face. He crossed his arms, looking the assistant dead in the eye. “Yup,” he said proudly, his voice full of cocky amusement as he pointed toward Y/N's belly. “I did that. I’m the footballer who knocked her up proper.”

The assistant’s face dropped, realizing she’d made a mistake by misjudging the situation. Jamie looked at Y/N with such adoration in his eyes that it made her heart skip a beat. His protective proud dad side was showing, and it made her love him even more.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at the assistant, her tone cutting. “Next time, you might want to keep your comments to yourself. And remember who you’re talking to. Maybe google Jamie Tartt before you flirt with him, because you'll definitely see my face on your feed, bitch.”

Jamie chuckled, wrapping an arm around Y/N's waist, and pulling her close. "That’s my girl," he whispered, placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

The assistant quickly muttered an apology, realizing she’d overstepped her bounds, and hurriedly disappeared to finish her tasks elsewhere.

The team, of course, had been watching the whole exchange with rapt attention.

Roy, who had been quietly observing from the side, chuckled. “That was bloody brilliant, Y/N. 'You'll definitely see my face on your feed, bitch', gotta remember that one.”

Dani clapped his hands. "Oh, mama bear is fierce!"

Isaac, unable to resist, added, "Should've seen your face, Jamie. You looked scared for a second there, mate."

"I was scared for the girl. Even pregnant she would've fucking rocked her off her socks, mate." Jamie laughed.

Sam laughed, nudging Jamie’s shoulder. “No one messes with Y/N, huh?”

Y/N gave a mock half-bow, feeling the weight of her pregnancy a little more now. “Glad I could entertain you all. Next time, I’ll just throw a chair or something.”

Jamie wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Nah, babe. You handled it perfectly. And for the record—" he grinned mischievously, "I’m definitely not interested in anyone else. Especially when I’ve got you and Baby Tartt. By the way, I could've totally handled it without you stressing yourself so much."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, feeling her heart swell with affection. "Good answer, Tartt. Didn't see you handling it, though."

He smirked at her sassy answer, he honestly did not expect anything else. "Well, you didn't even give me a chance."

Y/N just rolled her eyes and puckered her lips for a kiss. Which Jamie obliged to do quickly.

The shoot continued, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little more confident about her place in this world—she wasn’t just Jamie’s assistant. She wasn’t just his girlfriend. She was the mother of his freaking child. And there was nothing that anyone—bitch assistant or otherwise—could say to change that.

And when Jamie leaned in to kiss her, his lips soft and tender against hers, she realized that this was exactly where she was meant to be.

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #ted lasso show #afc richmond #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #roy kent #jamie tartt imagine #sam obisanya #PA x Jamie Tartt

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indiweb · 1 year ago

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宿儺、 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 ◞ 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐀.

shopping spree antics ⋆ ryomen sukuna

꒰ྀི՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ྀི . . . you’re out on the town with your boyfriend for the evening , bothering him with your nonsense. ── est relationship. fluff. suggestive. / hc / © 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲. ᐢ..ᐢ

dreypunte. there’s an age gap , reader being in her early/mid twenties while sukuna is in his late thirties. >.<

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝜗ϱ

" let me just buy , ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀the entire store. "

⭑ bimbo reader. that some how got thee ryomen sukuna latched at her fucking hip. like full on if he saw any other male species even staring in her direction , he’d slaughter their entire bloodline.

" mira , papito , es tú favorito. "

⭑ bimbo reader. who was merely supposed to just be a piece in his extended checkers game. though , somehow became more with every interaction he had with her ; a tethered fire brewing in the depths of his core each glance he shot her way.

" ay que lindo , you know you love me. "

⭑ bimbo reader. is sukuna’s entire world. when she’s with , and without him , he has eyes on her at all times. never once taking any chances with her life. he’d risk hurting his own self before hers.

( ryomen sukuna 𝓍𝓍 bimbo reader )

⭒ cartel!sukuna. wasn’t one to enjoy being out and about. he hated being away from his scheduled plans. but, if it meant he got to let off some steam and spend the evening with you, he’d push aside his negative feelings and embrace the warmth of your multilayered arms snuggling into his as you wrapped them around his forearm.

⭒ cartel!sukuna. had a guilty pleasure of smelling the perfumes you were indecisive about buying, secretly imagining how you’d smell as he stuffed you whole, his head delved into the crevice of your neck just so he could engulf you entirely.

⭒ cartel!sukuna. loved resting one of his large hands along the skim of your shoulders, whilst his other kneaded at your clothed ass. you never minded, of course. your focus far too enthralled by all the adorably cute clothing pieces you picked out so diligently.

⭒ cartel!sukuna. adored when you pouted at him any time your favorite item was no longer in stock. because that was usually the time he took to pinch both of your cheeks as he gave you a small lecture about waiting for it to return. even though you both knew he’d send his men to search earths ends just to find it for you.

⭒ cartel!sukuna. thoroughly enjoyed your little fashion shows. especially since your style consisted of cute little tight fitted clothing that flaunted all of the curves he cherished deeply. and, always seemed to barely cover you ass anytime you gave him a spin, the man struggling to contain himself in such a high end store.

⭒ cartel!sukuna. knew that you knew what you were doing. he knew that you only did it so he’d give you a “lecture” about it later, at home. specifically in bed with your face buried so deep into the pillows and your raw ass being pounded into oblivion.

⭒ cartel!sukuna. gave you everything you wanted. no matter the price. not like he even spared it a glance, he had enough money to cure world hunger. but he was far too evil to do so, unless your precious self asked him with that doe-eyed expression he fell victim to religiously.

⭒ cartel!sukuna. who went to your home country with the intention of taking it for his own, some of the small gangs there owing him big bucks. but, ended up leaving with you around his waist and giving the island the wealthiest economy in the carribean.

⭒ cartel!sukuna. that wants to marry you, but overheard you one day expressing your dislikement of the idea. you weren’t a fan of marriage, it felt controlling. so, he settled with staying as your boyfriend until you said otherwise.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝜗ϱ

. *. ⋆ subnotes. if you couldn’t tell already , this au is based in puerto rico ૮꒰ྀི つ˘ `⸝⸝ ꒱ྀིა

━━━━━━━━

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venomvalley · 2 years ago

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THREE'S A COMPETITION

pairing: leon kennedy x reader x ada wong

summary: Both Ada and Leon have something to prove, and they choose you to settle the score.

words: 4.8k

warnings: 18+ for the love of god (threesome, reader has female-gendered anatomy but uses gender neutral terms, oral sex for everyone, orgasm denial, praise kink, light choking, rough vaginal sex, porn with feelings, smoking)

notes: this is my magnum opus and i dont think i will ever do this again (me when i lie) so enjoy it while u can!!! also ada and leon banter but do not touch each other bc this is about ME i mean US!

Within a lavish hotel, some ten-thousand miles from HQ, the three of you sit. The other side of the earth, a room bathed in shadow.

How you got here is an enigma. Why you’re here is even more lost on you. Half-bet, half-promise between your current lover and his ex. The desperate crawl of a long-lasting feud that refuses to die. The final form of brewing spite. A proving ground—your body declared the field.

This is more than good versus evil. Umbrella versus victim. Personal, vindictive.

The idea is both terrifying and… well. Extremely arousing.

Ada, perched on the edge of the bed, ever cool-countenanced, mysterious in a way only she can be. Beautiful and dangerous.

Leon, leaned back against the dresser, guarded by crossed arms and a straight-line mouth. He hides his thoughts well. Agreed to this on the principle of proving her wrong.

I know what we like, Leon. There’s no competition here when it’s fact.

And now, here you sit cross-legged on the bed, thumbing at the soft sheets. Sheets that will be ruined by the end of the night.

Ada tilts her head, brushes silky hair behind an ear. “Well? Do we just plan to sit here and stare at each other all night?” You meet her eye, and painted lips curl into a grin. “Come over here, beautiful.”

The woman is magnetic, voice a siren song that you find difficult to disobey, smooth to the ears, massages some repressed part of your brain. You understand now. Leon’s attachment to her. All the mystery, an opaque shroud that even you grew curious about at one point. Several, if you wish to be truthful.

She toes off her heels and turns to your approaching form. Reaches out a hand to steady you.

“Don’t worry about Leon. He’s a sore loser,” she says. Curls a hand around your waist, the other settling over your nape. Burning in their intensity. “Let’s get started.”

She kisses like she fights: dominating, moves with strict calculation until your breath grows heavy and a whine starts in your throat. Her tongue licks into your mouth, flicks soft against your own, and your hands rise to comb through her hair.

She pulls away with a hum, ghosts a thumb over your bottom lip. Teasing, a taste test. “My shade suits you. Don’t you think, Leon?” She takes your chin in hand to turn your head.

He pushes away from the dresser and walks toward you, eyes severe in their emotion. “Yeah. Cute.”

Anticipation thumps away at your chest. This is happening. It’s happening, and it’s weird and awkward and you’re already wet. A fact that should leave you embarrassed, but you buzz head-to-toe in anticipation.

What does that say about you? You don’t really care, if you’re being honest.

He lowers into a crouch before you and tugs up the hem of your dress, movements impatient, fingers hot as they map out the flesh of your thighs then hips then waist. Then you sit before them in just your underwear, and Ada breathes out a laugh.

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” she asks, glides a finger over the seat of your underwear. Laughs again when your hips seek her touch. “Wet already.”

A pair of lips attach to your neck, a flash of blond hair in your peripheral. He’s perfected your body. Knows exactly where to suckle, how to bite, when to ease off. You tilt your head to the side to provide easier access, arch your back when a pair of lips bite the curve of your breast.

Drowning. The only way you can describe it. Two opposite personalities, a direct juxtaposition between shows of confidence. Leon knows you, draws on muscle memory for his expertise, weakens you with ease. Ada knows the universal, guesses with frightening accuracy what makes you tick. She’s a people-reader, clever, skillful. A master of her craft.

You weren’t expecting an equal playing field. Not by a long shot.

Leon pulls away then pushes you back to the bed with a firm hand against your chest, lips twitching at your surprised huff.

Ada scoffs from between your legs. “I was in the middle of something.”

“Don’t be so slow next time,” he says. Shifts forward on his knees to hover over you, fingertips trailing the raw-suckled skin on your neck. “This shade suits you a lot better.”

Your chest flutters, a birth of butterflies as he smiles down at you. Short-lived when slim fingers spread your legs and tug aside your underwear, and you break his gaze to stare down the line of your body. Ada, bright-eyed and grinning, lipstick smudged from your kiss, hair the messiest you’ve ever seen it.

Leon’s quick to pull your attention back. Grabs you by the throat, kisses you hard on the mouth, and you curl a hand around his wrist in silent order to stay. To squeeze.

“They like it rough. Noted,” Ada says, warm breath fanning against the lips of your cunt, before the slick heat of her tongue jolts you.

Your jaw relaxes at the sensation, as she licks over you in long, languid strokes, and he pulls away. Presses a tender kiss to your cheek.

He understands the overwhelm, knows how difficult multitasking can be, and you sigh out in thanks. Couldn’t keep a rhythm if you tried, from the agile way she curls her tongue, her pleased hums when you bite back whimpers and moans. Too early into the night for you to succumb, to break apart.

She presses her tongue inside you, swirls up against sensitive nerves, pulls out to lick hard over your clit. You find it difficult to stay your hips, to still your hands, and Leon groans when you grope at the bulge inside his jeans. Cusses harsh under his breath.

When the pleasure grows, when your thighs begin to twitch and your breathing deepens, you cling to him with shaking fingers that dimple the muscle of his bicep. Press your forehead to his shoulder. Whine mournfully when she slides two fingers into you then pulls them back out.

“Oh, Leon. I almost don’t believe it.” She says it almost pitying, in such a sweet way that leaves you no choice but to look down at her.

After catching your eye, she spreads middle and ring finger, shiny beneath the light, your slick stringing between them. Tilts her head to inspect the sight, then sucks them into her mouth. Closes her eyes with a hum.

“Fuck me,” you hiss, drop your head back against the sheets, and Leon huffs out a breath.

“She’s a show-off.”

Ada slips both fingers back into your cunt, ends each smooth thrust with a curling pressure against your g-spot. “Show-off and confident are two very different things, though I can see how you’d confuse the two.”

