#and of course rdj

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

Has anyone else felt like home watching all the marvel press right now?!?

It’s just starting to feel like it used to pre-endgame when I would watch every interview I could because they were so comforting to me

[triaelf9]

Hey! Let's say you're a politician or a billionaire who REALLY wants to help a set of people! Say, lower or middle class who wanna have kids, or comic creators who just wanna create! And you want to help them do those things! Wanna know how to help?

ASK THEM WHAT THEY NEED.

Especially if you're hyper wealthy, you WILL be out of touch with the average person, whether or not you're a parent or not. And if you're not a creator, you DO NOT KNOW THE SPECIFICS.

So talk to the people you want to help! They know best what they need. just ASK.

And honestly, if you ask them, and they say we need more daycare, more schools, better schools, better or free healthcare, universal income, publishers that aren't beholden to investors who just want more more MORE money, etc etc and you think "nahh I know better"?

screw you.

[imavikingo]

I was thinking on when Steve lost Bucky for the 3rd time (1st when he was drafted, 2nd when he was told he was MIA, 3rd when he fell) he tried to get drunk to forget, right? If he did that then...

What did he do when he lost him for the 6th time? (4th when he escaped, 5th when Bucky was in cryo, 6th the snap)

I mean technically Bucky died twice, but Steve lost him six times already.

And of he tried to get blind drunk once of those times- did he self-harm in other ways too?

To dull the pain? He can't get drunk, he heals quickly, he can't die easily either, so what did he do?

He wouldn't want to die when he knows for a fact that Bucky is alive ofc, but I can't see him acting normally or without a little bit of reckless energy.

To dull the pain and disappoinment (he can't feel like that, that's Bucky's choice -Cryo-. But how it hurts him tho).

(unrelated to this line of thought but it is relevant to the idea regardless)

That's why I can't fathom the idea of Steve abandoning Bucky in endgame.

He lost him 6 six (6) times already and he just... Went away? To a woman he only kissed once? After all he did for him, the pain and loss?

Even if you don't ship them, you have to think that to be really ooc on Steve's part. Everything in his character arc in the MCU is related to Bucky (and loss). Yes he liked Peggy, but he didn't suffer nor mourn her the same way he mourned Bucky (She was alive, but had dementia and was also very old, and had her own life).

His feelings for Peggy were more a "what if" and lost possibilities than anything.

She was an idea, a fantasy (that's why Wanda used that when fighting with him, right?). Not something real.

He wanted to be with her, but he didn't really knew her or love her (at least I don't think so).

She was the first woman that saw him for him after all. Before everything. But that's it.

He liked her for that (and her strong personality too) but did he love her? He didn't try to get on dates after he was defrosted because he knew people would only see Captain America, not Steve Rogers. He needed to represent an ideal and knew no one would understand (the pain, loss) and have the patience to be with him. That’s why he also highlighted the shared life experience thing.

So she was comforting, reassuring in a toxic and unhealthy kind of way (memories and fantasy aren't healthy when used like that). But still a what if and lost opportunity. He had to let her go at one point. And he did(!) But they had to fuck it up…

I mean... it's the same thing when you're still hung up on an ex. You want to think of the possibilities, the what ifs, the "what could have been" But when you go back to them nothing is like you remembered, nothing is like you wanted and you are dissatisfied and disappointed.

(Because all of that was in your head, it wasn't real).

And besides, he knew she had a life of her own (a fulfilling one at that) so what, he was selfish enough to fuck that up too? Without helping HIM? Without saving HIM? Abandoning HIM? After just being brought to life? After grieving him for another five years? Bucky was his best friend, his companion, his best pal…

He wouldn't do that to him. He would die before hurting Bucky (as they already stablished for most of the fucking movies) He even was like “You don’t understand” when Peggy talked to him in the bars ruins.

I think in canon (not ooc/EG)Steve would entertain the idea, but would decide to just keep it as that: An idea, a fantasy. And move on like he already did before.

Also the idea that it was a Peggy from an alternative universe is flawed because he abandoned HIS Bucky, even if in the other universe he helped or whatever.

In HIS UNIVERSE he abandoned his best friend? Not believable. And the logic of “oh it didn’t change their timeline because it was another one” is also stupid.

They already fucked up with Steve fighting 2012!Steve and also telling him about Bucky (creating another universe more than likely). And they were supposed to be undetected. Not create new universes. Thats also why I’m so keen on the idea of Steve being in a prison or something. He already fucked up once, twice if you think he went to the past to stay.

How can he be free while fucking up the timelines? Yeah, nah.

Also… they implied Steve can’t age in a movie if I remember correctly…. How did he become old?

And the idea that he went to Peggy because “Tony told him to have a life outside of captain america” is fucked up. So what? He relates his Bucky’s existence with work? FUCK OFF. Endgame Steve is fucked up and the worst character assassination I’ve ever seen.

They were just too annoyed with the fans because we ship Stucky (even tho they used that to promote the movies in panels and stuff, hypocrites -​I remember clearly the producers? of the movie talk about gay characters and the actors talk about Stucky in those panels for then…be one of the russos in like 1 second and have that shit ass, fuck ass ending for Steve and Bucky. That shit was vile-).

im also annoyed with some people that now shit on Steve when umh… did you see the movies? The other movies? Not only Endgame? (Btw the only one that got a “good ending” was Tony because he died as a hero in front of everyone -even tho he didn’t want to help at first because he had a good life, the ONLY ONE OF THEM might I add-, everyone else got worse, is dead or they’re neglected and treated as haha funny character or haha funny moment)

Im all for ships and ideas and headcanons (even when I hate them with passion, you do you) but don’t try and use this character assassination as an excuse to shit on Steve. If you NEED to shit on a character for your ship to work, then you’re not doing a good job at it or your ship sucks. Idk what to tell you.

[stephaniejuhnay]

RDJ returning to the MCU is insane business.

Him returning as NOT Anthony Tyrone Stark is even more insane.

But Dr. DOOM?!?!?!?! 🫨

Idk how to feel. Elated? Overjoyed? Destroyed? Demoralized? Confused? Worried??

[triflesandtea]

EXACTLY what @holmesoverture just said.

I am not going to get my hopes up. And if it does come out, I am not going to love it, like it, or even allow myself to experience one hint of an emotion until the end credits are scrolling by. (Then, and only then, will I admittedly break down and be emotionally unavailable for a while.)

They will not ruin this series, or so help me, I shall take drastic measures. >.>

(P.S. Sorry for the overuse of italics, but emphasis is a must. XD)

brother. do NOT play with me on this. I've been waiting for like. 15 years at this point

[bedheaded-league]

Hello Sherlock Holmes fam!!! I have no Holmesian friends and I want to rectify that!!! Please follow me and say hi and I’ll follow you back and also say hi if you are also into Holmes and looking for friends.

A brief intro to me: I love ACD Canon, Granada, and the RDJ movies. I write fics for Sherlock Holmes and Our Flag Means Death, which you can read here. I dream of eventually writing a novel-length casefic, but I’ve never written a mystery before and it’s HARD, y’all. For now, I love writing fluff and hurt/comfort in particular (I’m a basic bitch, what can I say ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

I love all of the different queer interpretations of Holmes, but my personal headcanons are that Holmes is gay/demisexual and Watson is bi. I also love diagnosing them with things (in my opinion, Holmes has autism, bipolar, and ADHD, and Watson has PTSD) and I love reading/writing work that addresses those things. And of course, these are only my headcanons, and I am always open to reading other peoples interpretations of the characters, because they belong to all of us. The only thing I can’t deal with is people who are like “Sherlock Holmes is a cishet man with no mental disorders because he’s NORMAL” like babe… I don’t think we’re reading the same books.

I also love other detective series like Poirot, Benoit Blanc, and Juno Steele. I’m in a lot of other fandoms, which I post about on my main blog @therosielord

Anyway, if you also love Holmes and want to be friends, feel free to introduce yourself and I’ll follow back!!! Please come yell with me about these detective boys!!!

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 7 part 6

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

we've reached the final card, and you all know what - or who - that is

she was falling. she will fall.

here's the scene we were supposed to get at the beginning, Lilia falling through the mud. we get it at the end to form yet another perfect circle. look how green the light and the leaves are. we are in the dominion of the Green Witch.

just your old pal rio checking if you survived the fall, nbd

after all the time she's spent courting you! you really know how to break a girl's heart, lilia

she is the Destination baybeeeee

I need to check, does she bring that orchid to all the souls she reaps or is that reserved for her favorite people?

and agatha is the one who places the last card, who places Death over the Queen of Cups and seals her fate. billy is going to feel guilty about lilia and alice and sharon, but I do believe that if someone needs to be blamed, that is definitely agatha.

lilia's coven.

it should be a moment of triumph. the music and lilia's face tell a different story.

jen who's usually so sarcastic. her heart has cracked open for lilia.

ummmmmm, hey, agatha? sooo about that wife of yours?

yeah that's actually a pretty difficult subject for me so I'm gonna crack the usual joke instead. any takers? no? you guys? anybody wanna laugh?

