#Terms and Conditions

[whydidisavethistomyphone]

I woke up to this, Twitter shitting itself and another mass exodus of artists from twitter to bluesky.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Chapter 2 – Terms and Conditions

A/N: Here we are, the second chapter. Let me know your thoughts :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: angst, slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

.

The Morning sunlight spilled through the glass walls of the Stark penthouse, arrogant and golden. It didn’t ask if anyone had a hangover or a quiet existential crisis brewing—it just swept in, warming untouched countertops and echoing the silence in the space around you.

You padded barefoot into the kitchen, still in the soft silk set you’d changed into after peeling off the remnants of last night’s masquerade of matrimony. Your first morning as Mrs. Stark, and the husband in question was nowhere in sight.

The place was too quiet, except—

Thud.

Whirrrr.

You blinked.

From behind the island counter, a small robotic arm appeared, swaying from side to side with the unmistakable energy of something both curious and clumsy.

“Oh,” you said, a smile twitching onto your lips. “You’re definitely not a Roomba.”

The bot beeped twice, almost indignantly.

You crouched down, peering at the strange little thing yellow casing, single arm with a clamp at the end, and what looked suspiciously like a paint smudge on its base.

“Let me guess… Dum-E?”

A mechanical chirp. One spin in place. Confirmed.

“Well, hello to you too,” you said, warmth rising for the first time that morning. You stood, opened a cabinet after three failed attempts, and poured cereal into a bowl. “Guess it’s just us for breakfast.”

Dum-E buzzed beside you, trying to reach the drawer with the spoons and knocking it half-closed in the process.

You handed it to him. “No offense, but you’re not exactly subtle.”

A happy beep in return.

You ate in silence, half expecting Tony to make an appearance. But the longer the seconds stretched, the clearer it became—he wasn’t coming up. And he hadn’t all night.

Tony Stark was married, but still a ghost in his own home.

By noon, curiosity and a sense of polite obligation won out. You carried a small tray, leftover smoked salmon toast and espresso, the kind you read somewhere he liked. You tapped lightly on the door to his lab, but surprisingly, it was already open.

Inside, the space was awash in blue light, projections dancing mid-air. Tony was in his element, hair a mess, dark circles even darker, and his body curled forward in a way that screamed fatigue.

He didn’t look up.

“I brought you lunch,” you tried, voice lighter than your pulse. “Well. More like brunch. Or breakfast, depending on which timezone you’re living in.”

He typed something mid-air. A snort. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“You’ve said that before, haven’t you?”

Tony finally looked at you. And just for a second, you saw a flicker of something—guilt, or maybe just weariness. He was charming when he wanted to be, but you were starting to learn the difference between the mask and the man.

“I appreciate it,” he said, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Really. Just… knee-deep in something right now. Rain check?”

You nodded, biting back whatever response hovered at the edge of your tongue.

“Sure,” you said, lifting the tray a little. “I’ll just leave this here. In case caffeine stops working.”

“Unlikely,” he muttered.

As you turned, Dum-E met you at the door, as if escorting you out of a room you were never meant to enter in the first place.

Afternoon stretched like taffy. You explored the penthouse, unpacked a few things, also passed by Pepper in the hallway.

She stopped just short of acknowledging you.

“Mrs. Stark,” she said, coolly.

“Pepper,” you replied, lifting your chin with polite grace.

Her eyes flicked down at the throw blanket you’d tucked over the living room couch, or maybe the open book you left on the side table.

“Making yourself comfortable, I see.”

“Should I not be?” you asked, sugar-laced. “I do live here now.”

“Of course.” She smiled, but it was the kind that said you’re a guest in a house I built.

Then she walked away.

You stood still for a long moment before muttering, “…well, that wasn’t needed at all.”

.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself wandering into a room you hadn’t properly noticed before, likely because you’d been busy dodging small talk and champagne last night. The door was ajar, the lighting soft, and the scent of packaging paper and cologne wafted through the air.

Inside sat a mountain of unopened wedding gifts. Some were wrapped in matte black with gold ribbons, others in over-the-top luxury packaging.

Your gaze fell on one particular parcel near the top of the pile—white wrapping paper with red twine, utterly simple in contrast. Taped to the top was a card. You picked it up immediately: Bucky Barnes.

You opened it with a smile.

“To the newlyweds��Good luck surviving the Stark tornado. He grows on you. Eventually. Love, Buck & Steve.”

(P.S. You should open this one first. It’s a cocktail shaker. God knows you’ll need it.)

You laughed, unexpectedly warm.

On a nearby console, a sleek glass screen flickered to life as you passed. A touch-sensitive guestbook, no doubt a product of Stark’s own tech. Curiosity got the better of you.

You scrolled.

Some messages were standard-issue wedding fluff.

“Wishing you both love, laughter, and infinite bandwidth.” – Vision

“Please don’t blow up the honeymoon suite. Or do. I’m not judging.” – Sam Wilson

“You already know this, but I’m writing it down for the record: you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and it’s about damn time someone did. I don’t usually believe in happily ever afters—but if anyone can make one out of a merger and a mess of a man, it’s you.