Leon rises onto his knees. Fusses with the zipper of his jeans, and your vision starts to blur at the edges. Too much heat, too much sensation, and the sight of his heavy cock, ruddy at the tip and slicked with pre-cum seeks to fry your brain completely. “I figured insults would be above you by now.”

You curl both knees toward your chest, panting hard as numbing pleasure coils at the base of your spine, and she laves her tongue over the bud of your clit. Soothes a hand up the back of your thigh when you jolt. “I’m more interested in what’s below me. Aren’t you?”

You grip his pant leg until your knuckles drain of color, and he looks upon you with forest-fire reverence. A ruination that darkens his gaze, the soot of leftover trees—seeing you for the very first time. His cock twitches, drips sticky onto your belly.

That’s what this is, isn’t it. A shifting of roles, a different dynamic. He hasn’t seen you like this before. Ready to orgasm on someone else’s fingers and tongue. Very talented ones at that.

And Ada notices. Of course she does. She pulls away and leans back and you think to knee her in the jaw because you were right there, so fucking close. The beginning of the end, a white-heat char down to your bones. Until she crawls over you and brushes slick fingers against your bottom lip.

“Be good for me and open up,” she says, voice a calming purr. What else can you do but obey? Her fingers slide heavy against your tongue, and you close your eyes at the first taste of yourself. “No. Look at Leon.”

Again, you obey. Your eyes meet his as Ada presses deeper, and when you suck at her fingers, his jaw tenses beneath the skin. She pulls out, gives you an open-mouthed kiss, drags a hand down the valley of your breasts.

Leon drips onto your belly again, and this time, she notices. Gives a short-tempered scoff. “Leon, you’re making a mess.”

“Can you blame me?”

She gazes down at you, reverence akin to blue flame, scorching in its severity. Drags fingertips over the curve of your twitching belly. “I guess not.”

You reach out to her. Dip a finger beneath the hem of her dress. “It’s unfair that you’re the only one fully dressed.” You sound as fucked-out as you must look, throat flayed raw, words slurring together.

“So you can speak.”

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I haven’t really had the chance.”

She coughs out a laugh, tugs her dress up and off. “You should really take a break from Leon.”

He pulls you into a sitting position, keeps a hand on your back when you find yourself unsteady. When you find that all the blood in your body has pooled between your legs. “And you never appreciated my jokes.”

She’s beautiful bathed in moonlight, slivers of pale that cut through the curtains. Slender, toned by her work.

A mercenary, you remind yourself, who deals with the enemy. But you left that shit at the door. Made a promise to each other that, for tonight, none of it matters.

You suppose that they’re no strangers to this arrangement.

The thought sours your stomach.

A slim hand rests on your knee, and when you look over, she tilts her head. Dissects you with dark eyes. Whatever she sees makes her hum, pulls her closer. “I think our little bird is having second thoughts.”

Your face numbs, almost in shame. “No. No, it’s not—“ You stop yourself with a shake of your head. Swallow thick. “Is this really just about me?”

“Who else has it been about, my dear?”

An arm circles around your waist, coaxes you into a recline against Leon’s chest. He presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder, follows with his nose the line of your jaw. His cock fits heavy against your lower back. “It is very much about you. I would never lie about that.”

Ada’s brow furrows. “For the record, I wouldn’t either.” Despite knowing what you know, the roots of her manipulation, you believe her. She doesn't seem the type to go this far, to wield sex like ammunition after knowing how vulnerable you’ve made yourself. But you could be wrong. You often are about these things.

Still, you believe both of them in good faith, and the inner turmoil eases.

When your body relaxes, the room ceases its tension. Ada understands to keep her distance, to allow you the chance to decompress within the cage of Leon’s arms. She understands, but she stays. Keeps that hand on your knee.

It’s tender, uncharacteristic—no, that’s unfair. You only know her through anecdotes, glimpses of red, the ghost that has haunted your years-long relationship. None of your assumptions have been fair, and that’s on you.

Okay. You’re okay. A conclusion that you share aloud.

“You’re sure,” Leon says, more statement than question, and you nod your head.

Ada leans forward, slots her lips against yours in a sweet kiss, pulls back just enough to say, “Maybe we should let you decide. How do you want us?” Her tone registers quiet, serene to the ears. A gentle nudge, a reassurance. Appreciated.

“Lay back,” you say, and she obeys, a perfect mirror to earlier orders. A flip of the dynamic.

You feel powerful. Unbelievably so.

When you turn in Leon’s arms, his gaze softens. He offers up a precious smile, wide and adoring, and you’ve never loved anybody more in your entire life.

“You sure you’re okay?” he whispers, and you kiss him in response. Pump a fist over the length of his cock until he groans into your mouth.

You glance over your shoulder to Ada, say, “I’ll be right with you,” and your chest soars when she laughs out all breathy. A pretty sound, like mid-spring windchimes.

You scoot back then bend over to take him into your mouth, softened down to half-hardness. An oops on your part. Nothing a conveniently-placed tongue can’t fix.

For every detail he knows about your body, you know his just as well.

“The view is picturesque from here,” Ada says. A hand curves over your ass, fingers dancing close to your labia. “I wish I had a camera on me.”

Leon sighs out shaky, breath ending on a moan when you swallow half his length and hollow your cheeks. And you try not to think about the fingers sinking into your cunt, lest you lose your rhythm or damn it altogether.

“Think mine’s better,” he pants, as you quicken the bob of your head and gently massage his balls with a cupped hand, and he spreads his knees further apart—a welcome of the sensation, a form of begging that you’ve familiarized yourself with.

The pleasure from before begins to build, settles a brew in your belly, between your legs. Filled at both ends by two different people, connected by such strange circumstances, laving you with their attention and expertise and it’s too much in the best possible way.

The head of his cock chokes off your moan when it enters the sheath of your throat, and a large hand encircles the back of your head. A light pressure that leaves sparks setting off between your legs. You swallow around him, Ada adds a third finger, and she makes a noise of surprise when you gag then clamp down on her fingers.

You pull away to gasp, rest a cheek atop his thigh, and milk him with a slick fist. Ada proves relentless against your g-spot, relentless in the silk of her voice, forming words meant to tease, to edge you closer, a master of composure. All fueled by your bitten-off moans and chest-deep whimpers and your heart is fit to burst inside your chest. Leon fares no better above you. The faster her hand moves, the faster yours does. Until his thigh tenses beneath your cheek and he tugs your hand away with a heaving sigh and a cant of strong hips.

Still, she doesn’t stop. You push back against her hand, a silent desperation, a begging that she insists you vocalize.

“Ada. Ada, please, please, can I cum? Please?”

She stops. Pulls out and away—what is this, the second time now? The third? Your body has been reduced to static numbness. Your brain is nothing but slush. You know you’ve puddled up the sheets by now.

You take back everything you said. Fuck her.

“That’s cruel. Even for you.” Leon’s tone teases a smile, and you force yourself up to your knees. Utterly betrayed.

“Good things come to those who wait. Pun very much intended.”

“Maybe she’s better left out from now on,” he says to you, pulls you close with a hand curled about your waist.

Ada stops you with her own, plants a kiss on the side of your neck that sends you to shudders.

“Face me, beautiful. I want to show you something,” she says. You glance back at Leon long enough to watch him roll his eyes. “Pay no mind to him. You’ll enjoy this.”

You straddle his hips and he curls an arm around your middle, just beneath your breasts. Presses a tender kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the racing pulse of your neck. Your cunt swallows him down to the base with a wet schlick, tight and velvety and so fucking good, and he groans through clenched-shut teeth.

You bounce on him for a few shuddering moments, a half second of emptiness before the delicious fill. He’s hotter, harder than you’ve ever felt him. Almost trembles beneath you, thighs tense in an effort to hold himself back.

A slick heat curls over your clit and you gasp out, clutch tight around his cock, drop your head back onto his shoulder. Ada braces her hands against your thighs when you attempt to close them. An overwhelm of the senses, a shock of coiling pleasure, and you ground your body with a tight fist of her hair.

They aid each other in lifting you up, both you and him on your knees, a hand wound about your neck to keep you angled back—enough for Leon to begin long, languid thrusts. Your breath catches in your throat, and you choke out a mewl when Ada seals her lips around your clit and suckles.

Every muscle in your body goes rigid. Your lungs seize. Never. Never have you felt like this before. So fucking good, an uncontrollable pleasure, a hand forced flat atop a burning plate. You think you might die like this. Might faint from slick tight thick circling—she seeks to rend you apart, and each glide of his cock sends you closer. An abyss, a nothingness. What was this even about? How did you even get here?

It doesn’t matter. It doesn't goddamn matter anymore.

You catch your breath on a sob, body jerking to get away, to press closer. You need more. More. More please god please more—

“Harder, Leon, please—“

The hands about your waist squeeze tighter, and he angles his hips to fuck up into you, cockhead brushing against sensitive nerves in long, heavy pumps that empty your freshly-working chest of breath.

He exhales staccato whines as you tighten around him, as Ada hums against your flesh.

“That’s it. So good for us, aren’t you?” he pants. Cuts off his own words to pull you closer, an embrace almost crushing, as if willing your bodies to meld together.

His hips begin to slap against your ass, and you would be jolting if not for Ada’s grip on your hips. If not for the cage of his own arms.

Your orgasm hits in a sudden wave that leaves you trying to curl in on yourself. You flutter around his cock in a tight rhythm, and Ada laughs against your flesh—you know she feels it, too. Neither of them let up, grant you a break. Keep the same intensity that led you to drowning as you are now.

When the aftershocks subside and they still continue, and the overwhelm morphs into pleasure-pain, you cry out with a sharp fuck! and shove Ada’s head away. Leon slides out of you and sits back his haunches. Without them bracing your worn body, you collapse into a heap amongst the dampened sheets, into the musk of cologne and perfume and woodsmoke sex.

“Okay—“ you pause a moment to heave for breath. To swallow with a dry click. Someone hands you a glass of water. The other helps you sit up, and you guzzle down the entire thing. “Okay, no more orgasms for me. Fucking christ, there’s no way that was just one.”

“At least three, I think,” Ada says, reclined back on the bed with a sharp, boastful grin. “I told you that you’d like it, didn’t I?”

If the wet spot on the sheets has anything to say.

But now that you’re sated, they’re… not. She glistens between the legs, a coat of clear honey that you need more than want to lick off. And when you glance back at him, he smiles in that pained way you recognize as I’m gonna be nice and respect your wishes but I need to cum so bad it hurts.

A new plan, then. Their needs breathe into you a second wind. You settle on knees and elbows between Ada’s spread legs, arch your back to welcome the stretch of his cock. In one glide, he bottoms out, balls tight against your clit. Levels out a breath as he twitches inside you.

Beneath you, Ada smiles. Low-lidded, luxurious. Plucks a dusky nipple between thumb and forefinger. The most captivating woman you’ve ever known. Arguably the most beautiful.

“I haven’t done this in a while, so,” you dissolve into a sigh when Leon spreads the cheeks of your ass and quickens his thrusts, breathing out a stuttering sigh.

Saintlike, she finishes your thought with a reassurance, swiping a thumb over your cheek. “It’s like riding a bike, sweet thing.”

Between choked-off moans, you manage to lick over her with the flat of your tongue. She tastes just like you thought she would, earthen and musky, and the jolt of Leon’s hips presses you further against her.

Drowning. Bathed in fire. She curls a hand over the back of your neck and sinks into the sheets. Once again, bathes you in lulling praise, and your nose bumps against her clit as you sink your tongue into her. Keeping a rhythm proves difficult, with the way Leon grows increasingly desperate. Close. His noises give it away, closed-mouth whines that he expels freely, that leave you clenching tight around him.

You replace your tongue with a finger, then another when her cunt squelches around you, sucks both down to the largest knuckle. She moans when your lips latch onto her clit, when your tongue curls tight over the sensitive flesh.

Leon’s fingers dig hard into your hips. Ada’s nails bite into the skin of your neck. So much attention, sensation, the pleasure-pain that you welcome as heat begins to coil in your gut all over again.

He peaks first. Fills you sticky and thick, breathes hot and groaning over your back. You tighten around him, follow each jerk of his cock as Ada’s thighs twitch underhand.

His warmth leaves you, the mattress beside you dipping with his weight, and he gives a loving caress to the expanse of your calf as you work her over—with her heavy grip on your head, you couldn’t move if you tried.