I love the green light behind her. lilia's yellow is gone, it truly is rio's dominion now.

lilia's last words to agatha. she has grabbed her arm without hesitation, she knows what agatha did, and she has seen the most hidden part of her soul, the three swords in her heart. and in her last moments, lilia has accepted her in the coven, in the family. agatha would rather not understand it.

she looks at billy with all the love and pride in the world. billy has put her through the grinder, like he did with jen and alice and especially agatha, and lilia has raised to the occasion and then some. it's like she's saying, that's alright, baby, I can take it. you screwed up but I made things right again, because that's my job. we protect our children and we protect our own.

this is the same jen who pushed lilia out of the way in episode three to get to the exit first. I wonder what bright future Lilia has seen for the high priestess?

lilia has struggled with being a witch her whole life, she's had to come to terms with a lot of trauma and pain and self hatred. look how she's glowing now. she reclaimed her identity, and not because billy made her. she fought and she suffered and she achieved something incredible. she did it with her family, and she did it on her own. the beautiful paradox of self actualization.

LIKE I JUST DID. the power she exudes. the self-assurance. and the slightest hint of shaking in her voice, because she is emotional, but she's keeping it at bay. she is in control.

and I'll repeat it until the day I die, THE WAY PATTI USES HER VOICE. her monologues are just... god tier. she is god.

LIKE THE TOWER. UPRIGHT.

WE ARE FLIPPING THAT CARD. FUCK YES WE ARE.

god yes. hit me with the beautiful slow-mo. is there a term for being emotionally horny because that's what I'm feeling right now

have I finished ranting about how good patti lupone is? fuck no I motherfucking haven't. because sometimes I see people going, 'that was great but whatever, it's patti, of course it was.' NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. WE ARE NOT TAKING THIS WOMAN FOR GRANTED, NOT EVEN FOR A SECOND. THAT IS NOT WHAT LILIA HAS TAUGHT US. it's NOT "whatever she's patti." lilia is phenomenal BECAUSE she is patti lupone. this seventy fucking five year old woman has walked on set and graced us with the best MCU character (AND the best death. COMPLETELY humiliated RDJ) BECAUSE she is the best at her craft. because she has spat blood and tears on stage for fifty fucking years, eight shows a week. because she's the first evita and the first fantine, I can't even comprehend how fucking cool that is. one day people sitting at the barbican theater in west end heard 'I dreamed a dream' for the first time, and this motherfucker in a blonde wig was singing it. it's like hanging out with a group of friends except one of them is michelangelo. what she can do with her face, with her voice, with her body language is a monumental achievement that can't be celebrated enough. she has taken a good script and elevated it to the stars, and has done it in a stupid glinda costume. she needs all the praise, all of it.

okay. NOW I'm done. just needed to put it out there. I love you, broadway goddess patti lupone.

(kudos to the costume designers, set designers, make up artists, camera operators, directors AND to the writing team though. INCREDIBLE job, you guys.)

and the final paradox: death is the end, but life and nature are a circle. and so, let us begin!

go to episode 8 part 1

[ultimate-marysue]

I made some sort of alignment classification based on whether they're impulsive or if they plan ahead for the Batfam. Feel free to correct me (politely please, I'll cry) or to add your opinion. I'm not trying to be super canon, just based on their characters' vibes.

Bruce Wayne: 100% planner. This man could be a Bene Gesserit, plans within plans, and they always work even if they shouldn't (because DC can't have him be wrong). It's like a choose your own adventure, you follow the plan and each time something new happens that is sure to chase things up he pulls a subsection specifically for it. Senior Justice League Members just don't question him anymore no matter what. "You had a contingency for getting invaded by mind controlling ballerina spiders? Yeah, sure, tell us all about it".

Barbara Gordon: she plans around her impulses. She is self aware enough at this point to know she's a bit of a hot head. It is what it is, she's called Batman an Emo Boy's idea of Therapy enough times to his face to know she just can't help herself with some stuff. So instead of working against it she plans around it. In the end, it was her plan all along. Canary thinks she could just hold her tongue, but considering the vigilantes Oracle manages, her experience in planning for these situations is invaluable.

Dick Grayson: Impulsive, not because he can't make plans or because he isn't smart. Quite the opposite. He just has that ADHD dog in him. He would be guiding the Titans through a mission and they'd be thinking "Woah, everything is going according to his plan", meanwhile inside his head is Bear Grylls saying "Improvise, Adapt, Overcome". It's not so much that he comes up with plans on the spot but he ends up changing it along the way because he thought of something better for that specific situation. He may use B's protocols for a general structure but then trusts his instinct to come up with something better on the spot.

Cassandra Cain: Neither. She's not one to be coming up with elaborate schemes but, as much as she relies on her instinct, she's able to stop before jumping. She doesn't need to plan, she knows what works. She observes and then takes the best course of action. When Bruce goes on and on about the importance of planning she just answers "Skill issue" and leaves.

Jason Todd: impulsive planner. This is a man that makes plans, okay? He's theatre kid coded, he needs to know his little monologues by heart. The thing is, he's also very emotional and has the impulse control of a toddler in front of the cookie jar. He can't help himself, he has to punch the asshole and make the witty comeback or he will explode. The outlaws have been grilled to death on the importance of following the plan but then watch him like ten minutes later throw it out the window. They find it both endearing and annoying.

Stephanie Brown: Queen of Chaos. She can plan. She's good at it too btw, she just doesn't want to if she can avoid it. She works best when she's improvising and it drives Bruce and Tim up the walls. They just hate to see women winning. She's the best one out of all of them at turning a mistake to her advantage in a matter of seconds. It's quite impressive.

Tim Drake: Chaotic planner. Everyone is so sure Tim is a mini Bruce and to a certain extent, if you squint your eyes, then yes. But Young Just Us know the truth: his plans are extremely effective but only in the most chaotic way possible. There's the Batman plan, and there's the Red Robin plan, which is like the first one but faster and with more fire. He also has to be periodically reminded to take into account his own wellbeing when making his little schemes.

Duke Thomas: plans on the go. I don't know how else to explain it but it's like those sequences in the Sherlock movies (the ones with RDJ) where he's watching his surroundings and opponents almost in slow-mo till he puts together a plan. It's similar to Dick from the outside, but if you pay attention you can see the wheels turning in his head as he goes along. He actually stops and thinks (metaphorically, most of the time his thinking is done while he distracts enemies).

Damian Al Gul Wayne: he's a strategist, not a planner. This is an important distinction because whenever Batman or Red Robin are explaining one of their convoluted plans he feels like he's actively losing braincells. He's closer to Cassandra in the way he prefers a more direct solution. He also gets palpitations anytime Jason or Stephanie just start doing things without thinking. If he knew what Dick's thought process was he would have probably developed an anxiety disorder in his time as Dick's robin. He doesn't understand the need for such high detail planning and hates the idea of making it along the way. No, he just needs to come up with the most efficient strategy and that's all.

[oldmanaficionado]

I KNOW! It’s going to be so exciting to see so many old and new faces on the big screen together. I am absolutely giddy with excitement

Holy shit

Avengers Doomsday is fucking stacking the cast

[memoriesofdeadfrogs]

To be honest, it's hard for me to get excited about the Doomsday x-men/cherik announcement despite it being my first real fandom/ship. I'll try to keep an open mind, but the whole thing feels really... bait-y almost? Like "ooh here's all the toys we know you like, see our movie now." Just like the RDJ Doom announcement, there's been no development for any of this. It feels unearned. I'm fully expecting the X-men to have five minutes of screen time before being killed off. Or have the worst writing possible, just uttering catchphrases so the audience can clap and point at the screen.

Maybe I'm just cynical. But I don't trust mcu with cherik, never have. I'd be happy to be proven wrong, of course!

[amethystarachnid]

CHRISTMAS KITTY

⤷ 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★ Request: 26. Decorating the Tree Together  – You and your character decorate a Christmas tree together, each putting your personal touch on it. A quiet moment full of holiday spirit, plus maybe a surprise gift hidden in the branches! This prompt with Tony please? 😁 and the surprise gift is a kitten? I love kittens and cats 😻😻😻😻😻 (@ts-rdj-reader )

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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

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

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It's December in New York, and the first snow of the season has just begun to fall in delicate, fluttering flakes. The city, as always, feels like it's bustling with energy, but there's a softness to the air today, a quiet sort of peace that only the holiday season can bring. The kind of peace you can’t help but be caught up in.

You're bundled up in a cozy sweater and thick scarf, watching Tony fumble with his jacket. He looks up at you with a slight smirk as he zips it up, his chest puffed out as if the jacket somehow makes him look even more impressive.

“Think you’re ready for this?” you tease, adjusting your hat as you stand by the door. “I mean, buying a Christmas tree is serious business.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, but there’s a twinkle in his expression that betrays his excitement. “Of course I’m ready. What could possibly go wrong? It’s just a tree.”

You raise an eyebrow, watching him try to act nonchalant. Tony Stark might be a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, but there’s one thing he’s never had to deal with—decorating for the holidays. This is your first Christmas living together in his sleek, glass-and-steel penthouse, and you’ve both agreed that it’s time to make it feel like home. A tree is step one.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen.

“Pepper says she hopes we don’t burn down the building,” Tony mutters, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “I’m thinking a big, grand tree this year, something that’s going to put Rockefeller Center’s to shame. Don’t you think?”

You laugh at his over-the-top enthusiasm. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Stark. Let’s just get the tree first. We’ll save the grandiosity for the decorations.”