You’ve got steel in your spine and kindness in your eyes. Keep both. And if he ever forgets how lucky he is, remind him you’ve got me on speed dial.”

—Nat

Then came one that made you pause:

“If you break her heart, I’ll help you hide the body. Vice versa.” – Lt. Colonel James Rhodes

You stared at the screen for a beat, feeling a strange warmth spread beneath your ribs. You were surrounded by strangers, but maybe… just maybe, not entirely alone.

You shut the guestbook gently, the soft click echoing in the room.

The hallway beyond stood quiet. The penthouse was still too large, too glassy, too much like living in someone else’s dream. But little by little, it was starting to feel… curious. Open.

Not home. But not hostile.

And for now, that was enough.

.

The golden light from the setting sun spilled across the penthouse, brushing warmth onto the sleek floors and cold corners. You’d just finished flipping through the last entry in the digital guestbook—some snarky comment from Happy that made you snort-laugh despite the dull throb of isolation that had been pressing down all day. Tony was still sealed away in his lab, probably halfway through his fourth cup of bitter coffee and deep in his own mind. You hadn’t seen him since breakfast.

So the knock at the door startled you.

When you opened it, Natasha Romanoff stood on the other side, dressed in casual jeans and a fitted navy tee, a bakery bag in one hand and two takeaway cups in the other.

“I figured you could use some company that doesn’t require biometric access,” she said with a smirk, brushing past you like she belonged there. “Also, the coffee’s from that little place down the street. The guy says you’ve got good taste.”

You blinked. “You bribed a barista?”

“I charmed him,” she corrected, settling into the armchair like it was made for her. “I told him you just married Tony Stark. He took pity.”

You snorted and followed her in, heart easing a little. You weren’t used to kindness without strings in this house—not yet. But Natasha? She felt like the calm before a storm. Measured. Unshakeable. You needed a bit of that tonight.

As you sat across from her, wrapping your hands around the warmth of the cup, she leaned in slightly, studying you with that uncanny sharpness of hers.

“He’s not gonna come up for air for hours,” she said gently, meaning Tony. “But you don’t have to sit in the silence waiting for him.”

Your throat tightened, but you managed a quiet, “Thanks for coming.”

Natasha smiled, soft and knowing. “That’s what friends do.”

You both sipped in silence for a few moments, watching the city fade into shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It should’ve been calming. But your shoulders stayed tense, your fingers tight around the cup like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Natasha was the first to break the quiet.

“So,” she said casually, “you surviving yet?”

You gave a soft, huffing laugh. “Define ‘surviving.’ I’m married to a man who doesn’t eat unless bribed, is one lab tantrum away from burning out, and who avoids eye contact like it owes him money.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Sounds like Tony.”

You looked over at her. “You know him well.”

Natasha nodded, setting her cup down on the side table. “Well enough to know he’s never brought someone into his life like this before. That means something.”

That lump in your throat returned, heavier now. “Some days it feels like I’m just a… strategic acquisition. A pawn in a merger that got too personal.”

Her brows lifted, then softened. “You’re more than that. I knew it when you walked into the reception like you weren’t afraid of him. Most people flinch around Tony Stark—especially the ones who want something. You didn’t.”

You blinked, surprised by the quiet steel in her voice.

“Trust me,” she continued, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “It takes guts to stand beside a man like him. But it takes something else entirely to reach him when he’s shutting down.”

“…Yeah, well,” you muttered, fiddling with your ring, “he hasn’t exactly made that part easy.”

“No. He doesn’t.” She smirked, but gently. “But that’s why I’m here. I figured you might need someone who speaks fluent Stark-induced chaos.”

You laughed again—truly, this time—and the tension finally cracked. “You offering to be my Stark translator?”

“Among other things.” She reached into the bakery bag and tossed you a lemon shortbread cookie. “Friend. Partner-in-crime. Occasional voice of reason.”

You bit into the cookie, warmth curling in your chest. “And if I need help hiding a body?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll bring the shovel.”

You grinned. “You’re hired.”

As the city lights flickered to life and the night settled around you, something inside eased. Maybe this place wouldn’t feel so cold after all.

.

The sun dipped behind the skyline. Manhattan glittered. The penthouse buzzed in the quiet way all machines do when they’re waiting for someone to notice something’s wrong.

And down in the lab, Tony staggered, fingers shaking as he gripped the edge of the worktable. His breathing was uneven, shallow. The light from his arc reactor flickered once. Then again.

“Not now,” he muttered to no one, tugging open the panel in his chest with trembling hands.

The arc reactor came free—burning hot in his grip. Sparks snapped and hissed at the edges, the metal sizzle loud in the sterile quiet of the lab.

Blue veins spidered out across his chest like cracks in porcelain. For a moment, Tony just stared at them. The room tilted. Or maybe he did.

He forced the new core in place, wincing as it clicked, hissed, then steadied.

Tony exhaled slowly, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His face was pale. His lips tight.

He would tell no one.

Because he was Tony Stark. He could fix this.

He had to.

[livingdxadwriter]

Terms and Conditions

Russell Shaw X F!Doctor!Reader

Summary: when your sister's fiance goes missing, you call Colter for help, and he brings along his rugged, but handsome and charming older brother, Russell.