Unlike Leon, she’s quiet when she cums. Breathes heavy and slow, laves you with pet names, with so good, that’s it, just like that. Flutters tight around your fingers. Tilts her hips up to meet your mouth.

By the time she pushes your head away, your mouth and chin are wet with her slick. She collapses to the bed, sated and huffy, coaxes you over with a wave of manicured nails.

“With a performance like that, I just might take you home with me.” She wipes your face with a corner of the sheet, and Leon makes a noise in his chest, already half-asleep. “All jokes, I promise… maybe.”

You’re exhausted. A bone-deep satiation that leaves your limbs watery, that leaves you envious of Ada’s composure—minus her ruined makeup and flushed cheeks.

You’re exhausted, but you wake Leon long enough to tuck him beneath the sheets, and he reaches out to you, a silent request to join him. How could you ever resist?

Ada disappears off the bed as he curls around you, breath hot against the back of your neck. A few moments before his chest evens out in rhythm, and Ada crosses the room before you to sift through her bag. Pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

“You smoke?”

She turns to you with a shrug, a figure kissed by windowed moonlight, dark eyes filled with starshine. “Only after sex.”

You slip from beneath the covers, the heaviness of Leon’s arm, and move to join her. “Don’t tell me you bought a whole pack for this.”

“It’s a special occasion,” she says, swipes an affectionate thumb over your bottom lip. “Want one?”

After removing the plastic and the foil—a fresh pack—she offers up a cigarette. “Why not?” One you take.

You don’t smoke often, if ever. Took on the habit during a bout of teenage rebellion, but Leon hates it. Caught you once after a stressful mission and lectured for half an hour like a disappointed father.

But he’s asleep, and you deserve to indulge sometimes.

Well. Maybe you indulge a little too much.

She leads you onto the balcony, over to the cushioned chairs and the side table already prepped with an ashtray.

“So. Did you have fun?” she asks, and the spark of flame bathes her features in soft orange.

She’s kind enough to spark your own cigarette, cupping her hand to shield the lighter from the wind. “Of course I did. It was… well, a lot better than I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“That’s my point.”

Her mouth widens into a grin, smoke curling in front of her face. “I had fun, too.” She glances over to the room you just left, sinking back into her chair. “Leon clearly did.”

“I think we might’ve killed him, actually.”

The two of you share a laugh. A soft thing that mingles with the breeze and the thick curl of smoke. Tender, intimate.

“He really loves you, doesn’t he?”

You look through the windows of the balcony to where he lay, stretched out beneath the sheets, moonlight paling the features of his sleeping face. “I hope so.”

“No. He does. Trust me.” Smoke billows from her lips as she speaks, and she flicks her ashes into the tray. “What we had… well, I see the way he looks at you. It’s different.”

You huff out a laugh, take a slow drag of your cigarette. “It’s so funny. You’ve always been this looming shadow. A ghost from his past that I constantly felt like I had to outwin. I was jealous of you for so long.” Beneath the stars, she’s even more beautiful. All smeared makeup and soft features. “But I get it. You’re mesmerizing.”

She laughs—genuine and warm, a stretch of straight white teeth. “I’m flattered. But there was never a competition. It was always you.”

From your peripheral, he stirs. Rolls away from the window, pulls the covers over his head. Your cigarette burns bright orange. Lipstick stains the filter.

“I should probably work on my insecurities, huh?”

She crosses her legs at the knee, skin brushing warm against yours. “You’re good for him. Better than I ever was. Don’t ruin that.” You give her a soft nod, and she tilts her head. Seeking something in the features of your face. “I’m serious. He deserves peace for once in his life.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted to give him.”

She holds pain. Lots of it. Unspoken, compartmentalized, swallows it down like sharded glass. It’s in her eyes when she looks at you again.

“Was this ever about the bet?” you ask, moving closer. Breathing in the smoke she exhales.

“You’d really like to know.”

“That’s why I asked.”

She looks down at her hand a moment, inspects the burn of the cigarette, and you expect her to answer with silence.

But she adjusts her posture, leans back against the chair. Looks up at you beneath long lashes. “No. That’s all I’ll say.”

“You really can’t give me any more than that?”

Her eyes roam the features of your face, eyes that grow soft, lidded. “You have nothing to worry about. Not from me, at least.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“I know. But you look like you need the reassurance anyway.”

You don’t understand her, and maybe that’s the point. She speaks in riddles, protects her intentions inside the locked-up cage of her chest.

You wonder if anybody knows the real her. Ada, beneath all the glamor and the mystery. Does she even know herself?

With a quiet sigh, she extinguishes her cigarette, burned all the way down to the filter.

“You’re leaving,” you say. More statement than question.

“I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

She leans over the arm of your chair. Slots her lips over yours in a tender kiss, warm and languid. Soothes a hand down your chest. A goodbye.

“Take care of yourself, my dear.”

A small peck, a lipstick-smudge gift to leave you with.

“I should be telling you that.”

“Oh, I’m always careful.”

You watch from the balcony as she sneaks inside. Begins gathering her clothes, packing her things. Every bit the ghost you’ve always tied her to. Every bit the entrancing woman you’ve learned her to be.

She leaves as quickly as she arrived. Leon never stirs.

You smother your cigarette and go to him, curling up beneath the sheets again, and he greets you with a rosy, sleep-drunk smile. And you find it impossible to love him more, but you do somehow.

Ada was right. This was never a competition.

#resident evil #re4r #leon kennedy x reader #ada wong x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #ada wong fanfic #my fics #ns/ft #fic: three’s a competition

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bl00dlight · 10 months ago

Text

Ghostly Flame

Aemond Targaryen x OC sister x Alys Rivers {NSFW}

Warnings ● Carpet munching, graphic language, general smut, FxF, age gap, targcest, dubious consent, drugging?, not proof read

Word count ● 3k+

Author's Note • This was meant to be a one shot. Now it's a two parter. This actually has a plot. I dont write smut without a plot and the x reader is so overdone atm. So ive written up an OC. This part is some serious lesbo action. Happy pride to all my homo milf lovers. This one is for you.

Masterlist

Part I

The halls of Harrenhal were no place for a Targaryen. Somber and damp... shadows cast by no flame engulfed the walls. It was an odd place, a cursed place.

As the great Targaryen civil war raged on, Prince Aemond Targaryen had seized Harrenhal for himself after his uncle, Daemon Targaryen fled it. There, Prince Aemond enacted his plan of destruction upon the Riverlands. Burning all, innocent or otherwise, loyal or traitorous. Indeed, Prince Aemond did not discriminate for who would meet the fires of Vhagar.

However, none met his wrath quite like the House Strong. For Aemond slaughtered all Strong Bastards and Strong nobles he might come across. Leading to the House facing extinction. No man, woman or child seemed to escape the Targaryen Prince's wrath... but one... a bastard woman by the name of Alys Rivers.

A witch, whom he took as his war prize. A bedmate to distract him during the cold and clawing nights in Harrenhal. The Prince swore he heard the screams and cries of those he had slain. Though he dare not admit it, it unnerved him. Alys' talents in apothecary came most useful to him, for she oft brewed him tonics to ease such tension he claimed was from war.

Though he had found other measures in which to use the woman for, when it came to matters of easing tension. Alys was a woman of many talents indeed. The Prince could seldom admit to himself the bastard had grown on him, something he kept hidden within his heart.

Just as his younger sister was, tucked away in Harrenhal's stoney depths. The Princess Daera was a delicate thing, much like her sister Helaena; unaware of the evils that dwelled around her. Unaware of the depths of depravity and violence her own brother held buried within him. Or so Aemond thought.

After Rhaneyra had taken back King's Landing, the Princess Daera had managed to escape her half-sister’s capture. Being aided by a Kingsguard to flee the capital and join her brother Aemond as he campaigned through the Riverlands.

They had settled in Harrenhal for several weeks now, and Daera had spent most of her time dwelling it's cursed halls. At times sitting in the Godswood with the raven haired bastard Alys Rivers.

Daera found it strange how the woman had taken to her. Sometimes insisting on helping her bathe and dress. The bastard claimed it was her nature as a wetnurse, and was in servitude to Prince Aemond and the Princess. That it pleased her to tend to Daera.

Though it was apparent how Alys unnerved Daera at times, finding her staring intently. Her green eyes locked upon the Princess's soft form.

Similarly to Aemond, Princess Daera oft took the tonics Alys left for her, since her arrival at Harrenhal also came with paralyzing nightmares. Tormenting the princess with strange and devastating visions. Visions of her family's death... of Aemond's death.

Some of which leaked into her waking moments. Daera had oft found herself coming to Aemond in the dead of night, frozen with terror as she had heard disembodied voices calling for her... yearning for her.

●

Princess Daera sat in her chamber, it was a far cry from her former one in the Red Keep. The walls stoney, grey and the bedding always cold and lumpy. Only the fire provided the much needed light which seemed to get lost amidst the shadowy landscape of Harrenhal.

She rose, making her way to her bed. The hour was rather early considering, but there was little else to do once it darkened outside. And it was a great comfort for Daera to hear the bustling of people still awake. Far better that the void of silence the castle was known for.

The soft howling of the wind echoed through the halls outside, and Daera tried her best to ignore the frightful noise. This place... chilled her bones like no other.

Daera turned her head, looking out the thin windows etched into the stone. Gazing upon the moonlit landscape of the Riverlands; all burnt to a cinder now. No doubt her brother’s doing.

As she came to her bed, she sat and saw the tonic Alys had left, neatly placed upon the side table. Daera brought it to her lips, drinking it squarely and she prepared herself for the familiar wince that would follow as the bitter herbs hit her tongue. But it did not come.

It tasted different... sweet?

A warmth filled her bones, an ease. Mayhap Alys had found a new recipe, one which was more effective? As the princess laid down, her hair pooled like a river behind her. She shut her eyes, drawing the covers over her frame. The feeling spread from her chest to her toes. Easing her, mellowing her temper. She stretched, indulging in the bliss of it, like a cat in the sun she could feel herself go mindless to its heady comfort. The world around her felt softer, kinder. Even the lumpy bedding. With that, Daera drifted off and the Princess's dreams were as strange as they always were. Though less terrifying admittedly.

She dreamt of her chambers and its strange silence. Of herself, sleeping. In the dream the Princess opened her eyes, awakening to the dark, stoney chambers. The fire dimmed and the world around her cast in a strange fog.

Outside, the wind wailed softly and she came to the window, gazing upon the scorched earth lit by the pale light of the moon. It was an odd sight. Such beauty, forever scarred by flame. What irony that the Riverlands were now dry.

Suddenly, she felt a familiar chill run through her bones. The same chill she oft has in his nightmares. Her eyes widened, and Daera remained still until her attention was drawn by a voice which beckoned from the halls.

Daera turned, tilting her head as she walked slowly towards the doors. Her pale nightgown and robe trailing. Her heart thumped slowly, though the voices grew, she did not fear them for some reason...

As her hand came to the cool doorknob, Daera turned them slowly, carefully pulling the heavy wood. What she faced was nil but an empty hall. Shadowy, lit only by the strands of moonlight which casted a fractured glow upon the stone. Daera stood back, a trickle of fear running through her as the halls themselves felt like a looming force not to be disturbed.

But the voices grew again, beckoning her. The Princess couldn't quite make out what they were saying, some in fact seemed to not be speaking in the common tongue at all. But they were soft, luring.

Daera followed them, slowly moving through the halls in a daze. Her body coursing now with that familiar warmth from earlier. If she wasn't sure she was already dreaming, she could've sworn she might fall asleep.

She made her way through the dark, half unknowingly. It seemed the world around her melted into the shadows. The only confirmation Daera had she was moving forward were the peaks of light from the thin windows. The dark had engulfed her completely. It seemed the halls were but a maze she had no sense of navigation for, but as she came across two large doors, a strange feeling bloomed within her. That this was where the voices were leading her too.

Daera opened the door, her eyes heavy as they set upon the familiar sight. Though it was dark, only lit by a few small candles and a dying fire. The chamber was streaked by the moonlight illuminating a sight she had seen many times. Aemond's bed. Somehow, it seemed she ended up in his quarters here in Harrenhal.

Despite having walked what she thought was the opposed way.