It’s only when you step out into the chilly evening air that the weight of the moment settles in—your first holiday together in the place you’ve both made your own. The city feels a little more magical now. Maybe it’s because of the snow, or maybe it’s just the way Tony makes everything feel like an adventure, no matter how mundane the task. You wrap your arm around his, feeling the heat from his body through the layers of clothing. He pulls you in closer with a quick kiss on the top of your head, and the world feels a little warmer.

“So, what’s your ideal tree?” Tony asks as you start down the street toward the small, family-run tree lot he’s insisted on going to. The man is always about supporting local businesses, even if that business happens to be a Christmas tree seller in the middle of a snowy December night.

“Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully. “Something tall, but not too overwhelming. You know, elegant. And definitely one with a strong scent. The kind you can smell as soon as you walk into the room.”

Tony grins. “I knew it. You’ve got that Pinterest board thing going on.”

You shove him lightly, your cheeks flushing at how easily he can read you. He’s right, though. You’ve spent hours scrolling through Christmas inspiration—dreaming up a perfect holiday, and a perfect tree to match it.

As you approach the lot, you can already hear the festive music playing in the background and smell the faint scent of pine and fresh-cut trees. Tony pulls open the gate for you, letting you inside first. The lot is smaller than you imagined, but it’s full of trees of all shapes and sizes, stacked haphazardly but with care.

“I think I see it,” Tony says as he scans the trees, his eyes narrowing. “The perfect one.”

You follow his gaze, and your breath catches in your throat. There, nestled between two slightly crooked firs, is a tree. It’s taller than the others, its branches a deep green, with just enough space between them to be filled with twinkling lights and ornaments. Its shape is symmetrical but not overly perfect—just like the way Tony always manages to balance chaos and precision in everything he does.

“That’s the one,” you agree, giving him a playful shove as you walk toward it. “Well done, Mr. Stark.”

Tony shoots you a wink and saunters over to the tree, inspecting it like it’s a high-tech gadget instead of a holiday decoration. He kneels beside it, reaching out to touch a few of the branches. “I don’t know, I think it’s a little too… nice. We need something that says ‘Tony Stark lives here.’”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips. You love that about him—that he can make everything feel bigger than life. Even something as simple as choosing a Christmas tree becomes a mini-event in his world.

“You’re not putting any of your weird tech inside the tree, are you?” you tease, hands on your hips. “No lasers, no rockets, no holographic star, okay?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, looking far too interested in the idea. “You’re asking the wrong person. But, no promises,” he says, already pulling out his phone to check something on his holographic display.

You give him a playful shove, and this time he stumbles a little, catching himself against the tree. He lets out a dramatic gasp, looking down at it like he’s about to fall in love with the idea of the tree himself. “It’s perfect. We can definitely make this work.”

The seller walks over to you both, an older man with a thick beard and weathered hands. “I see you’ve got a good eye. She’s a beauty, alright. We just brought her in this morning. I’ll have my son help get it to your car.”

You nod, smiling warmly at the man. “Thanks so much. We’ll take it.”

As the seller arranges for the delivery, Tony reaches for your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. The moment feels calm and easy, just the two of you standing in the middle of a Christmas tree lot in the heart of a bustling city.

“I can’t wait to see it in the apartment,” you say softly, glancing up at Tony.

He smirks, squeezing your hand. “It’ll be legendary.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling the joy of the moment settle into your chest. Tony, in his own quirky way, always knows how to make everything seem like an adventure. It’s like he lives for these moments of pure, unfiltered happiness. And you’re lucky enough to experience them with him.

As the tree is loaded onto a delivery truck, you make your way back to the penthouse, arms around each other, sharing quiet smiles. The city is alive with lights and the glow of Christmas spirit, but with Tony beside you, it all feels a little brighter.

You both arrive back at the penthouse just as the first snow of the evening begins to pick up again, turning the streets into a winter wonderland. Tony pulls out his phone, checking the progress on the tree’s delivery. You walk over to the window, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city below, your thoughts drifting to the holiday ahead.

Tony joins you a few moments later, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You tilt your head back, finding comfort in the solid presence of his chest against your back.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hand.

“Doing what?” Tony asks, his voice low and amused.

“This,” you gesture to the apartment, “making our first Christmas together. It feels… right.”

Tony presses a kiss to the side of your head, his breath warm against your skin. “Yeah. Me too.”

The sound of a truck pulling up outside catches your attention. You glance out the window, smiling when you see the delivery man bringing the tree up to the door. Tony squeezes your shoulder gently.

“Ready for this?” he asks, his voice filled with mock seriousness. “The holiday season is about to be officially underway.”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face. “Let’s do it.”

The tree is brought in, standing tall and proud in the center of your living room. It’s a perfect fit for the space, and as the lights shine through the branches, you feel the warmth of the holiday spirit filling every corner of the penthouse.

Tony looks at you, eyes shining with excitement. “What’s first?”

You take a deep breath, glancing around the room. It’s all yours. The tree is just the beginning.

“I think,” you say, your voice full of excitement, “we start with the lights.”

Tony nods, his grin widening. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You kneel down in front of the tree, placing the first strand of lights in your hands. The room feels even warmer now, the dim lights from the penthouse windows softly illuminating everything with their golden glow, but it’s the tree that stands proudly at the center of it all. You reach for the plug to connect the lights, only to hear a faint grunt behind you.

Tony, in his usual enthusiastic style, has already jumped headfirst into the next task: stringing the lights up the tree. Or, more accurately, tangling himself in them.

You glance over your shoulder to find him hunched down, one arm flailing in the air as he tries to reach the highest branch. Unfortunately, the string of lights is now wrapped around his torso, like a garland that has a personal vendetta against him. His expression is one of deep concentration, but also complete and utter confusion.

"Uh, Tony, are you sure you know what you're doing?" you ask, trying to suppress your laughter.

"I’m just… uh, testing the lights,” he mutters, looking incredibly focused on not falling face-first into the tree. "Gotta make sure they work before we get them all in place."

"Uh-huh." You narrow your eyes. "Sure you are. That’s why you're wrapped up like a Christmas present."

Tony looks down at himself, his eyes going wide in genuine surprise. "Well, I didn’t plan for this," he admits. “But… hey, at least now I’m ready for any unexpected electrical malfunctions. Safety first, right?”

You can’t help but burst out laughing, watching him try to extricate himself from the mess of lights. He tugs at the string, but it only tightens more around his chest like a boa constrictor.

"Tony," you say, holding your hand up to try to stifle your giggles. "Maybe you should stop for a second, and we’ll start from the beginning, yeah? You can’t exactly decorate a tree while stuck in a knot."

He pauses, staring at the lights for a long moment before sighing dramatically, like he's performing some sort of grand monologue. "I never imagined my life would come to this," he says with a theatrical sigh, “trapped by holiday lights. Who knew the holiday season could be so treacherous?”

"Maybe if you actually followed the instructions," you tease, walking over to help him. "You know, instead of winging it like everything else you do."

He gives you an exaggerated pout. "I don’t need instructions. I’m Tony Stark. Instructions are for mere mortals."

"Oh, I’m sure the lights will be impressed with your genius," you reply, tugging at the string around his arm. "Alright, hold still. I’m going to help you out of this before you make it worse."

You gently start untangling him, but the more you try to help, the more absurd the situation becomes. At one point, his arm gets stuck in the lights so badly that it seems like they’ve fused into his jacket sleeve. He attempts to free himself by flapping his arm around in exaggerated circles, causing the lights to wrap even tighter.

"I think it's just easier if we burn the whole thing and start fresh," he mutters. "It would save a lot of time and frustration.”

You shake your head, chuckling. "How would you even burn it? You’d probably end up blowing up the building."

“I’m not that bad,” Tony protests, though he still looks tangled beyond belief. “I’ve got it under control… mostly.”

With a final tug, you manage to unravel him from the lights, leaving him looking defeated, his hair a bit more disheveled than usual. He looks at the string of lights in his hands with a defeated sigh.

“Alright, that’s it. You finish this part, I’ll handle something else,” he declares, tossing the lights toward you. “But only because I love you, and I’m clearly not cut out for this domestic stuff.”

You roll your eyes but give him a playful kiss on the cheek. “I love you too, even if you’re a disaster when it comes to holiday decorating.”

He grins at you, his usual cocky confidence returning. “Hey, someone has to make the season interesting.”

You take over, carefully stringing the lights around the tree. Tony stands off to the side, looking around at the ornaments you’ve laid out on the coffee table. His eyes immediately light up with mischievousness.

“Now this,” he says, picking up a glass ornament shaped like a small rocket, “this is the kind of decoration we need. A bit of me in this whole thing.”

You glance over, raising an eyebrow at the tiny rocket in his hand. “A rocket? Really?”

“Well, what better way to spice things up than a tiny Tony Stark rocket? I mean, the thing is pretty cool.” He grins, holding it up like a prize. “I could program it to do something flashy. A little jet-powered display, maybe?”

You hold up your hand to stop him. “Tony, no. Please don’t turn the Christmas tree into a mini Iron Man flight simulation.”

He chuckles, finally relenting and placing the ornament back with the others. “Alright, alright, no mini explosions. But can we at least agree on this—when we get the star on top, it’s going to be the most badass one ever?”

You smirk. “If you’re thinking about making the star fly, I swear to God…”

Tony throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine! No flying stars. I promise. But it’s going to be shiny. You’ll see.”

With the lights finally in place, you stand back to admire your work. The tree is looking better by the second. The warm glow from the lights fills the room, and you can already imagine how cozy everything will feel once you start adding the ornaments and tinsel.

“Okay,” you say, moving to the table where the rest of the ornaments are waiting. “Now we get to the fun part. You ready?”

Tony stretches, shaking out his arms like he's preparing for a big game. “Born ready,” he declares, grabbing a handful of ornaments without looking. “Alright, I’m going to start with these. The important ones.”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can stop him, Tony hangs the first ornament—a bright red one—with no regard for symmetry. In fact, it’s completely off-center, hanging at an odd angle that’s almost comical.

“Tony,” you say, biting back a laugh. “What are you doing? You can’t just randomly throw ornaments on the tree.”

He shrugs. “Why not? It’s Christmas. The tree can be a little… spontaneous.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing. “It looks like the tree’s been attacked by a very enthusiastic toddler.”

“Hey, don’t knock the randomness,” Tony defends, sticking his tongue out at you. “It’s… avant-garde.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not sure ‘avant-garde’ is the word you’re looking for.”

“Fine,” he sighs dramatically. “I’ll do it your way. But only because you look so cute when you’re being all decorator-y about it.” He gives you a teasing wink before picking up another ornament.

You can barely keep your smile in check as you show him how to hang the ornaments more evenly. But as you demonstrate, Tony inevitably sneaks in a few of his chaotic touches—an ornament hung upside down here, another off to one side. At one point, he hands you a glittery snowman ornament that is somehow tangled in a length of tinsel.

“Here, put this one up,” he says, looking far too pleased with himself. “It’s got character.”

You burst out laughing as you try to untangle the snowman, holding it up in front of your face. "Character? It looks like it got stuck in a snowdrift.”

Tony laughs with you, the sound of it easy and warm. “I think it adds some charm to the tree.”

As the two of you finish decorating, you step back to admire your work. The tree, though slightly lopsided in places, has a certain charm to it. It’s uniquely yours—full of mismatched ornaments, half-wrapped ribbons, and just the right amount of chaos.

Tony steps back, admiring it with a proud grin. “You know what? It might not be perfect, but it’s got style.”

You glance over at him, shaking your head but smiling. “It’s a little more than that. It’s ours.”

His eyes soften, and for a moment, there’s a silence between you. You both stand in front of the tree, feeling a sense of contentment that only comes with creating something together.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice quieter now, “this is nice. I like this. Decorating the tree with you… it’s something I could get used to.”

You turn to him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Me too, Tony. Me too.”

And as you stand there, side by side, with the tree twinkling in front of you and the warmth of the holiday season filling the air, you realize that no matter how messy or chaotic things get, this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

The tree stands tall and glowing, a patchwork of holiday spirit reflecting the personalities of its decorators—quirky, vibrant, and just a little chaotic. The warm light dances across the room, and the faint scent of pine lingers in the air. You and Tony sit curled up together on the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs, your head resting on his shoulder as you both admire your handiwork.

“This turned out better than I expected,” you admit, your voice soft as the quiet holiday music plays in the background.

“Better than expected?” Tony feigns offense, turning to look at you. “Did you doubt me? I’m hurt. Wounded, even.”

You snicker, nudging him lightly. “I just wasn’t sure if the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist thing translated to decorating Christmas trees.”

He smirks, his arm tightening around you. “Well, clearly, I’m a man of many talents.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth of the moment keeps you from retorting. Instead, you snuggle closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest as the two of you enjoy the rare quiet of the evening.

For a while, it’s perfect—just you, Tony, and the soft glow of the tree. But after a few minutes, you notice Tony glancing toward the clock on the wall. At first, you think nothing of it. Tony’s always been fidgety, always a million thoughts ahead of himself. But then he does it again, his gaze flickering toward the clock almost absentmindedly, like he’s trying not to make it obvious.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

Tony shakes his head quickly, a little too quickly. “Nope. Just thinking about… stuff. Business stuff.” He waves his hand dismissively, but you can feel the slight tension in his posture.

You narrow your eyes, not buying it. “Business stuff? Tony, it’s almost time for dinner. You’re not supposed to be thinking about business stuff.”

He looks down at you, flashing one of his charming smiles, the kind that usually works on just about everyone. “You’re right. No business stuff. Just tree stuff. And couch stuff. And you stuff.” He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, clearly hoping to derail your train of thought.

And for a moment, it works. You let yourself relax back into him, letting the sound of his heartbeat and the warm weight of his arm around you pull you into the comfort of the evening. But then his phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Your gaze flicks to the screen, but before you can read the notification, Tony shifts forward, reaching for the phone with a quickness that feels just a little… off. He doesn’t open the message right away. Instead, he stands up, the blanket sliding off his lap, and steps toward the window. The soft glow of the city lights frames him as he unlocks the phone and reads the message in silence.

You sit up straighter, watching him carefully. “What’s that about?” you ask, keeping your tone light but curious.

He doesn’t look at you right away. Instead, he stares at the screen for a moment longer before locking the phone and slipping it into his pocket. “Nothing important,” he says casually, turning back to face you. But there’s something in his voice—something slightly distracted—that makes your stomach twist.

“Tony,” you say, tilting your head as you study him. “What’s going on?”

He hesitates, and for the briefest moment, you think he might tell you. But then he clears his throat and puts on that easy, carefree grin again. “It’s nothing, really. Just something I need to take care of real quick. Won’t take long.”

You frown, standing up and crossing your arms as you watch him grab his jacket from the back of the chair. “Take care of what? It’s late, Tony. Where are you going?”

He looks at you, his expression softening just enough to make you second-guess your suspicion. “It’s a surprise,” he says, stepping closer to cup your face in his hands. “I promise it’s nothing bad. You’ll like it.”

“A surprise?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“It could,” he admits, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “But trust me, it’s better if I handle it tonight.”

You search his face, trying to read the truth behind his words. Tony’s always been good at keeping secrets, but this feels… different. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—nervousness? Guilt? You can’t quite pin it down.

“I don’t like it when you’re vague,” you say quietly, your arms dropping to your sides. “If it’s really a surprise, you can just tell me.”

He shakes his head, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I know. But you’ll just have to trust me on this one, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”

You don’t answer right away, your heart tugging in two directions. On one hand, you trust Tony—you love him, and you know he wouldn’t leave like this without a good reason. But on the other hand, something about the way he’s acting feels… off. And the fact that he’s leaving this late, when you were supposed to spend the night together, doesn’t sit right with you.

“Alright,” you say finally, your voice tinged with reluctance. “But if you’re not back in an hour, I’m calling Pepper to tattle on you.”

Tony grins, clearly relieved that you’re letting it go, at least for now. “Fair deal,” he says, pulling you into a quick hug before heading for the door. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered. Just enjoy the tree and keep the couch warm for me.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, the glow of the Christmas lights suddenly feeling a little less warm. You glance toward the clock, then toward the door, a knot forming in your chest as the silence settles over the room.

You sit back down on the couch, pulling the blanket over your lap, but you can’t relax. Your eyes keep drifting toward the door, your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of surprise could he be planning? And why did he seem so anxious about it?

The minutes tick by, and though you try to focus on the tree or the soft music playing in the background, your thoughts keep circling back to Tony. Something about this doesn’t feel right, and the longer he’s gone, the harder it becomes to shake the uneasy feeling in your gut.

The ticking of the clock grows louder with each passing minute, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the room. You glance at your phone for the hundredth time, debating whether you should call Tony. It’s been an hour and a half since he left, and your mind has wandered to every possible worst-case scenario.

Maybe he’s stuck in traffic. Maybe he got sidetracked by some last-minute business emergency. Maybe he’s planning some kind of over-the-top stunt, and it’s taking longer than expected. You try to reassure yourself, but the knot in your stomach refuses to loosen.

Then, just as you’re about to give in and dial his number, the sound of the elevator whirring to life snaps your attention to the front door. You sit up straighter, your heart thudding in your chest as the door slides open to reveal Tony stepping inside.

He’s carrying two things: a large cardboard box with small holes punched into the sides and a massive shopping bag that looks ready to burst at the seams. His hair is slightly tousled, and there’s a sheepish grin on his face as he meets your gaze.

“Miss me?” he asks, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Tony!” You rush to your feet, half-relieved and half-annoyed. “Where have you been? You said you’d be quick!”

“I know, I know,” he says, setting the box down carefully on the coffee table. The shopping bag follows with a dull thud. “And I’m sorry, sweetheart. But, uh, this couldn’t wait.”

Your eyes flick to the box, then back to Tony, your suspicion immediately kicking back into gear. “What do you mean, ‘couldn’t wait’? What’s in the box? And why does it have… holes?”

Tony scratches the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Okay, so, remember how I said I had a surprise? Well, this is it. Or, uh, part of it.”

“Part of it?” you repeat, crossing your arms. “Tony, if there’s a bomb in there, I swear—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he interrupts, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No bombs. I promise. Just… open it, alright? Trust me.”