She entered, closing the door behind her and when she turned again, she was met with pale skin, raven hair splayed out upon Aemond's bed. Alys.

Daera stopped, her eyes opening as she came to see how the woman lay bare. Her sharp face peering up at the princess, and giving her a warm smile.

Alys moved, sitting up slowly and Daera turned her head; a coil of embarrassment within her that she would walk in upon Alys in such a state.

But the bastard only gazed, her green eyes leering over Daera's curves. The two women said nothing, before Daera felt the sudden urge to turn to face Alys.

At first she wished to cringe, but as her eyes scanned the bare and pale flesh of the woman before her, that warmth grew.

Daera found herself taking in Alys' breasts, her hips and thighs. The silvery ripples of stretched skin upon her belly, contrasted with her raven hair - thick like a belt of the night sky.

The Princess moved closer and closer until she stood before the witch. Alys sat neatly upon the edge of the bed gazing upwards. Daera's eyes grew wide, both with desire and shame.

It was a forbidden temptation to indulge in, an act which would tarnish Daera forever; even if it was just a dream, even if it was the conjurings of her mind... to know such desires lay within her was enough.

Daera stepped back, uncertain - just as she did the pale and harsh grip of Alys snatched her wrist. The witch tugged her closer until her legs were pinned between the sitting Alys.

"Where are you going... surely you wish to stay." Her voice had curled, a thick sultry husk as she glanced up at the Princess.

Daera felt herself shake slightly, her mind reeling at the thought of it all. But she nodded, sparking a smile from Alys.

"Good..." Alys murmured. "Sit yourself here...." She gently patted the edge of the bed, a gesture which seemed less of a request and more a demand.

Daera sat quietly, the warmth spreading through her as she took a peak at the pale and soft bare flesh of Alys beside her. The Princess squeezed her thighs together to stifle whatever feeling dwelled between them.

The witch snickered, moved closer before she let her hand slide upon Daera's clothed thigh. Alys leaned in, her lips grazing her ear, "I can smell such shame... and such desire..." Her voice but a whisper.

Daera froze, her eyes watching as Alys hand slid between her clothed thighs.

"All this cloth you wear, it is such a hindrance. Surely it does no good for you to adorn something so... restrictive." The witch whispered once more, feeling the layers or fabric which hid Daera's skin.

"Modesty is a virtue for women..." Daera spoke softly, shakily. Though the conviction in her voice weak.

Alys tutted and scoffed, "Mm... is that what the Dowager Queen taught you? That you are but a vessel to be adorned by the virtues men bestowed upon us? You are a dragon... my girl." The witch let her pale hands come to Daera's robe, peeling it off her.

Alys discarded the robe to the floor and Daera let her. The Princess caught in a daze of uncertainty and desire. The warmth spread through her core at the mere suggestion of what the bastard woman claimed.

The princess felt cool lips at her neck, kissing and siphoning at her skin, as hands worked to rid her of her nightgown. Daera let out a shuddered breath.

"Indeed, I've much to show you Princess. Just as I have the Prince..." Alys spoke lowly, raising her brow as she revealed Daera's form before her. Her small clothes still sitting over her pelvis.

The princess turned her head, catching the green eyes of Alys. A chill ran down her spine at the mention of her brother. They were in his bed... doing such sinful things. Exactly where the witch had surely gotten her brother to do the same.

Daera tilted her head, her eyes pleading as Alys had grabbed her chin, pulling it so their faces met. The witch's fingers then grazed over Daera's plush lips as she whispered.

"Such pretty lips... gone unkissed.." Alys inched forward, cupping Daera's jaw. Suddenly their lips met in a slow, languid kiss. Daera found herself slightly shocked by the sensation. It was... wetter than she had expected.

The princess leaned in, as that warmth spread through her. She kissed Alys back, winning a small moan from the woman. Alys grinned, feeling a sense of victory dawn over her as she reached between the Princess's legs, grazing the warmth of her clothed core.

Instantly the sensation sent Daera reeling, she found herself turning, kneeling upon the bed as Alys did the same. The Princess let her hands come to Alys' hair, trailing down until she reached the soft peaks of her breasts.

It was swiftly that Alys' herself moved her lips to Daera's neck, trailing down until she reached the Princess' plush breast. Her lips wrapped around the pink bud which adorned one, sucking softly.

Daera tilted her head back, her eyes wide and she found her hips moving equally upon Alys' hand as it rubbed against her clothed core. It was so wrong, so utterly unthinkable that she dare let her brother's bedmate touch her.

Yet Alys muttered against Daera's breast, her hands now finding the band of the small clothes which covered the Princess' core. "Such a desirous girl..."

Suddenly, Alys forced Daera to lay flat upon the bed. The witch hovered above her, pulling the small clothes from the Princess' form.

Daera looked upon Alys in a complete daze, the warmth which flooded through her blood had rendered her useless to any protest. And she watched as Alys slid down, pulling Daera forward until her legs dangled over the edge of the bed.

The bastard pulled herself to kneel directly in front of Daera. Her head was now level with the princess' thighs, and as she looked up at her knowingly, a maligned smirk played on her face. As the small clothes fell to the floor Alys' hands began to crawl up the princess' thighs, trailing upwards, like spiders upon white silk.

The witch sat up, her own thighs pressing into the bedding as she gazed up at Daera. Her fingers found purchase on the princess' upper thighs gripping and then parting them. Daera gasped, squirming as she watched the witch claw towards her, her head settled between Daera's open thighs.

"There we are..." Alys purred, as she pressed her face against the Princess's flesh, kissing her lightly, taking in her scent. The witch muttered once more, "Sweet... like moonbloom."

Alys took her time, kissing and nipping at the soft skin of her legs. The witch's hands gripping and stroking Daera's flesh.

"Have you ever had someone before, princess?" she asked, her breath warm like a summer evening.

Daera looked down, her brows furrowed in surrender. Her core aching and wet, she had never felt she desire before, never felt such need demand it be tended to. The Princess whispered, "No..."

"Mm, as I thought, a flower left to wilt." The witch let her lips move upwards, trailing towards Daera's core, she spoke once more, "How lucky I am to be... to taste not just a dragon, but a maiden too. Lovely..."

Alys placed a kiss upon the princess' core, though feather light, was but enough to make Daera's body shudder.

The witch chuckled, her breath hot against Daera's slick folds, "Sensitive..." she murmured, a smirk upon her lips.

And just like that, Alys used her hands to spread the princess' legs further, swiftly clasping her mouth upon Daera's cunt.

The witch's tongue began to move, swirling as a serpent against the sensitive skin. She lapped up Daera's wetness and the princess was all but awe struck by the feeling. She parted her legs further, her hands coming to Alys' black locks, tugging at them.

Her head falling backwards in bliss, mouth hung as a soft whimper left her. The feeling of Alys' tongue upon her felt like fire shredding through her skin, Daera moved her hips slightly chasing the intensity.

As the princess' head dropped back Alys let her gaze wander upwards, enjoying the sight of the girl unleashed. Such a demure temperament Daera seemed to embody, seemed all but lost as the Princess groaned. Alys felt satisfaction coil in her, to have the silver haired girl brought to a whorish state only fueled the witch's ministrations.

She pulled back for a moment and muttered, placing teasing kisses upon the wet cunt before her, "Does it feel good, sweet dragon? To feel my mouth where no man has laid claim to you before?" Alys' voice like a siren song.

The teasing kisses and soft tone of the witch made Daera whimper once more, she nodded. Her voice trembling, "Yes... my Lady.."

Alys chuckled, enjoying hearing the princess call her 'lady'. The sight was one which was most wanton, the two women in such a vulnerable embrace, indulging in desires that would surely see them hung. Though a strange flicker of affection coiled within Alys. Unlike her brother, Daera was easier, sweeter. She was not used to such control, for usually she was the one to lay below a dragon. Aemond was rarely tender in his touch, at times it had seemed he merely wished to relinquish himself of something than indulge as Daera seemed to.

Indeed, Daera seemed desperate for it, longing to be touched so tenderly. It was only a few times Alys had managed to encounter such need from Aemond. To have him laying in her arms, wrapped in an embrace. Though he oft acted above such affections after they took place.

Alys tilted her head and spoke cooingly, "Such a pretty thing you are...such pretty sounds you make." With that, her tongue curled, finding the sweet, pulsing core of the princess once more.

Her hands gripped and pulled Daera closer, until she was all but pressed flush against the witch's face. Alys moaned at the sensation of her own cunt flooding with desire.

Quickly, Daera felt the intensity building. She moaned, her head tilting further back as her back arched into the feeling. What a dream this was, what heavenly visions her mind had created. The pleasure so intense Daera hadn't noticed the sly sound of an open door. The slow, heavy footsteps of boots upon the creeking floor.

A lonesome eye narrowing upon the scene. Raven hair buried between pale thighs. Silver hair catching in the thread of moonlight upon his bed. His paramour's lips upon his sister's cunt.

It was no dream at all.

○Part II○

#hotd #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #targaryen #alys rivers #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x sister #aemond targaryen x oc #alys rivers x reader #alys rivers x oc targ #alys rivers x aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader x alys rivers

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amethystarachnid · 2 months ago

Note

Now that you have finished the Holiday Special, I would like to request a part two of "Second Chance", please. I would love to see more of their love 🥺 living together, getting married, kids, all the cuteness possible! Thank you

SECOND CHANCE - part II

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 11k ( I can't believe the either)

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said <3

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ TW(s): none I think (?)

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

The mornings in the Stark Tower penthouse always start the same: sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, soft music humming in the background (Tony insists on curating daily playlists because "waking up deserves a soundtrack"), and the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen.

Your life has settled into a rhythm, an odd but comforting blend of luxury, chaos, and unfiltered love. It’s been over a year since you moved in, and even though the world now knows you as Tony Stark’s girlfriend—a title that comes with its fair share of public scrutiny—it still feels a little surreal when you wake up next to him.

This morning, you’re the first to wake, your cheek pressed against his chest. His arm is draped lazily around you, his breathing steady, a slight snore rumbling now and then. You stifle a laugh as you carefully extricate yourself from his hold, but before you can fully escape, his fingers tighten around your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is thick with sleep, and his eyes are barely open.

“To get coffee,” you reply, smiling. “Unless you’re planning to hold me hostage all morning.”

He pulls you back against him, burying his face in your hair. “Tempting. But if you’re making coffee, I might let you go.”

You laugh, wriggling free and padding toward the kitchen. By the time the coffee is ready, Tony has shuffled out of bed, his hair a mess and his Stark Industries-branded pajama pants slightly askew. He leans against the counter, watching you with a sleepy grin as you pour two mugs.

“This is why I keep you around,” he says, taking the mug you hand him.

“Oh, really? Not for my sparkling personality or my unparalleled charm?”

He smirks, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “That too. But mostly the coffee.”

Living with Tony means life is never boring. Between his work at Stark Industries, his time with the Avengers, and his natural tendency to attract chaos, there’s always something happening.

Take last week, for example. You came home to find a half-assembled Iron Man suit sprawled across the living room, with Tony perched on the couch, wearing the gauntlet and testing out some new tech.

“Tony, why is there a missile launcher on my side of the couch?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked up, completely unbothered. “Oh, that’s not a missile launcher. It’s a miniaturized EMP. Totally harmless unless you’re an evil robot.”

You sighed, stepping over a piece of armor. “And what about this?”

“That’s a missile launcher,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly. “But don’t worry, it’s deactivated. Probably.”

Despite the chaos, there’s a sweetness to your everyday life. The little moments, like when he sneaks up behind you while you’re cooking, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing kisses to your neck. Or the nights when you curl up on the couch together, a bowl of popcorn between you, as he insists on watching “classic cinema” (which, in Tony’s mind, includes Die Hard and Back to the Future).

And then there are the spicy moments. Tony has a knack for turning the most mundane situations into opportunities for seduction.

Like the time you were trying to reorganize the pantry, and he walked in, shirtless and smirking.

“Need a hand?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

“I’m fine,” you replied, reaching for a high shelf.

But then his hands were on your waist, lifting you effortlessly so you could grab the jar you were reaching for. When he set you down, his hands didn’t move, and you found yourself pressed against the counter, his lips brushing your ear.

“Are you sure you don’t need help with anything else?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Needless to say, the pantry didn’t get reorganized that day.