You eye him warily, but curiosity gets the better of you. Stepping closer, you reach for the box, lifting the lid slowly. At first, all you see is a bundle of soft, orange fur curled up in a cozy blanket. Then, as the light filters in, two tiny green eyes blink up at you, followed by a delicate little meow.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Tony… is this—?”

“A kitten,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “Your kitten. Merry… well, pre-Christmas.”

You stare down at the little creature in disbelief as it stretches and lets out another soft meow. Its fur is a vibrant orange, its tiny paws tipped with white like it’s wearing little socks. Its tail flicks lazily, and it looks up at you with the kind of wide-eyed innocence that melts your heart instantly.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, gently lifting the kitten from the box. It’s warm and impossibly small, its tiny body fitting perfectly into your hands. “Tony, I—where did you even—?”

“It’s been in the works for a while,” he explains, watching you with a fond smile as you cradle the kitten against your chest. “You’ve mentioned wanting a pet a few times, and I figured, hey, why not make it happen? But the shelter called me tonight and said they couldn’t hold him any longer. Apparently, he’s a popular little guy.”

“You… went to a shelter?” You glance up at him, your voice soft with surprise.

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I might be a genius, but even I know you’d never forgive me if I bought one from some fancy breeder.”

Your heart swells, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Tony, this is… this is amazing. He’s perfect.”

The kitten nuzzles into your chest, purring softly, and you can’t help but smile. You’ve always wanted a pet, but between your busy life and Tony’s hectic schedule, it never seemed like the right time. But now, holding this tiny bundle of fur, everything feels just right.

“I’m glad you like him,” Tony says, his voice unusually soft. “Because, uh, that’s not all.”

He gestures toward the shopping bag, which you now realize is overflowing with supplies: a litter box, bags of kitten food, a variety of toys, a cozy little bed, and even a scratching post. There’s enough in there to keep the kitten happy and spoiled for months.

“You really went all out,” you say, laughing through your tears.

“Hey, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, you deserve it. Both of you.”

You place the kitten carefully back in the box so you can throw your arms around Tony, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “This is the best surprise ever.”

He holds you close, his hand running gently up and down your back. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I just want you to be happy.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “I’m more than happy,” you say, your smile widening. “I’m completely in love. With both of you.”

Tony chuckles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Well, I can’t compete with a face like that,” he says, nodding toward the kitten, who’s now batting at a loose ribbon in the box. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

The two of you spend the rest of the evening introducing the kitten to his new home. You let him explore the penthouse at his own pace, watching as he pounces on the smallest shadows and skids across the hardwood floors in an adorable flurry of fur and energy. Tony, for all his swagger and bravado, is just as smitten as you are, crouching down to dangle toys and laughing when the kitten leaps after them with wobbly precision.

“What should we name him?” you ask at one point, sitting cross-legged on the floor as the kitten curls up in your lap.

Tony tilts his head, considering. “Well, he’s orange. How about something like… Rusty? Or Cheeto?”

You give him a look. “Cheeto? Really?”

“What? It’s cute!” he defends, grinning. “Alright, fine. Your call. I’ll just veto anything boring.”

You laugh, looking down at the kitten as he blinks up at you sleepily. “How about… Pumpkin?”

Tony pretends to mull it over, then nods. “Pumpkin. I like it. Festive, cute, and just a little bit cheesy. Perfect.”

“Pumpkin it is,” you say, gently stroking the kitten’s soft fur.

As the night goes on, the three of you settle back onto the couch, the kitten curled up between you and Tony. The Christmas tree glows softly in the corner, casting the room in a warm, golden light. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly as it should be—cozy, peaceful, and filled with love.

Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as you both watch Pumpkin doze off. “You know,” he says softly, “this might be the best Christmas ever.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It definitely is,” you agree. “And it’s not even Christmas yet.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Well, consider this a warm-up. The real show’s just getting started.”

And as you sit there, wrapped in Tony’s arms with Pumpkin purring softly beside you, you can’t imagine anything better.

Tony Stark doesn’t consider himself the jealous type. Not when it comes to humans, at least. He’s Tony Stark, after all—billionaire, genius, and your boyfriend. Why would he ever need to compete for your attention?

And yet, as he stands in the living room of his penthouse, watching you coo at Pumpkin for what feels like the hundredth time that day, Tony feels an unfamiliar twinge in his chest. The kitten, curled up in your lap and purring loud enough to drown out the faint hum of the city below, soaks up every ounce of your affection like he’s been in your life for years instead of just a couple of days.

“Pumpkin, you’re such a good boy,” you murmur, stroking the kitten’s soft orange fur. He stretches lazily, his tiny paws reaching out to bat at your hand, and you giggle in response, your face lighting up with pure adoration.

Tony clears his throat, hoping to grab your attention. When that doesn’t work, he tries again, louder this time. “You know, I’m still here,” he says, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. “Your human boyfriend. The one who, might I remind you, actually got you the furball in the first place.”

You glance up at him with a grin, clearly amused. “I know, Tony. And you did a great job. I love him.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony replies, raising an eyebrow. “You love him. And what about me?”

“Oh, I love you too,” you say, laughing lightly. “But Pumpkin’s just… so cute. Look at him!”

Tony sighs dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “Yeah, he’s cute. But I’m cute too! I’m fun. I’m Tony Stark.”

Pumpkin chooses that moment to yawn, his tiny mouth stretching wide before he curls back into a contented ball on your lap. You immediately let out an “aww” and start petting him again, completely ignoring Tony’s faux outrage.

“Unbelievable,” Tony mutters, shaking his head as he flops onto the couch beside you. “I bring you a kitten, and suddenly I’m chopped liver.”

You nudge him playfully with your elbow. “You’re not chopped liver. You’re just… second place right now.”

“Second place?!” Tony stares at you, his jaw dropping in mock offense. “I didn’t spend a fortune on that scratching post in the corner so I could be demoted to second place.”

“Tony,” you say, trying to keep a straight face as you turn to him. “Pumpkin is a baby. He needs attention.”

“I need attention!” Tony counters, pointing to himself. “What about me? Who’s gonna scratch my ears and tell me I’m a good boy?”

You burst out laughing, and Tony can’t help but grin despite himself. There’s something about your laugh that always makes him forget whatever point he was trying to make, even when he’s “arguing” with a kitten.

“Alright, alright,” you say, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You’re a good boy, Tony.”

“Too late,” he replies, huffing as he leans back against the couch. “I see how it is. I’ve been replaced. I might as well start growing whiskers and eating kibble at this point.”

Pumpkin stirs in your lap, his green eyes blinking open as he lets out a soft, high-pitched meow. You immediately coo again, leaning down to nuzzle the kitten. “Aww, did you wake up, little guy? You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Tony watches this exchange with growing exasperation. “Oh, come on. He meowed. That’s it. Do you want me to meow? Because I will. I’ll meow right now.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but it’s a losing battle. “Tony, please don’t.”

“No, no,” Tony says, sitting up straight. “I’m serious. If that’s all it takes to get your attention, I’ll start practicing my feline repertoire. Meow. There, how was that?”

You’re laughing so hard now that Pumpkin looks up at you with what can only be described as mild concern. “Tony, stop,” you manage between giggles. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?!” Tony gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is my penthouse. My tree. My girlfriend. And now, my replacement.” He gestures at Pumpkin, who has climbed onto your shoulder and is pawing at your hair like it’s his new favorite toy.

You reach up to steady the kitten, still smiling. “Tony, you’re being jealous of a kitten. A kitten.”

“Not jealous,” he says quickly. “Just… concerned. For my well-being. Do you know how much of my lap space he’s taking up? And what about my snuggle quota? I’m going to be malnourished from lack of affection at this rate.”

You shake your head, still laughing as you set Pumpkin down on the couch between you. The kitten promptly curls up into a ball again, seemingly unbothered by the ongoing drama. “Tony, you’re ridiculous,” you say, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “But you’re my ridiculous.”

“Damn right, I am,” he mutters, though he can’t hide the pleased grin that tugs at his lips. “Just remember that next time you’re fawning over the furball.”

You roll your eyes but settle against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you both look down at Pumpkin. “You know, you’re the one who brought him into the house. You did this to yourself.”

Tony groans, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize I was signing up to be the third wheel in my own relationship.”

You glance up at him with a smirk. “If it makes you feel better, you’re still my favorite billionaire genius.”

“Favorite billionaire genius? That’s a low bar,” he grumbles. “How about favorite everything?”

“Fine,” you say, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Favorite everything.”

He grins, finally looking smug again. “That’s more like it.”

Pumpkin chooses that moment to let out a soft snore, and you both look down at him. Despite all of Tony’s grumbling, you can see the fondness in his eyes as he watches the tiny ball of orange fur sleep peacefully.

“He’s pretty great, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Tony sighs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, he’s alright. But if he starts hogging the bed, we’re gonna have words.”

You laugh, snuggling closer to him. “Deal.”

For the rest of the night, Tony continues to play up his faux-jealousy, sneaking exaggerated glares at Pumpkin whenever you’re not looking. But deep down, you know he’s already completely smitten with the kitten—even if he won’t admit it. And as the three of you settle into the glow of the Christmas tree, it’s clear that Pumpkin has brought even more joy into your already chaotic, love-filled life.