Of course, being Tony Stark’s girlfriend also means attending more fancy events than you ever thought possible. Charity galas, board meetings, tech expos—you’ve seen it all.

The prep for these events is almost as much fun as the events themselves. Tony insists on helping you pick out your dress, claiming he has an eye for fashion (which, annoyingly, he kind of does).

“What about this one?” you ask, holding up a sleek black gown.

He tilts his head, considering. “It’s nice. But I think something with a little more… drama.”

“Drama?”

He grins, pulling a shimmering gold dress from the rack. “Now this says ‘I’m with Tony Stark.’”

“You mean it says ‘I’m a disco ball.’”

“Exactly.”

In the end, you settle on a dress that’s somewhere between glamorous and understated—enough to make you feel confident but not so flashy that you’ll blend in with Tony’s usual flair.

When the night of the event arrives, he’s already dressed in one of his custom suits, complete with a matching pocket square. He watches you as you get ready, leaning against the doorway with a look that’s equal parts admiration and mischief.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” you tease as you apply your lipstick.

“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “Have you seen yourself?”

By the time you arrive at the event, the cameras are already flashing, reporters shouting questions as you step onto the red carpet. Tony slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close as he waves to the crowd, his confidence as effortless as ever.

“Smile, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear. “We’re the hottest couple in the room.”

Inside, the atmosphere is just as dazzling—chandeliers, champagne, and a sea of well-dressed guests. Tony works the room like the natural showman he is, introducing you to CEOs, celebrities, and politicians as if you’ve been a part of this world forever.

But even in the midst of the crowd, his attention is never far from you. He’ll brush his hand against yours as you pass each other, steal a kiss when no one’s looking, or whisper a sarcastic comment about someone’s over-the-top outfit, making you stifle a laugh.

And when the night finally winds down and you’re back home, kicking off your heels and collapsing onto the couch, he pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as he kisses you like he’s been waiting all night to do it.

“You were amazing tonight,” he says, his voice low and sincere.

“So were you,” you reply, smiling against his lips.

Your life with Tony isn’t perfect—no relationship is. There are arguments, moments when his work takes over, or when the pressure of being in the spotlight feels overwhelming. But through it all, there’s an unshakable bond between you, a sense that no matter what comes your way, you’ll face it together.

Like the time you had a fight over him missing dinner—again—because he was working on a new suit. You stormed out of the lab, fuming, and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night. But the next morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes, Tony standing in the kitchen wearing an apron that read “Genius, Billionaire, Pancake Enthusiast.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding up a plate of slightly burnt pancakes. “I suck at balancing work and life sometimes. But I’m trying. For you.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him after that.

And then there was the time he got you your own lab space in the tower, complete with every piece of equipment you could ever want.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice soft with awe as you took it all in.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his hands in his pockets as he watched your reaction. “You deserve to have your own space. Somewhere to build, create, do whatever you want.”

You turned to him, tears in your eyes, and he just shrugged, trying to play it off. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for you.”

The sun is setting, and the sky outside the penthouse windows glows in a palette of oranges, pinks, and purples that melt into one another like watercolors. New York sprawls out below, the city alive with its usual energy—traffic buzzing, lights flickering on, and the faint hum of life that never seems to rest. But up here, in the warmth of Tony’s bedroom, the world feels far away, like it belongs to someone else.

You’re standing at the window, your arms crossed lightly over your chest, wearing nothing but one of Tony’s old Black Sabbath shirts. It’s oversized and soft from years of wear, falling just enough to graze the tops of your thighs. Your hair is slightly messy from the day’s lazy lounging, and your bare feet sink into the plush rug beneath you. The scene feels like something out of a dream, the city sparkling in the distance and the man you love moving behind you.

Tony’s voice breaks the silence, a quiet rumble that makes you smile without even turning to look. “You know, you’re ruining the view.”

You glance back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said what I said,” he replies, lounging on the bed with a lazy smirk. His head is propped up on one hand, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie hanging loose from earlier in the day. He looks like he’s stepped out of a photo shoot for Genius, Billionaire, and Dangerously Handsome Quarterly. “I mean, who’s going to look at a city when you’re standing there looking like that?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the grin that tugs at your lips as you turn back to the window. “That was smooth, Stark. Really. Ten out of ten.”

“Only ten?”

You don’t answer, just shake your head with a soft laugh, and you hear him shift behind you, the mattress creaking slightly as he gets up.

A moment later, his arms slip around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. You relax into him instinctively, your hands coming to rest over his. The warmth of his touch seeps into you, grounding you in a way that only he can.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you ask softly, your eyes still on the view.

“Tired of what?”

“This.” You gesture out at the city. “The attention. The pressure. Being… Tony Stark.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you feel him press a kiss to the curve of your neck before he answers. “Honestly? Sometimes. But it’s easier now. Because I have you.”

The simplicity of his words catches you off guard, and your heart swells in your chest. You turn in his arms to face him, your hands resting lightly on his chest.

“Is that your way of saying I make your life easier?” you tease, your voice soft.

“Among other things,” he replies, his lips quirking into a smirk. But there’s something in his eyes—something vulnerable, raw, and unguarded—that makes your teasing falter.

“Tony…”

He steps back, his hands slipping from your waist as he reaches into his pocket. You furrow your brow, your curiosity piqued, but before you can ask what he’s doing, he lowers himself to one knee.

Your breath catches, your hand flying to your mouth as the realization hits you.

“Wait. Are you—?”

“Shh,” he says, holding up a finger, though his grin gives away his own nervous excitement. “Let me do this, okay? I’ve been working on my speech all week.”

You can’t help but laugh, your heart pounding as you watch him pull a small velvet box from his pocket. He opens it, revealing a stunning ring that catches the fading sunlight, its brilliance almost as dazzling as the man holding it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he begins, his voice warm and playful. “‘Tony Stark, on one knee? Is this an elaborate ploy to market a new Stark tech product?’ And honestly, fair question. But no, this isn’t a ploy. This is me—just me—asking you to let me be the luckiest bastard on the planet for the rest of my life.”

Tears well in your eyes as he continues, his usual cockiness tempered by a sincerity that takes your breath away.

“You’ve seen me at my worst,” he says, his voice softening. “And for some insane reason, you stayed. You saw the man under the suit, the flaws, the baggage, all of it, and you still chose me. I don’t know how or why, but you did. And I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

You laugh through your tears, shaking your head as he grins up at you.

“So,” he says, tilting his head slightly, “I figured, why waste any more time? Let’s make this official. What do you say?” He pauses, his grin widening. “And just so you know, the ring is fully customizable. You hate it, we’ll get a new one. We’ll get a dozen. Whatever you want.”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head as you kneel down in front of him, your hands cupping his face.

“You are ridiculous,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he replies, his grin softening into something more tender.

“I do,” you say, nodding as tears spill down your cheeks. “I love you, Tony Stark. And yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

His eyes light up, and before you know it, he’s pulling you into a kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around you as if he’s afraid to let go. You laugh against his lips, the sound mingling with his own as he holds you close.

When he finally pulls back, he slips the ring onto your finger with a precision that makes you laugh again.

“Look at that,” he says, holding your hand up to admire the ring. “Perfect fit. Must be fate.”

“Or really good measurements,” you tease, your smile so wide it hurts.

“Hey, don’t ruin my moment,” he says, feigning offense. But his grin gives him away, and he pulls you into another kiss, the world outside forgotten as the two of you bask in the quiet, overwhelming joy of the moment.

Later, as the city lights twinkle beyond the windows and the stars begin to dot the night sky, you find yourselves tangled together in bed, the ring still sparkling on your finger.

“Did you really practice that speech all week?” you ask, tracing patterns on his chest.

“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation. “You think I just pull that kind of romance out of thin air?”

You laugh, your hand resting over his heart. “Well, it worked. So, congratulations, Mr. Stark. You’re officially stuck with me.”

He smirks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, the city a distant hum beyond the glass, you can’t help but think that he’s right. This—this love, this life, this man—is the best decision you’ve ever made, too.

The decision to get married in Italy happens almost instantly, and of course, it’s Tony who suggests it. One evening, just a week after the proposal, you’re both curled up on the couch, sharing a pizza and brainstorming wedding ideas. You suggest something small and simple, maybe even local, but Tony scoffs so dramatically that you almost choke on your bite.

“Small and simple? Sweetheart, this is a Stark wedding,” he says, gesturing grandly like he’s unveiling a master plan. “We can’t just have a backyard barbecue and call it a day.”

“I wasn’t suggesting a barbecue,” you argue, laughing. “Just… something intimate. Lowkey.”

Tony narrows his eyes as if he’s trying to comprehend an entirely foreign concept. “Intimate, sure. But lowkey? Where’s the drama? The pizzazz? The flair?” He stands abruptly, grabbing his tablet off the coffee table and pulling up images of sprawling Italian villas, sparkling lakes, and rolling hills. “Italy. Lake Como. Picture it: sunset ceremony, wine that’ll make you cry tears of joy, and a backdrop so gorgeous it’ll make even me look like an afterthought.”

You lean over the tablet, your fingers brushing his as you swipe through the photos. You hate to admit it, but it does look incredible.

“Lake Como, huh?” you say, tilting your head.

“Trust me,” he replies, already beaming like he’s won. “You’ll love it.”

And just like that, you’re planning a destination wedding.

The next few months are a whirlwind of activity, full of laughter, occasional bickering, and more spreadsheets than you ever thought possible. Tony hires an elite team of wedding planners, but true to form, he insists on being involved in every detail, much to their dismay.

One morning, as you’re going over the guest list, Tony lounges across the couch, sipping an espresso and scrolling through his tablet.

“Okay, so I’ve narrowed down the guest list to 150 people,” you say, looking up from your notebook.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Only 150? What about the Stark Industries board? Or the press?”

You groan, throwing a pillow at him. “Tony, this isn’t a corporate launch party. It’s our wedding. We’re not inviting the press.”

He dodges the pillow with a laugh, setting down his tablet to pull you into his lap. “Fine, fine. No press.”

Moments like this—when it’s just the two of you, teasing and laughing—make the chaos of planning worthwhile.

The dress becomes a point of contention about halfway through the process.

Tony insists on knowing every single detail of the wedding, from the floral arrangements (white roses with touches of blush pink) to the menu (a five-course Italian feast that he swears will ruin you for all other food). But when it comes to your wedding dress, you refuse to budge.

“You’re not seeing it until I walk down the aisle,” you say firmly one afternoon as you finalize plans for your first fitting.

Tony stares at you like you’ve just announced you’re canceling the wedding altogether. “Wait, what? Why not? I’m paying for it!”

“And it’s going to be a surprise,” you say sweetly, patting his cheek.

“Surprises are overrated,” he grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Not this one,” you reply, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

Despite his protests, you stick to your guns, and Tony spends the next few months sulking every time the dress is mentioned. You catch him trying to bribe your best friend for details once (“Come on, just tell me if it’s got sparkles”), but she doesn’t crack, much to your delight.

Planning a wedding with Tony Stark also means dealing with the occasional unexpected distraction.

Like the time he accidentally blew up part of his workshop while testing a new prototype. You were on a video call with the wedding planner, discussing seating arrangements, when the explosion rattled the entire tower.

“Tony!” you shouted, rushing down to the lab.

When you got there, he was covered in soot, grinning sheepishly as Dum-E sprayed him with a fire extinguisher.

“Don’t worry,” he said, coughing. “It’s under control. Mostly.”

“You’re going to be late to the cake tasting,” you scolded, dragging him upstairs.

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You love me even when I’m a disaster.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, though you couldn’t hide your smile.

Before you know it, the big day arrives.

The villa on Lake Como is even more stunning than you imagined. The ceremony is set up on a sprawling terrace overlooking the water, with rows of chairs draped in white fabric and flowers adorning every surface. The air is warm and fragrant, the sound of the lake gently lapping against the shore creating a serene backdrop.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of gold and lavender, you stand in a quiet room with your best friend, your dress perfectly fitted, your heart pounding.

“You ready?” she asks, smiling as she adjusts your veil.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Meanwhile, Tony waits at the altar, looking dashing in his custom tuxedo. But for all his usual confidence, there’s a nervous energy about him as he glances toward the entrance. Rhodey nudges him, grinning.

“Relax,” Rhodey says. “She’s not going to stand you up.”