[droumack]

the first 1.3k of popstar!jo and bodyguard!nate

(because I'm trying to see if posting part of this will motivate me to finish it)

“It’s a little ridiculous.” And Jo doesn’t think he’s being unfair with that statement. In fact, he thinks he’s being more than fair, when the fact of the matter is—this entire situation was more than a little ridiculous. It was fucking absurd, for one; a massive invasion of privacy, for another. 

And for Jo to call this an invasion of privacy—Jo, whose privacy has been getting invaded since he was a teenager—is saying something. His label has run his life for almost half a decade, now, and Jo thinks if he doesn’t draw the line here, he’ll never draw it again. 

“It’s not ridiculous,” Phil says, “It’s your safety.” 

“The venues have bodyguards,” Jo argues. “The airports have insane security, and so do all the events I go to. Hotels do too, the only time I wouldn’t be technically protected is—”

“Every other moment of your life,” Phil interrupts. “While you’re traveling, when you’re out to dinner, whenever you leave your house. You think I’m trusting you with a bouncer?” He raps his finger hard on the top of the stack of condemning envelopes sitting between them, and continues,

“You think the bouncer at Tenants is going to be equipped to handle this shit? No chance, Jo.” 

‘This shit’ has been the ever-growing stack of letters from his ever-growing fanbase, with a few startling standouts who, yeah, Jo can admit, seem a bit menacing. 

Jo figures that comes with the territory of being an international popstar. It’s what he signed up for when he started singing; he’s not mad that people care enough about him to send him shit ranging from ‘I follow you everywhere’ to ‘when I get my hands on you I’m going to [redacted by Jo’s publicist].’

He doesn’t think any of them are going to act on it. For one, none of them have the means. For another, if they get close enough to Jo to abduct him, then that’ll probably mean they’ve gotten close enough to Jo to figure out he doesn’t have a lot in common with his onstage or on-camera persona. 

All the letters go to his publicist’s office, but they’d only really become an issue when his publicist’s assistant had been reading through them and gotten creeped out enough to run it up the flagpole. 

Hoping for a little bit of support, he turns to the publicist in question.

“Cole.” The man lifts his head from where he’s been click-clacking away at his phone. Jo’s not entirely confident he’s even been listening, but he asks anyway, “Do a lot of your clients have private security?” 

He mulls the question over for a couple of seconds. “For major campaigns,” he says eventually. Then he smiles, placid and a little bitchy, and says, “RDJ’s bodyguard was at his wedding. Maybe you’ll make a new friend.” Then his attention goes back to his phone, picking up his typing like he’d never stopped. 

Jo stares at his publicist for a couple more seconds, wonders why, exactly, he pays almost 10 grand a month for a bratty twenty-something twink who makes fun of him, and then turns his attention back to Phil. 

He sighs heavily. “Obviously you have someone in mind?” He gestures at the folder Phil had yet to open. “Or, a company, or something?” 

Phil rewards him with a smile that seems honestly relieved, and Jo has a moment of feeling a bit guilty. Phil has been like family for years, had been coming up as a manager while Jo’s star had been rising.

Phil had been able to open Danault Management offices in LA and New York because he’d been able to stand on Jo’s shoulders, but in all fairness, it had been Jo standing on Phil’s for the first seven years of this whole ‘shoot for the stars’ endeavor. 

Clearly, he’s been genuinely worried about this, worried about Jo, because Jo’s capitulation looks like it’s tacked five years back onto his life. 

“Of course I do,” Phil says. “Cole’s recommendation, actually.” 

Jo glances at his publicist once more, and Cole looks up, makes a humming little questioning noise before his eyes catch on the folder Phil has in front of him. “Oh, yeah. Good choice.” 

“They’re good?” Jo asks, sliding the folder a little closer to him, glancing at the name on the letterhead: 

MacKinnon Executive Protection.

“The best,” Cole agrees. “We found them doing TIFF a few years ago, convinced them to make the jump to privatized security for some of our guys.” He sits forward in her chair and taps one of the names of the Agents, tells Phil,

“Don’t hire them until they agree to make him the lead.” 

Jo’s eyes flick over the name he’s pointed out. Nathan MacKinnon.

“That’s who I’ve been speaking to,” Phil tells her. “He’s already agreed. It’ll be him and two other guys, but MacKinnon’s taking the bulk of it. Or so he says.” 

Jo’s eyebrows creep up. “You already hired them?” He must fail to keep his betrayal from his voice, but Phil knows that Jo hates it when people make decisions without him. It’s happened too many times, led to too many awkward appearances and shows and interviews and a litany of other things Jo doesn’t care to remember. 

To answer his previous question, it’s precisely why he pays Cole as much as he does, precisely why Phil has been his go to guy over the much bigger firms his label has been pushing on him for years. They listen to him. They collaborate with him.

But not on this, apparently. 

“I haven’t pulled the trigger,” Phil assures him. “But yes, we’ve spoken. I didn’t want to bring this to you until I had all the details.” 

That quells some of the hurt simmering in Jo’s chest. It’s because he’s worried, Jo reminds himself. He’s not tricking Jo into signing a shitty contract like his past label, not lying to him like all his exes. 

“And these are all the details?” he asks, picking up the folder, eyes jumping around the subsections, the no-nonsense, Times New Roman formatting of it all. It’s not like he’d expected a lot of whimsy from a security company, but these guys kind of seem like hardasses just from the way they’ve written out their proposal. 

He guesses this is probably a good field for hardasses. 

“Ex-military,” Phil says. “Canadian.” That makes him grin, like he thinks that might be a selling point for Jo. Reluctant as he is to admit it, it kind of is; Jo likes bringing bits of his home with him on tour. His chef is Canadian, a few of his dancers as well. 

“Nice?” Jo asks. 

Phil and Cole exchange a look, then, and Jo doesn’t miss the way Cole tries to bury a laugh in a cough. 

“Serious,” Phil corrects hesitantly. “But they’re not going to be there to be your friends—”

“I’m going to spend every waking second of my life with these guys,” Jo protests. “I don’t think it makes me a bad person for wanting them to be pleasant to be around.” 

“You’ll like them,” Cole tells him. Jo gives him a wary look, and he lets himself laugh this time, saying, “They’re good people. Good to look at, too.” 

When Jo makes a confused expression, Cole gestures at his face, and then his biceps, and says, “Good to look at.” 

“Not that that matters,” Phil pipes up, just as Jo sighs, “That’s something.” 

Cole grins, sharp, and Phil just rolls his eyes, and asks, “Can we do this? You trust me?” 

Jo’s mouth twists unhappily. That’s been the million dollar question for the last few years of Jo’s life, is who he does and doesn’t trust. At the top of that list is Phil, though, so Jo nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I trust you.”

[librababe99]

Kinktober Day Fifteen: Victor Von Doom (RDJs Version)

Victor Von Doom x Female Reader | corruption |

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Fingering, dom/sub dynamics, manipulation, emotional corruption

Summary: In Victor von Doom’s grip, you thought you could resist—but with every touch, every whispered command, he unraveled you, claiming not just your body, but your soul.

Word Count: 1.2K

| Day Fourteen | | Kinktober Masterlist | | Day Sixteen |

The air between you and Victor is suffocating, thick with the weight of what’s already begun. His presence dominates the room, a dark, commanding force that draws you in and erodes every shred of willpower you once had. You stand before him, every nerve in your body electrified, your breath coming in shallow, ragged pulls. There's no escape from this—not anymore. Victor has you exactly where he wants you.

"Do you even remember how it started?" His voice is a low rasp, sending a shiver down your spine as he circles you, the soft whisper of his cloak brushing your skin. The power in his tone is unmistakable, just as it always is. His intellect, his dominance, it all radiates off him like heat from a fire, pulling you closer even as the darkness within him promises to consume you.

You tremble beneath his gaze, unable to answer. The truth is, you do remember—every moment of how you fell into his orbit, every step down the path of your inevitable surrender. You fought him, at first. You told yourself you could resist him, that you could stand against the allure of his power, his touch, his intoxicating control. But that was before. Before the corruption seeped in, curling its tendrils around your soul, until you couldn’t tell where your desires ended and his commands began.

Victor’s lips curl into a smirk, as if he can read the thoughts flickering across your mind. He moves closer, his broad frame enveloping you in shadow, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin upward so your eyes meet his. His touch is deceptively gentle, the leather of his gloves smooth against your skin, but the force behind it—behind him—is undeniable.

“You wanted this,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, teasing, his eyes dark and intense, burning with a fire that makes your pulse race. "You still want this."

You swallow hard, your throat tight. His words are a statement of fact, not a question. He’s right, of course. You’ve wanted him since the first moment you laid eyes on him—wanted his power, his intellect, his control. But more than that, you wanted the way he could make you feel, like you were his and only his. Even now, as you stand before him, helpless and trembling, your body betrays you, leaning into his touch, craving more.

“I…” you try to speak, but the words die on your lips as his fingers tighten around your chin, just enough to make you gasp, to remind you of who’s in control.

"You belong to me now." His voice drops lower, and your knees weaken at the sound. The truth of his words is undeniable, each syllable like a chain tightening around you, binding you to him. "There’s no going back."

His other hand slides down your arm, trailing over your skin with a deliberate slowness that sends a rush of heat straight to your core. He’s teasing you, savoring your surrender, watching with dark amusement as you struggle to keep from collapsing under the weight of your own desire. Every touch, every look from him is a calculated move, designed to unravel you, to strip away whatever resistance you have left.