“Shut up,” Tony mutters, though he can’t help but smile.

When the music starts, and the doors open, everything else fades.

You step into view, and for a moment, Tony forgets how to breathe. You’re radiant, your dress a perfect blend of elegance and simplicity, and the look in your eyes as you meet his gaze is enough to make his knees weak.

As you walk down the aisle, your heart swells with love and anticipation. When you reach Tony, he takes your hands, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You’re stunning,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply, smiling through your tears.

The ceremony is beautiful, filled with laughter and heartfelt vows that make everyone in attendance misty-eyed. Tony’s vow, in true Stark fashion, is equal parts romantic and funny.

“I never thought I’d find someone who could put up with my nonsense,” he says, his voice warm. “But then you came along and not only put up with it, but somehow made me better. You’re my partner, my equal, and the love of my life. And I promise to spend the rest of my days loving you—flaws, genius, and all.”

Your vows are just as heartfelt, and by the time you exchange rings, there’s not a dry eye in the house.

The reception is a blur of joy and celebration. Guests dance under strings of twinkling lights, the food is every bit as incredible as Tony promised, and the speeches are both hilarious and touching.

But for you and Tony, the highlight of the night is the quiet moment you steal away from the crowd. You find yourselves on a balcony overlooking the lake, the stars reflected in the water below.

Tony wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“So,” he says softly, his voice filled with wonder. “We did it.”

“We did,” you reply, leaning back against him.

He turns you around, his hands framing your face as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world. “Mrs. Stark,” he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

You smile, your hands resting on his chest. “I like the sound of that.”

He kisses you then, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. And as the stars shine above and the world falls away, you know that this—this love, this life, this man—is everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more.

The first days of being married feel like a dream you never want to wake up from. The wedding was magical, but the aftermath—the quiet moments where it’s just the two of you—is even better. You wake up the morning after the wedding in Tony’s arms, sunlight spilling through the villa’s curtains. His hair is an endearing mess, his face softened by sleep. When he finally stirs, the first thing he does is pull you closer, murmuring a sleepy “Good morning, Mrs. Stark.” The words make your heart skip a beat every time he says them, and he takes full advantage of that, slipping the phrase into every conversation for the next several days.

“Mrs. Stark, do you want pancakes or waffles?” “Mrs. Stark, are you aware of how incredible you look in my shirt?” “Mrs. Stark, could you pass me that screwdriver? Thanks, you’re the best wife ever.”

You let him have his fun because, truthfully, you love it.

The honeymoon in Italy stretches on for a few more days, spent exploring charming lakeside towns, indulging in decadent food, and stealing kisses in picturesque corners like a couple from a movie. Tony insists on spoiling you at every turn, booking private tours and surprise candlelit dinners. He claims it’s to celebrate “locking down the deal of a lifetime,” but you know it’s because he can’t resist going all out when it comes to you.

When you finally return to New York, reality hits in the form of a media frenzy. The press had already been obsessed with your relationship before, but your wedding—Tony Stark marrying the woman who tamed him—has become the headline of the year. Paparazzi swarm the tower, headlines range from heartfelt to ridiculous (“Genius Billionaire Finally Meets His Match” and “Mrs. Stark: Who Is She, and How Did She Do It?”), and fans on social media dissect every detail of the wedding pictures that somehow made their way online.

Tony, of course, takes it all in stride, basking in the attention like it’s his natural habitat. He gives you a cheeky grin one morning as he reads an article aloud, his feet propped up on the kitchen counter. “‘Tony Stark’s wedding sets new standard for billionaire romance.’ Sounds about right, don’t you think, Mrs. Stark?”

You roll your eyes, stealing his coffee cup and taking a sip. “Are you going to call me that forever?”

“Forever,” he replies, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Get used to it.”

Despite the chaos outside, life inside the tower settles into a new rhythm. You fall into a comfortable routine with Tony, your days filled with work, laughter, and the kind of love that feels almost too good to be true. The other Avengers quickly adapt to your new title as well, with Clint jokingly saluting you as “the boss’s boss” and Natasha subtly slipping “Mrs. Stark” into conversation whenever she can just to see you smile.

The real surprise comes a few months later. You’re in the middle of a particularly lazy afternoon, curled up on the couch with a book while Tony tinkers with something in the lab, when you start to notice a pattern. You’ve been unusually tired lately, your emotions swinging wildly between laughter and tears, and then there’s the morning sickness that hit you out of nowhere. At first, you chalked it up to stress or maybe a lingering flu, but now… you have a feeling there’s something more.

The thought sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you, and the next morning, you quietly sneak out to buy a test. When the results come back positive, you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the little plastic stick in disbelief.

You’re pregnant.

The realization hits you like a tidal wave. You and Tony are going to have a baby. The thought fills you with so much joy you can hardly contain it, but it’s mixed with a flutter of nerves. How do you tell the man who built a suit of armor to protect himself that he’s about to become a dad?

That evening, after mulling over a dozen ideas, you settle on something simple but quintessentially Stark. You order a tiny baby onesie online and have it customized with the words, Iron Baby No. 1 on the way, ETA nine months. When it arrives a few days later, you hide it in a gift box and wait for the perfect moment.

The moment comes one evening when Tony’s in the kitchen, making what he calls his “famous” grilled cheese. He’s in a relaxed mood, humming along to the playlist he’s put on, and you decide this is it.

“Hey,” you say casually, walking over with the box behind your back.

He glances up from the stove, his face lighting up when he sees you. “Hey, gorgeous. What’s up?”

“I got you a present,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Tony raises an eyebrow, setting down the spatula. “A present? For me? What’s the occasion?”

“Just open it,” you say, handing him the box.

He grins, clearly intrigued, and tears into the wrapping paper like a kid on Christmas morning. When he lifts the lid and sees the tiny onesie, his expression shifts from confusion to realization, his eyes widening as he reads the words.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at the onesie like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. Then he looks up at you, his eyes shimmering with tears.

“Are you serious?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, tears welling in your own eyes. “I’m serious. We’re having a baby.”

Tony sets the box down carefully on the counter before pulling you into his arms. His embrace is so tight it nearly takes your breath away, but you don’t mind. You can feel him trembling slightly as he buries his face in your neck, his emotions pouring out in a way that’s so rare for him.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he says, his voice cracking. “Holy shit. I’m going to be a dad.”

“You are,” you whisper, your hands running soothingly over his back.

When he finally pulls back, his face is wet with tears, but his smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it. He cups your face in his hands, kissing you deeply before resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he says, his voice full of awe. “I love you so much. And I love…” He places a hand gently on your stomach, his touch reverent. “I love this little one already.”

You laugh softly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “I had a feeling you’d be happy.”

“Happy? Are you kidding?” He laughs, though his voice is still thick with emotion. “This is… this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. To us.”

Over the next few weeks, Tony shifts into full-on protective mode. He insists on accompanying you to every doctor’s appointment, interrogates the OB-GYN like they’re a candidate for a top-secret Stark Industries position, and starts researching the best baby gear money can buy. You come home one day to find him in the nursery he’s set up, designing what he calls “baby-safe tech” to keep the little one entertained and protected.

“Tony,” you say, laughing as you lean against the doorframe. “You do realize we’re not raising a baby genius in a lab, right?”

“Speak for yourself,” he replies, not looking up from his holographic blueprint. “This kid’s going to be the smartest, safest, most spoiled little Stark in history.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with love. Seeing him like this—so invested, so excited—makes you fall for him all over again.

As the weeks turn into months, the excitement grows, both inside the tower and out. The press catches wind of the pregnancy, and the news spreads like wildfire. Headlines range from adoring to absurd, but you and Tony take it all in stride, focusing on the joy of building your family together.

One night, as you’re lying in bed, Tony rests his hand on your growing bump, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

“You know,” he says softly, his voice laced with wonder, “I used to think I’d never have this. A family. Someone to love me for who I am, not what I can give them.”

You reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over his stubble. “And now?”

“Now I know I was wrong,” he replies, leaning down to kiss you.

The idea for the gender reveal is Tony’s, though it surprises you because he’s usually one for grand gestures. But as he gently suggests the idea of keeping it just the two of you, something in his voice—soft, hopeful—makes your heart melt.

“You’re sure?” you ask one evening, resting your hands on your growing belly as you sit on the couch. “No big party? No fireworks shaped like an Iron Man suit?”

Tony grins, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Sweetheart, I’ve done the fireworks. I’ve done the parties. But this… this is different. This is us.” He pauses, glancing at your belly with a tenderness that still catches you off guard. “I want it to be about you and me and the peanut.”

“Peanut?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, peanut for now. Until they grow into something more Stark-like. Maybe ‘genius’ or ‘CEO.’”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays how much you love him. “Fine. Let’s do something just for us.”

A week later, you’re in the kitchen with Tony, standing before a modest but beautiful cake. The frosting is plain white, with delicate swirls along the edges. Inside, the baker promised, is either blue or pink to reveal the baby’s gender.

Tony’s practically buzzing with excitement as he hands you the knife. “You do the honors, Mrs. Stark.”

You take the knife, your hand trembling slightly, but before you can cut, he places his hand over yours.

“Wait,” he says, his voice softer now. He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple. “No matter what, this kid’s going to have the best parents in the world. Okay?”

Tears sting your eyes, and you nod, smiling up at him. “Okay.”

Together, you press the knife into the cake and lift the first slice, your breath catching as the color is revealed.

“It’s a girl,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Tony stares at the pink cake, his mouth slightly open. Then his face breaks into the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen. “A girl,” he repeats, as if testing the words. He looks at you, his eyes shining. “We’re having a little Starkette.”

You laugh through your tears, setting the knife down to wrap your arms around him. He holds you tightly, his hand gently cradling the back of your head.

“I hope she’s just like you,” he murmurs against your hair.

“And I hope she’s just like you,” you reply, pulling back to meet his gaze.

“God, I hope not,” he jokes, though his voice is thick with emotion. “The world can barely handle one of me.”

In the weeks that follow, Tony becomes even more attached to your growing belly. Every evening, without fail, he rests his head against it and talks to the baby.

“Hey, Starkette,” he says one night as you lie in bed, his hand gently rubbing circles on your belly. “It’s me, your dad. I just want you to know that you’re already smarter than half the people I’ve ever worked with. And that’s saying something.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “Tony, she’s not even born yet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. “She’s already a Stark. Genius is in her DNA.”

Sometimes, he sings to her—soft, off-key renditions of songs that make you laugh until your sides hurt. Other times, he reads aloud from baby books, though he always adds his own commentary.

“Oh, look at this,” he says one evening, flipping through a parenting book. “‘Babies cry to communicate their needs.’ Really? That’s groundbreaking information. Did we pay for this book?”

Despite his jokes, you can see how deeply he’s invested in this new chapter of your lives. The sight of him doting on you and the baby makes you fall in love with him all over again.

Choosing a name becomes an adventure in itself.

Tony suggests everything from obscure historical figures to names of constellations. At one point, he even suggests “Arc,” claiming it’s a nod to his arc reactor and “totally cool.”

“Tony,” you say, barely suppressing your laughter. “We are not naming our daughter after a piece of tech.”

“Fine,” he replies, pretending to sulk. “But don’t come crying to me when she asks why she doesn’t have a cool name.”

After weeks of debate, you finally settle on a name that feels perfect: Morgan.

“Why Morgan?” Tony asks one evening as you lie together on the couch.

You shrug, smiling softly. “It’s strong but sweet. And it feels… right.”

Tony repeats the name under his breath, testing it out. Then he smiles, nodding. “Morgan Stark. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The day Morgan arrives starts like any other. You wake up to the sound of Tony tinkering in the lab, but by mid-morning, the first contractions hit.

“Tony!” you shout from the living room, clutching the back of the couch.

He appears within seconds, his eyes wide. “What? What is it? Is the tower on fire again?”

You glare at him, though the pain is already making you wince. “No, you idiot. The baby’s coming.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his face going pale. Then he snaps into action, grabbing your hospital bag and practically carrying you to the car.

The ride to the hospital is a blur of Tony panicking and you trying not to laugh between contractions.

“Do we have everything?” he asks, his voice frantic. “The bag? The paperwork? Did we forget anything? Oh God, what if we—”

“Tony,” you interrupt, reaching for his hand. “It’s fine. I promise. Just focus on driving.”