Victor presses closer, his body brushing against yours, the cool metal of his armor a stark contrast to the burning heat of his presence. His lips ghost over the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as his hand moves lower, fingers grazing the soft curve of your waist. You can feel your pulse racing, your body instinctively arching toward him, desperate for more of his touch.

"You've fought me long enough," he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his voice sending a bolt of electricity straight through you. "But now… now you’re mine. 

Your breath hitches as his hand slips lower, finding the heat between your thighs. He moves with such deliberate precision, every touch calculated, every stroke meant to drive you closer to the edge. You gasp as his fingers trace a slow, agonizing path over your slick folds, your body reminding you how much you need him. 

Victor chuckles darkly against your neck, his lips pressing a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat as his fingers slip inside you, filling you with a relentless, almost punishing rhythm. Your hips buck against his hand, your body moving of its own accord, lost to the pleasure he’s pulling from you with every stroke.

"You feel that?" he growls, his voice dripping with possession as he pushes deeper, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that makes you cry out, your hands clutching desperately at his chest. "That's me inside you. Twisting you. Corrupting you. There’s nothing left of the woman you once were."

His words hit you like a drug, dark and potent, clouding your mind until all you can think about is the way his hand moves against you, the way his lips claim your skin, the way his power consumes you from the inside out. Every touch, every movement feels like a descent into something darker, something more dangerous—and you can’t stop it. You don’t want to stop it.

"Tell me what you are," Victor demands, his voice a low growl that rumbles through your body, igniting something deep within you. His hand tightens its grip on your waist, pulling you even closer as his fingers continue their merciless rhythm, pushing you closer to the brink of oblivion. "Tell me who owns you."

"I—" Your voice is barely a whisper, broken and breathless as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your core, until you feel like you might break apart at the seams.

"Say it," he commands, his voice sharp, the edge of his control dangerously close to slipping. His lips press hard against yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your gasps, your moans, as his fingers move faster, pushing you right to the edge of madness. "Say you’re mine."

"I’m yours," you gasp, your body trembling, your mind barely able to cling to anything but the raw need coursing through you. "I… belong to you."

The moment the words leave your lips, Victor growls in satisfaction, his mouth claiming yours once more as his fingers drive you over the edge. You shatter beneath his touch, your body convulsing, pleasure flooding through every nerve as you cry out, your mind going blank under the force of your orgasm.

Victor holds you tight against him, his hand still working you through the aftershocks, his lips still on yours, hungry, devouring. When the pleasure finally begins to ebb, leaving you trembling and weak, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze burning with triumph.

"You see now, don’t you?" he murmurs, his voice dark and dangerous. His fingers slide from you, wet and glistening as he brings them to your lips, pressing them against your mouth until you open for him, tasting the evidence of your own surrender. "You’re mine, in every way that matters."

You can barely speak, barely think. All you can do is nod, your body still thrumming with the remnants of your release, your mind lost in the aftermath of what he’s done to you.

Victor smiles, a dark, knowing smile, as he watches you crumble beneath him, your resolve utterly shattered. His corruption is complete.

And you’re powerless to stop it.

"You'll crave this darkness," he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple, a dark promise of what’s to come. "Soon enough, it’ll be the only thing you want."

And deep down, in the place where his power has already taken root, you know he’s right.

taglist: @strangeeaglepost @iloved1lfs0 @chaoticweirdogeek @5soscrack @icy-roulette @Therealnekomari @ahreumnim @superstar-lover

[hurtspideyparker]

What do you think about Marvel's move bringing back RDJ but now as Dr. Doom. I just wondered how this would affect Peter...

At first I was like OH MY GOD ROBERT DOWNEY JR. because I just adore! him! And of course I would love him back in Marvel, cuz I'm a sap and RDJ as Tony Stark revolutionized superhero cinema. Also "new mask same task" and striking the Tony Stark T pose? Legendary stuff.

Then I actually thought about the implications and the character, and I'm just not a fan. Bringing Downey back as anyone but Tony Stark is really weird, and doesn't make sense. Feels like an insane Tony Stark+Dr. Doom plot, which they made up just to get RDJ back cuz he's the money maker. Plus Dr. Doom deserves a new unique actor, especially a Romani one. I do love Dr. Doom as an MCU villain though, if he is cast properly. If they were gonna bring a Tony variant into the MCU make him a TONY variant, using Dr. Doom isn't it. Although under different circumstances I'd love to see more of RDJ as an antagonist, he's an incredible actor (his 1998 film US Marshalls started a fire in me for him to play more villains).

ANYWAYS - ignoring all the negative stuff, let's talk about Peter Parker!

I'd like to imagine a scene where Peter is fighting Doom - he's using his usual quips, being silly. He thinks it's just another day, another villain. Doom is incredibly strong and it's a tough fight, but Peter just manages the perfect hit to tear Doom's mask off.

Then he hesitates.

While scarred and cruel, the sight is still unmistakably familiar.

"Tony?"

Doom doesn't waver, he strikes Peter with deadly and immediate force in his moment of weakness.

Peter goes flying backwards, smashing through glass and brick.

He's hurt, badly, lying still on the floor beneath Doom. Bloody and torn Doom leaves him there, a pitiful and easily distracted kid. He doesn't know what he said, nor does he care. Von Doom just squashed a bug.

Left alone, Peter suffers from the ache in his body, the hit to his ego, and the biggest question - what did he see?

He questions whether he was drugged, or having a stress-induced hallucination. It doesn't make any sense for this to catch up to him in the middle of a battle. That's usually when he's most focused and level headed.

Sure, he used to see Mr. Stark. In billboard models with goatees, in the kind smile of a professor, in the corner of his eye when walking down the street. He never thought it was really him though, and it's been years since he's been struck so painfully with memories of his old mentor.

This, this is completely different. He stared right at Tony's face as clear as day.

Maybe Peter drags himself to the nearest hero. Still bloody and bruised, but he has to tell someone what he saw. Who is there? Who can he call? Hawkeye? Bruce Banner? Daredevil? They may not know Peter Parker, but he's still Spider-Man. He has a big name, and I'm curious who's taken notice.

Personally, I'd kill to finally get a Spider-Man and Fantastic Four team up in theatres. With the FF movie coming out and Doom being a big nemesis to the team I'm really hoping we get some Fantastic Four and Avengers interactions.

Anyways. Peter warns them, or does research on his own. He obsesses over this Doctor Doom.

Fast forward, maybe Doom and Peter work together against another evil, or Doom's own invention. Or maybe they're just near each other enough to get to know one another.

Doom and Stark do have some things in common, and I think that would strike a chord in Peter. Doom is an intellectual, a scientist, he's a self-absorbed perfectionist.

Doom commends Peter on his genius, his capabilities. Offers him a deal to join him and put his brain to good use. It would hit too close to home for Peter. A kid who wanted nothing more than to be like Tony Stark, to be strong and intelligent. To have his old mentor look at him and acknowledge his effort.

It messes with Peter's head and brings up his unresolved issues with Tony. It makes him sick.

Peter Parker got erased, and now it's like he's reliving his youth and trauma in some twisted and dark remake.

Maybe there's something bigger at play here. Maybe someone is haunting him, torturing him.

Laughing at him.

[scar-lie]

You’re Mine [Scarlett]

Summary : Scarlett got jealous over Tom Hiddleston

Pairing : Scarlett Johansson x Actress ! Fem ! Reader

Warning : Curse, unprotected sex, cock warming, rough sex, praise kink, creampie

Word count : 1,877

ORIGINALLY POSTED IN WATTPAD

No one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it let me know.

We're here on the set of Civil War. Well, it's 1 a.m., and here we are outside talking around a bonfire, eating marshmallows, and just asking one another

I'm sitting besides Scar, my girlfriend of 3 years now. We sit in a love seat, and my legs are on top of hers. Her right arm was behind my neck, making it like my pillow, and her left hand was in my inner thigh.

Me, Scar, RDJ, Hemsworth, Evans, Lizzie, Anthony, Sebastian, Jeremy, Paul, and Hiddleston, who visited us and decided to stay the night here, and the others are already asleep in their trailer.

"Ok... Ok Y/N," RDJ said, and look at me. I hum.

"So who's the best kisser and sex you have besides Scarlett?" I look at Scar, who was eyeing all of them, giggling. I'm not sure if I should tell her because things can escalate pretty quickly.

Then I see Lizzie, Anthony, and Paul whispering while giggling. Oh no, they're probably thinking this will be a long night for me and Scar.

"I don't think it's appropriate to talk about it," I say, going even closer to Scar and putting my right arms around her waist, then kissing her neck.

"Oh, come on, it's not like Scar will kill them," Robert teases.

"Yeah, it's just a little game; come on," Anthony says, and I roll my eyes at them.

After some time, they started bugging me. I got irritated and sat up straight.

"FINE. FINE!" I yell frustratedly, then I look at Scar, then at Tom, and I sigh deeply.

"It's Tom," I whisper enough for me to hear, well me and Tom got together 6 years ago; we've been dating for over, like, 6 or 7 years; he's one of my greatest loves, what can I say? He's charming, kind, thoughtful, and everything good; even in bed, he's the second best. Of course, Scar is the best in the bedroom; she makes me feel so good that I've never felt it before.