When you arrive at the hospital, Tony is a mix of nerves and excitement. He holds your hand through every contraction, whispering words of encouragement and pressing kisses to your forehead.

“You’re amazing,” he says as you breathe through the pain. “You’ve got this. You’re a freaking superhero.”

The delivery is intense, and at one point, you think you might actually break Tony’s hand with how tightly you’re gripping it. But he doesn’t complain, just keeps murmuring reassurances and brushing your hair back from your face.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the first cry.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor announces, holding up your squirming, pink-faced baby.

Tears stream down your face as they place her on your chest. Tony stares in awe, his eyes glassy as he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, your heart overflowing as you gaze down at your daughter. “Hi, Morgan,” you murmur, your voice trembling.

In the hours that follow, Tony can hardly take his eyes off Morgan. He holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he cradles her tiny form.

“She’s so small,” he marvels, staring down at her. “How can something so tiny have such a big impact?”

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder. “That’s what love does.”

Tony looks at you then, his eyes full of gratitude and adoration. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For her. For us.”

Over the next few days, the tower becomes a hub of celebration. The Avengers take turns visiting, each one fawning over Morgan in their own way. Even Clint, who jokes about having enough kids of his own, is smitten.

But at the end of the day, it’s the quiet moments with just the three of you that mean the most.

One evening, as you sit in the nursery, watching Tony rock Morgan to sleep, you feel an overwhelming sense of peace.

“Welcome to the world, Morgan Stark,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her tiny forehead.

The first days at the hospital are a whirlwind of exhaustion, joy, and learning curves that neither you nor Tony could have anticipated. You’re still lying in the hospital bed, Morgan nestled in your arms, when the nurse comes in with a soft smile and an armful of pamphlets. She explains everything from feeding to burping, swaddling to diaper changing. You listen attentively, but Tony’s focus is entirely on Morgan. His hands are gentle but a little awkward as he cradles her tiny head, his face full of wonder.

When the nurse shows him how to hold Morgan correctly, Tony nods along seriously, but the second she leaves, he looks at you with mock indignation. “I think she thought I didn’t know how to hold a baby,” he says, feigning offense.

You laugh softly, your body still sore but your heart full. “Do you?”

“I’m a genius, remember?” he says, lifting Morgan a little higher, though he holds her like she’s made of glass. “But… okay, I might have needed a little help.”

It becomes clear quickly that while Tony can invent world-changing technology, mastering baby care is a completely different challenge. He spends fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to swaddle Morgan properly, only for her to immediately kick her legs free. “It’s a conspiracy,” he mutters, trying again as you laugh from the bed. “I’m telling you, she’s already smarter than me.”

Feeding Morgan proves to be a team effort. The nurses show you how to breastfeed while Tony hovers nearby, asking a million questions that make the staff chuckle. “Is she getting enough? How do we know? What if she’s still hungry?”

“Tony,” you say gently, placing a hand on his arm. “She’s fine. Trust me.”

He sighs but nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Later, when it’s time to bottle feed, Tony insists on being the one to do it. He sits in the chair beside your bed, Morgan nestled in his arms, and looks up at you with a proud grin. “I think she likes me,” he says as she sucks greedily on the bottle.

“She’s a Stark,” you reply with a smile. “Of course, she likes you.”

The nurses come in periodically to check on you and the baby, and each time, they offer more advice. By the end of your stay, your head is swimming with information, but Tony’s enthusiasm makes it easier. He takes notes—actual notes—and even sketches out diagrams for things like diaper changes.

“Who knew being a parent involved so much engineering?” he jokes, but there’s a genuine determination in his eyes.

Finally, after a few days, you’re cleared to go home. The excitement of leaving the hospital is quickly tempered by the reality of the paparazzi camped outside. News of Morgan’s birth had leaked almost immediately, and now the world is desperate for the first glimpse of Tony Stark’s baby girl.

You sit in the hospital room, holding Morgan close, while Tony stands by the window, peering through the blinds. “It’s like a circus out there,” he mutters, turning to look at you. “They’re not getting a single shot of her face. Not until we decide.”

You nod, your protective instincts flaring. “How do we get past them?”

Tony smirks, his confidence returning. “I’ve got a plan.”

The plan involves Happy pulling up to the hospital’s front entrance in a decoy car while you, Tony, and Morgan slip out through a back exit. Wrapped in a soft pink blanket and nestled securely in your arms, Morgan is hidden from view as you rush to an unmarked SUV waiting in the alley. Tony shields you both, his arm around your shoulders, and Happy drives like a man on a mission once you’re inside.

By the time you arrive at the tower, the paparazzi are still circling the hospital, none the wiser. Tony grins as he steps out of the car, glancing at you. “Mission accomplished, Mrs. Stark.”

Inside the tower, the chaos of the outside world melts away. The nursery is ready, every detail meticulously planned by Tony. The walls are painted a soft, calming gray, accented with touches of pink and gold. A custom crib sits in the corner, along with shelves stocked with books and toys.

You place Morgan in her crib for the first time, your heart swelling as you watch her tiny chest rise and fall. Tony stands beside you, his hand resting on your lower back.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice full of awe.

The first night at home is… an adventure. Morgan wakes up every two hours, her cries piercing through the quiet of the penthouse. You take turns getting up with her, though Tony insists on doing most of the work.

“You just gave birth,” he says, gently taking Morgan from your arms when she cries again at three in the morning. “I’ve got this. You sleep.”

You don’t argue, though you can’t resist peeking into the nursery an hour later. You find Tony sitting in the rocking chair, Morgan cradled against his chest as he hums softly. It’s a sight that makes your heart ache with love.

In the days that follow, you and Tony fall into a rhythm. It’s far from perfect—there are diaper disasters, sleepless nights, and moments where you both feel completely overwhelmed—but there’s also so much joy.

One afternoon, you walk into the nursery to find Tony lying on the floor beside Morgan’s playmat, his finger grasped tightly in her tiny hand. He looks up at you with a goofy grin. “She’s got a strong grip,” he says. “She’s going to be an inventor. Or maybe a pilot.”

You laugh, sitting down beside him. “Or maybe she’ll be an artist. Or a writer.”

“Whatever she wants,” Tony agrees, leaning over to kiss your temple.

Mealtimes become a highlight of your days. Tony insists on taking charge of the bottle feeds, claiming it’s “bonding time” with his daughter. He talks to her as she eats, telling her stories about his adventures as Iron Man and the time he built a robot that accidentally tried to take over the world.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his tone light. “We’ll teach you to build better robots.”

When Morgan isn’t eating or sleeping, she’s the center of attention. Tony spends hours playing with her, making silly faces and inventing little gadgets to keep her entertained. One evening, he proudly unveils a tiny Stark-branded mobile that lights up and plays lullabies.

“Look at that,” he says as he hangs it over her crib. “Custom-made for the best baby in the world.”

You smile, leaning against him as you watch Morgan’s eyes widen at the softly glowing lights. “You’re going to spoil her rotten.”

“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Despite the exhaustion, these first days are some of the happiest of your life. There’s a quiet magic in the way your little family is coming together, in the small moments that remind you of how much love surrounds you.

One night, as you sit on the couch with Morgan asleep in your arms, Tony comes over and sits beside you. He leans down to kiss Morgan’s forehead, then rests his head against your shoulder.

“We did good,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

You smile, your heart full. “Yeah, we did.”

And as you sit there, with your daughter in your arms and your husband by your side, you know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful journey.

Morgan’s first year is a series of milestones that come at you faster than you’re ready for. One morning, as you’re feeding her in the kitchen, her tiny fingers gripping the edge of the high chair, you notice something new. She’s gnawing relentlessly on one of her teething rings, a tiny scowl of determination on her face.

“Tony,” you call over your shoulder. He’s tinkering with some gadget at the counter, but he looks up immediately.

“What’s up?”

You motion toward Morgan, who has abandoned her teething ring and is now attempting to bite the tray of her high chair. “I think we’re entering teething territory.”

Tony sets down his tools and comes over, crouching to her eye level. “What’s going on, little Starkette? You trying to eat your way to freedom?”

Morgan responds with a high-pitched squeal that makes both of you laugh.

Teething quickly becomes a challenging phase, and Morgan is not shy about letting the world know how much she dislikes it. She chews on everything—her toys, your fingers, Tony’s hoodie strings. One night, as you’re watching a movie together, she grabs the edge of Tony’s expensive leather belt and shoves it into her mouth.

“Hey, hey!” Tony says, gently pulling it away. “That’s Italian leather, kiddo!”

You laugh, handing her a proper teething toy. “Welcome to parenthood. Nothing is safe.”

Tony takes the challenge of teething head-on, dedicating hours to researching remedies. He orders every teething toy imaginable and even develops a custom one that vibrates slightly to soothe her gums. When he proudly presents it to you, you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Only our child would have a high-tech teething toy,” you tease.

“Hey,” Tony says, holding up a hand. “If she’s going to chew on something, it might as well be Stark-approved.”

Despite the sleepless nights and the constant need for gum-soothing gel, there are sweet moments too. Like the way Morgan clings to you when she’s particularly cranky, her tiny hands fisting your shirt as she nuzzles into your chest. Or the way Tony sings softly to her as he rocks her in his arms, his voice low and soothing even when he’s dead tired.

One morning, as you’re sitting on the living room floor with Morgan in your lap, she surprises you by letting out a string of sounds that almost—almost—sound like words.

“Ba-ba-da-da,” she babbles, her little fists waving excitedly.

You gasp, looking over at Tony, who’s lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee. “Did you hear that?”

Tony grins, setting his mug down. “Of course I did. That’s pure Stark genius right there.”

“She’s just babbling,” you say, though your heart swells with pride.

“Don’t sell her short,” Tony replies, scooping her up and lifting her high in the air. Morgan squeals with delight, her chubby arms reaching for him. “She’s probably already working out her first patent.”

As the weeks pass, Morgan’s babbling becomes more frequent and animated. She talks to her toys, to you, to Tony, and even to Dum-E, who dutifully beeps in response. One day, as Tony is feeding her, she looks up at him with her big brown eyes and says something that sounds suspiciously like “Dada.”

Tony freezes, the spoon halfway to her mouth. “Did you just… did you just call me Dada?”

You’re watching from the doorway, and you can’t help but laugh. “I think she did.”

Tony’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. He sets the spoon down and pulls Morgan into his arms, holding her close. “That’s right, baby girl,” he says, his voice full of emotion. “I’m Dada.”

Not long after, Morgan starts to show signs that she’s ready to crawl. She spends hours on her belly, wiggling and rocking back and forth as she tries to figure it out. Tony, ever the innovator, decides to “help” her by building a tiny baby-sized robot that moves just out of her reach, encouraging her to chase it.

“Tony,” you say, crossing your arms as you watch him test it in the living room. “You can’t engineer her milestones.”

“I’m not engineering,” he insists, though his grin betrays him. “I’m motivating.”

Morgan seems to agree because within a few days, she’s crawling across the floor with surprising speed, determined to catch the little robot. You cheer her on, clapping and laughing as she finally grabs it and lets out a triumphant giggle.

From that point on, nothing in the penthouse is safe. Morgan is everywhere, pulling herself up on furniture, opening cabinets, and exploring every nook and cranny she can reach. Tony installs baby-proofing measures at an alarming rate, though he still insists on letting her “experiment” within reason.

“She’s curious,” he says one evening as Morgan pulls herself up on the edge of the coffee table. “That’s a good thing.”

“It is,” you agree, though you keep a close eye on her as she wobbles precariously.

The day Morgan takes her first steps is one you’ll never forget. She’s standing near the couch, holding onto the edge for support, when suddenly she lets go. You and Tony are sitting on the floor, a few feet away, watching her with wide eyes.

“Come on, Morgan,” Tony coaxes, holding out his hands. “You can do it.”

She wobbles, her little legs unsteady, but then she takes one step. And then another.

“Tony,” you whisper, your hands flying to your mouth.

“I see it,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

Morgan takes three more steps before tumbling into Tony’s arms, giggling as he scoops her up and spins her around.

“You did it!” he exclaims, pressing kisses all over her face. “That’s my girl!”

You’re crying by the time he looks at you, and he grins, holding Morgan out toward you. “Your turn, Mom.”

You pull her into your arms, kissing her forehead and whispering how proud you are. It’s a moment that feels almost too perfect to be real.

As Morgan grows, her vocabulary starts to expand. Her first word, unsurprisingly, is “Dada,” which Tony proudly declares is the best thing he’s ever heard. But her second word, “Mama,” quickly follows, and you feel an overwhelming surge of love when she says it for the first time.

She picks up other words too—“up,” “no,” and “cookie” become favorites—but her babbling remains a constant source of entertainment. She has long, animated “conversations” with you and Tony, complete with hand gestures and facial expressions.

“She’s definitely your daughter,” you tease Tony one evening as Morgan waves her arms dramatically, babbling at the top of her lungs.

“She’s got your sass,” he counters, smirking.

Through it all, the two of you marvel at how quickly she’s growing and changing. Every milestone feels like a little miracle, a reminder of just how much love and joy she’s brought into your lives.

And as you watch her toddle across the living room one evening, her tiny feet padding against the floor, you realize that this is what happiness truly looks like. A life full of love, laughter, and the sweetest little girl in the world.

Life with toddler Morgan is a delightful mix of chaos, laughter, and the kind of exhaustion you wouldn’t trade for anything. She’s a whirlwind of energy, always exploring, always asking questions—or rather, yelling, “Why?” in her tiny voice as she points to every object she can find. You and Tony quickly learn that raising a toddler is a whole new kind of challenge, but also, it’s endlessly rewarding.

From the moment Morgan wakes up in the morning, she’s a ball of energy. She’s in the phase where she wants to do everything “by herself,” which means you often find her trying to pull on her socks upside-down or insisting on pouring her own juice, resulting in small floods on the kitchen counter.

“Did we adopt a tiny Tony Stark?” you ask one morning, watching her stubbornly refuse your help as she attempts to zip up her jacket.

“Excuse me,” Tony replies, sipping his coffee while lounging against the counter. “She’s a perfect blend of your determination and my brilliance.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, arching an eyebrow as Morgan gives up on the zipper and stomps her foot in frustration. “Your brilliance is why we now have a child who insists on building towers out of every item in the living room, including the remote and your sunglasses.”

Tony grins, crouching beside Morgan to help her with the zipper. “Don’t crush her creativity, babe.”

The penthouse is now toddler-proofed to a degree that feels both excessive and still somehow inadequate. Every corner has been padded, every sharp object locked away. Still, Morgan manages to find ways to keep you both on your toes. She’s discovered the joy of climbing, which means nothing is out of reach—not even the countertop.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you hear a crash from the kitchen, followed by Tony’s panicked voice.

“Morgan! No! You can’t—oh, my God, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You rush in to find Morgan perched precariously on a stool, reaching for the cookie jar on the highest shelf. Tony is holding the stool steady, looking both impressed and horrified.

“She’s got determination,” he says, glancing at you with a sheepish grin.

“She’s going to give me a heart attack,” you reply, scooping her up and giving her a stern look. “No more climbing, little miss.”

Morgan giggles, clearly unbothered by the reprimand. “Cookies!” she declares, pointing at the jar.

“She’s definitely your kid,” Tony mutters, earning a playful swat on the arm from you.

Despite the chaos, you and Tony try your best to find moments of intimacy. It’s not always easy with a toddler running around, but you both know how important it is to keep your connection strong.

Late at night, after Morgan has gone to bed, you often find yourselves curled up on the couch together, sharing a bottle of wine and talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes, Tony pulls you into his lap and kisses you like it’s the first time all over again, his hands sliding over your back as if he can’t get enough of you.

One night, as you’re lying in bed together, Tony turns to you with that mischievous glint in his eye.

“You know,” he says, trailing his fingers along your arm, “we make pretty amazing kids.”

You smile, already knowing where this is going. “Oh, do we?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “Morgan’s a genius in the making. Imagine if we had another one.”

You laugh softly, turning to face him. “Are you suggesting we try for baby number two?”

“Maybe,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. “I mean, why stop at one when we’re so good at this?”

His hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer, and you roll your eyes even as your heart flutters. “You just want an excuse to keep me barefoot and pregnant, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, feigning offense. “I want an excuse to have more of you.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and before you know it, he’s kissing you deeply, his hands roaming your body like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Tony,” you murmur against his lips, but he silences you with another kiss, his intentions clear.

Needless to say, the idea of a second baby becomes a topic of serious discussion—and action.

Meanwhile, Morgan keeps you both busy during the day. She’s entered the “why” phase with a vengeance, questioning everything from why the sky is blue to why Tony’s suit can fly. Tony, ever the teacher, takes her questions as opportunities to explain science in the simplest terms possible.

“Because, kiddo,” he says one afternoon, crouching beside her as she pokes at one of his gauntlets, “when air moves faster, pressure drops, and that helps create lift. That’s how planes—and my suit—stay in the air.”

Morgan looks at him with wide eyes, nodding solemnly before asking, “Why?”

You laugh from the couch, watching Tony try to answer her endless stream of questions. “You’re in for it now,” you tease.

“Don’t worry,” he replies, winking at you. “She’s a quick learner, just like her mom.”

One of your favorite moments comes when Morgan starts to show an interest in music. She’s discovered Tony’s collection of old records and insists on playing them every evening. Watching her dance around the living room, her little feet stomping to the beat, fills your heart with a joy you didn’t know was possible.

“She’s got moves,” Tony says one night, pulling you into his arms as Morgan twirls around in her pajamas.

“She gets that from me,” you reply, grinning.

Tony laughs, spinning you around as the music plays. “Sure she does.”

Despite the busyness of raising a toddler, you and Tony make time for yourselves as a couple. You sneak away for date nights when Happy or Pepper can babysit, though you always end up talking about Morgan within the first ten minutes.

One evening, after putting Morgan to bed, Tony surprises you with a romantic setup on the balcony—candles, champagne, the works.

“What’s the occasion?” you ask, leaning against him as you gaze out at the city lights.

“Do I need an occasion to spoil my wife?” he replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Moments like these remind you of how lucky you are to have him—not just as a partner, but as the most incredible father to your daughter.

As the weeks go by, you find yourself wondering if maybe, just maybe, another little Stark would be the perfect addition to your family. And judging by the way Tony looks at you every time Morgan does something adorable, he’s thinking the same thing.

It’s one of those mornings where the world feels calm, rare moments of peace in the Stark household. The sun is streaming through the windows, and Morgan is sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in her book with her usual level of intensity. Tony is at the counter, making what he swears is “the best pancakes you’ve ever had,” wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt that Morgan insisted he wear because it matches hers—bright pink with a cartoon unicorn on it.

You’re leaning against the counter, holding a mug of tea, trying to figure out the best way to tell Tony the news that’s been buzzing inside you for the past week. You’ve been keeping the pregnancy test hidden in your nightstand, waiting for the right moment to share it. And now, as you watch Tony flip pancakes with Morgan’s enthusiastic commentary in the background, you know the moment is here.

“Hey, Tony?” you say, setting your mug down and crossing the kitchen.

“Yeah, babe?” he answers, not looking up from the griddle.

You slide your arms around his waist from behind, resting your cheek against his back. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hmm?” he hums, turning his head slightly to glance at you over his shoulder.

You pause for a moment, your heart pounding with both excitement and nerves. Then, you step back and pull the small onesie you’ve been hiding out from your pocket. It’s white, with the words “Iron Baby No. 2 ETA: 9 Months” printed on it in bold letters.

Tony turns fully to look at you, his brow furrowed. His eyes fall on the onesie, and it takes a second for the meaning to click. When it does, his jaw drops.

“Wait. Are you—?!”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “We’re having another baby.”

Tony stares at you, completely still for a beat, before his face lights up with that signature Stark grin. He lets out a laugh of pure joy and scoops you into his arms, spinning you around right there in the middle of the kitchen.

“Another Stark genius on the way!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with pride and excitement. “Oh my God, babe, this is—wow. Just wow.”

Morgan, still at the table, looks up from her coloring book, her little face scrunching in confusion. “Daddy, why you spinning Mommy?”

Tony sets you down gently, his hands still on your waist, and crouches down to Morgan’s level. “Well, peanut, we’ve got some big news to share with you.”

Morgan blinks, her crayon poised midair. “Big news?”

You kneel beside Tony, taking her tiny hand in yours. “You’re going to be a big sister, sweetheart. Mommy’s going to have a baby.”

Morgan’s eyes go wide, and she looks between the two of you. “A baby?!” she squeals, her face lighting up with excitement.

“That’s right,” Tony says, pulling her onto his lap. “There’s a baby growing in Mommy’s tummy right now.”

Morgan stares at your stomach like she’s expecting to see the baby immediately. “Right now?” she asks, her little hands gently pressing against your belly.

“Right now,” you confirm, smiling at her curiosity.

Her expression shifts into something thoughtful, and then she asks, “Can I share my toys with the baby?”

Your heart melts, and Tony lets out a laugh, hugging her tightly. “That’s a great idea, peanut. You’re going to be the best big sister ever.”

Over the next few weeks, Morgan becomes completely obsessed with the idea of the baby. She asks a million questions—“How does the baby get in there?” (to which Tony coughs and quickly changes the subject), “When will the baby come out?” and, most frequently, “Is the baby going to like me?”

Tony takes every opportunity to reassure her. “Of course the baby’s going to love you,” he tells her one evening as they’re building a block tower together. “You’re going to be their favorite person.”

When you find out the baby is a boy, Morgan’s excitement reaches new heights. “A baby brother!” she exclaims, jumping up and down. “I’m going to teach him how to color and how to play with Dum-E and how to eat pancakes!”

Tony grins, pulling her into a hug. “That’s my girl. He’s going to be one lucky little guy.”

As the months pass, the preparations for the baby kick into high gear. Tony insists on designing the nursery himself, turning one of the spare rooms in the penthouse into a space that’s both practical and beautiful. Morgan helps as much as she can, picking out toys and decorations and offering unsolicited advice.

“I think the baby would like stars on the ceiling,” she says one afternoon as Tony is painting the walls.

“Stars it is,” Tony replies, pulling up a design on his tablet and letting her help choose the layout.

You spend hours together as a family, getting everything ready. Morgan loves to help fold tiny clothes and stack diapers, even if her “help” usually results in more work for you later.

When the day of the birth finally arrives, it happens in the middle of the night. You wake up to contractions and gently nudge Tony awake.

“Tony,” you whisper. “It’s time.”

His eyes snap open, and he immediately jumps into action. “Time? Time for—oh my God, it’s time!” He stumbles out of bed, pulling on clothes and grabbing the hospital bag you packed weeks ago.

Morgan wakes up in the commotion, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “What’s happening?”

“You’re about to meet your baby brother,” you tell her, smoothing her hair.

Tony calls Pepper, who comes to stay with Morgan while you head to the hospital. As you’re leaving, Morgan gives you a big hug and whispers, “Tell the baby I love him, okay?”

Labor is intense but thankfully not too long, and soon enough, baby Jake Stark makes his grand entrance into the world. He’s a perfect mix of you and Tony, with a head of dark hair and big, curious eyes that already seem to be taking everything in.

When Tony holds him for the first time, he’s completely overcome. Tears fill his eyes as he stares down at the tiny baby in his arms. “Hey there, little guy,” he says softly. “I’m your dad. And you’ve got the coolest mom and the best big sister waiting to meet you.”

When you return home the next day, Morgan is practically bouncing with excitement. The moment she sees Jake, her face lights up, and she immediately runs over to you.

“Can I hold him?” she asks, her voice filled with awe.

You settle on the couch with her, placing Jake carefully in her lap. Her small hands gently cradle him, and she stares at him with wide eyes.

“Hi, baby brother,” she whispers. “I’m your big sister Morgan.”

Tony sits beside her, his arm around her shoulders, watching the two of them with a smile that’s equal parts pride and pure love.

Jake lets out a little coo, and Morgan gasps. “He likes me!”

“Of course he does,” you say, brushing a tear from your cheek.

From that moment on, Morgan takes her role as big sister very seriously. She insists on helping with everything, from feeding Jake to picking out his clothes. And while life with two kids is undeniably hectic, it’s also more wonderful than you ever could have imagined.

Watching Tony with your children, the way he adores them and you, makes your heart feel like it could burst. Your family is complete, and every day feels like the greatest adventure yet.

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