He's the last ex I have, and after him, 1 year later, Scar courted me, and she spent 2 years earning my yes to be her girlfriend. Why did she spend two years courting me? Well, let's just say that after Tom, I have trouble trusting anyone who likes me, so it takes time to say yes.

"What? Louder Y/N, we can't hear you," Hemsworth said, and I closed my eyes tightly and sighed deeply.

"Tom Hiddleston, ok?" I say louder for them to hear and look at Tom.

Then I heard a loud 'ohh. Then I could feel that Scar are getting jealous, so I broke eye contact with Tom.

"So Tom was good in bed, huh?" Anthony teases, so I just nod, then another 'oohh' again.

"Is he rough? Probably yes! Duh, and probably a Daddy vibe." Robert teases and wiggles his eyebrows looking at me, so I just giggle and roll my eyes at him.

"Robert's right; I'm probably rocking your world," Evans teases and winks at me. I just roll my eyes, and then the teasing goes on until Scar gets involved too, saying that if she can rock my world, Tom can do it too.

So I snuggled up to her; she didn't say a single word this whole teasing time. Feeling her jealousy, her jaw was clenching tightly, so I buried my face in her neck and hugged her, then kissed her neck.

"I love you so much," I whisper, only for her to hear. One last tease, and Scar is already beyond her limits.

She just stood up, put me over her shoulder, and just walked off. I looked at them, and they were winking and thumbing up at me.

"You're welcome," Robert mouthed to me, giving me a thumbs up. I just put my middle finger up for him, and they all chuckled.

Scar, go to her trailer, lock the door, go to the bedroom, and throw me on the bed.

"Sca-" I got cut off when she kissed me aggressively, but I melted to it and kissed her back.

She sat up and tore my shirt off, which made me moan and bite my lips. I saw her bulge, so I touched it but got stopped immediately.

"You don't get to touch me, slut." She husked in my ears and grabbed my both wrists and took a silk rope from her nightstand, then tied it in the bedpost.

"Sca-" I got cut off again by her.

"That's not my name, slut." Then she tied it tightly, but not so tight that it could hurt me.

"Sorry, Mommy," I correct myself, that she smirked, then she tore my PJ pants, which left me with a navy blue lace lingerie set.

"I don't like how you acted minutes ago," She whispered seductively in my ears while she was teasing my folds through my thin fabric underwear.

"Is Tom your best sex mate?" she asks, then rips my underwear, which makes me moan.

"N-no..Mommy." Then she started to circle and put pressure on my clit

"Is he that good in bed, slut, huh?" then she starts to suck on my sweet spot, which makes me gasp and throw my head back, tugging the rope.

"Mo-mommy...." I moan loudly, and she sits up, which makes me whine.

"You're too loud, baby." Then she took my ripped underwear and put it in my mouth.

"You look so beautiful like this slut," she said, then tore my bra too and started to suck my tits.

"Mmmmhhh," I moan, arching my back and chest.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" she husked, reaching into her nightstand, then pulling out a vibrator.

"Mmmmhhh," I moan, and then I hear a vibrating sound that makes me moan.

"Mmhh, I'll take that as a no for an answer." She smirks, then continues sucking my breast, then puts the vibrator on my clitoral area, which makes me squirm.

"Mo-momny..mmhh, please." I moan, the words muffled, and tug the ropes, wanting to touch her.

"Look at you, so desperate to touch me, huh?" Then she went lower and lower until she came face to face with my center.

"Mmmhhh, please, Mommy. Please fuck me." I'm begging, but it's all come out muffled because of the fabric in my mouth. Then I arch my hip towards the vibrator, and she slaps my inner thigh.

"Stay," She growled, so I tried my hardest not to buckle my hips.

"Good girl." She praises me, and she blows an air in my clitoral area that makes me throw my head back.

"AAHH!" I moan, wanting her to just fuck the shit out of me, then she starts to lick me.

"Mmhh, so sweet." Then she put three fingers in me, which made me moan louder and arch my back further.

"So wet for Mommy." Then she started to speed up to an inhuman speed that left me panting.

"Such a good girl for mommy, aren't you, slut?" She took off the vibrator, to be replaced by her mouth sucking it hard.

"AAAHGGHHHHHH!" I'm screaming at this point, and she continued her assault, destroying my pussy

"I'm so close; I'm clenching around her fingers, and when I'm near cumming, she suddenly pulls out and takes her mouth off of my clitoral area, which makes me whine.

"Mmmhhh," I whine, and she slaps my pussy, which makes me jolt up, pleasure rushing through my body.

AAAHHMMMMM," I moan, and she teases my folds.

"You think you can cum that easily, slut? Oh, Mommy has many plans for you." She smirks at me and starts to edge me again, leaving me so desperate to cum.

She did that for like 30 minutes, and the fabric in my mouth was long gone minutes ago, and now she was pumping in and out a fake dildo in me.

"Please........please Mommy, let me cum please, I-I'm sorry......aaahhhhh fu-fuck........ Yo-you're the best of....fu-fuck, the best, please Mommy" I'm gripping the rope tightly, knuckles go white, while I throw my head back and my legs are shaking wanting to cum

"Is that so, slut?" Then again she pulled out, leaving me on the edge.

"Mmhh, yes, Mommy, please........ I-I need you-your.....fat cock inside me, filling me up with your warm seed. Please, Mommy." I moan, bucking my hips to nothing, finding some friction to pleasure me.

"Such a slut for me." Then she suddenly trusted in me instantly, then pulled all the way out. That makes me whine.

"Mmmhhhh, please, please mommy, fuck me. Fuck me senseless, please." I'm rolling my hips to reach out for her, and she chuckled.

"So desperate for Mommy, huh?......" Then she put both legs together on her left shoulder, holding it tight.

"I'm going to fuck you real good; I'm going to destroy this beautiful little cunt of yours." Then she trusted hard and faster, making me moan loudly and grip the head board tightly.

"You. Are. Mine. Slut. Mine," She said with a hard trust, and I didn't say anything or moan because of the pleasure I'm receiving; only our skin slapping can be heard all over the room.

"Not. Tom. Not your exes. Nor anyone. You. Are. Mine," She said, and I was a moaning mess under her.

"I'll make you remember it, slut." My legs are shaking, wanting to cum. I'm so close that I'm clenching around her length, which makes her groan.

"Aaahh. I'm go-gonna cum. Please, Mommy, let me cum." She fastened her pace so much that I thought the bed would break.

"Hold it, slut, you don't get to cum without my permission." She's now jackhammering me, which made me squirm, throw my head back, and acrh my chest.

"AAAHHHHHH, I-I... CAN'T HOLD IT!" I scream, and I know she's close too because of her speed and her member twitching inside me.

"Hold it," She demanded, so I kept holding my orgasm until she's chasing her orgasm.

"Cum." With that one word, I cum hard on her, which makes my cum drip down to her balls and thighs to make a wet patch in the bed, and my cum drips down to my ass hole and butt going to the sheet, creating a wet patch too.

With that, she trusted hard and cummed all over inside me. She kept trusting hard, twitching her member inside me while she shot her warm seed inside me.

"AAAAHHHHHH....FUCK!" I scream with her, and she slows down her trusting to help us from our high.

We were panting while she's still trusting, and she dropped my legs down, and she stopped trusting, looking down to see her dick still deep inside me. That made her moan, and she slumbed down in front of me.

Both of our bodies are covered in our own sweat, but we couldn't care less; we're still panting and recovering from our high.

Then she turned us over, so I'm now on top of her, and she buried my face in her chest.

"I want you to cock warm me, sleep baby." And she kissed my head, and I hummed, tired from our hot session.

"I love you so much," She whispers, hovering over my lips, so I smile and peck her lips.

"I love you more," She chuckled, drawing shapes on my back and playing with my hair.

"Not possible, love." We both giggle until she sings me a lullaby that I love the most.

In just a few minutes, I fall asleep with her, happy and content with who we are and what we have right now!

[herefortayloronly]

I don't know why people are acting like Disney/Lucasfilm cancelled The Acolyte solely because of budget reasons or viewerships reasons. Like sure those are part of the conversation and of course they are. But it is very clearly because they are scared of taking risks and trying anything new because they desperately need people to feel nostalgic about Star Wars always. You really don't have to look very far to see this is the mindset Disney as a whole company has always had but they've been more aggressive about it as of recently and a perfect example of that is them bringing back Robert Downey Jr to play Dr. Doom. They're literally paying him 90 million dollars to get him to come back!!!! That's nearly half of The Acolyte season 1's budget!! They literally cannot let this man go because they're scared of what the state of the MCU will be like if they didn't have someone like RDJ being the face of the MCU. It's very much their modus operandi for the past few years. Like bringing back Hayden Christensen is very fun and very cool but they didn't do it out of the kindness of their own heart. They did it because they saw how much the people were very nostalgic for this particular era of Star Wars and he was the face of it for that era and they needed him to get people excited about it again. And this is a very cynical view of it but they very clearly thought they would play savior and make themselves look like the good guy for "saving" Hayden. It's the same thing bringing back Tobey and Andrew in the Spider-Man movie.

Anyone parroting Disney and Lucasfilm's excuses about budgeting and viewerships, you're only playing into the hands of a billionaire dollar corporation.