Warnings: mature content, eventual smut so minors dni (always), no use of y/n, this part only contains cursing. I've never written anything so tame (it's okay next part won't be)

WC: 3.6k

A/N: so I finished tracker, yay and Russell owns my thoughts rn so here we are. I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this. I'm not great at writing series, but this idea called for development I can't do in a one-shot. I started this right after finishing tracker last week and I finally had time to proof read it. I also had a hard time with Russell's characterization, mans been in only one episode, so if i didnt portay him perfectly sorry i tried. Happy readings.

I don't do tag lists, if you'd like keep up with upcoming parts follow @midnightreadinglibrary and turn on notifications (I only reblog my written works on there)

You have encountered a lot of grief and sorrow in your life. Pain, you were familiar with it. And you could safely say that one of the worst was heartbreak. You were all too familiar with that one. And right now, your baby sister was experiencing it, too.

“Rosie?” You called into your apartment as you kicked your shoes off and tossed your keys like they had offended you. With a heavy sigh, tired from a long and stressful day at the hospital, you dragged your sore feet through your apartment. 

The living room was empty, TV off. The kitchen was dark with the lights off. You frowned, calling your sister’s name, louder again. Couple seconds went by. Silence. You padded down the hall to the guest room. You could hear faint indistinct sounds. The closer you got to the guest room the clearer the sound became. It sounded like crying.

“Rosalie?” Your voice grew louder with concern as you opened the door to the bedroom, and there you saw your sweet baby sister, sobbing into her pillow. Your heart immediately sank and you rushed to her side. “Oh honey, it’s okay.”

You sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into a hug. She held you tight as she cried. It broke your heart to see her like this.

“It’s not okay! He’s been gone for over a week!” She sobbed. You squeezed her shoulders as she sat up and sniffled. “Our wedding is in three months! Why hasn't he come back?”

You stared into her eyes, the same color as your own and you sighed, only being able to give her a look of sympathy in return. You didn’t want to tell her what you thought.

“I dunno.. I mean.. What if he just.. You know?” The look on your face said everything you couldn’t with words, and Rosie looked like she wanted to cry even more.

“He didn’t bail. He wouldn’t… I know him. He's missing, why won’t anyone believe me?” She raised her voice, almost choking on a sob, and you immediately felt so horrible for even suggesting such a thing. 

“No, hey, I’m sorry for saying that, I do believe you. Have you heard anything from the cops?” She shook her head and you sighed heavily. 

“I can’t keep waiting, what if he got hurt? What if someone hurt him? Please, I need to do something.” She begged you, eyes filled with tears, you had never seen your sister so sad, so hopeless. She was always the more bubbly, optimistic and lively out of the two of you. But ever since her fiance went missing, you didn’t see that spark anymore. It broke your heart.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I think I know someone who can help, alright? We’ll find him.” 

~~~~~~~

“Hey Doc, to what do I owe this call? It’s been like what, three years?” 

You sighed softly at the voice on the other line. You didn’t exactly want to resort to this, but you didn’t know what else to do, but you had the money, your sister didn’t exactly have a lot to spare with her wedding planning, and all.

“I need a favor, Colter. Well, not exactly a favor, I’ll pay but, I need help asap.” You rubbed the side of your throbbing temple, you heard him hum, telling you to go on. “My sister’s fiance went missing last week. They’re supposed to get married in three months, and the poor thing is a wreck.”

Colter sighed. “A runaway groom? You know what that sounds like, right?”

“Yes, I know. But I know this guy, he’s a decent guy, and I know he loves my sister, he wouldn’t just leave her like this.” You tried to explain, Colter sighed again. “Listen, the guy was in the Army, he’s a Navy SEAL now, went overseas a lot, and my sister told me he’s been acting weird since his last assignment. Just humor me, please? I can’t see her like this.”

Colter stayed silent for a long minute, you honestly thought he had hung up, but you ultimately heard him take a deep breath before responding. “Fine, send me his details, I should get there by morning if I head out now.” 

“Thank you.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chaos, chaos and more chaos.

You just wanted five minutes to breathe. You sat down, for the first time in hours today and took in a deep breath. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Rosie, almost zombie-like as she walked through the emergency department  You called out to her.

“Hey, did you get some sleep?” You asked her with worried eyes. She shrugged. “Listen, I called an old friend, he helps find people. Maybe he can find James, ‘cause the cops clearly aren’t going to.” You saw the smallest smile, and the smallest bit of hope light of her eyes.

“Really? What, is he like a PI or something?” She tilted her head at you, seemingly just as exhausted as you were.

“I mean..” You hesitated, unsure on how to explain Colter’s job to her. “I guess? He collects reward money. When someone goes missing and a reward is offered, he finds people for that reward.”

“But I didn’t offer any reward. I can’t even afford to buy a pair of shoes right now.. On my shitty nurse salary. I’ve already spent so much of my savings on planning the wedding. And these student loans are killing me. I can’t pay him.” She started to ramble in panic, motioning her hands around. You stood up and grabbed her hands.

“It’s fine. I got it covered. Take it as your early wedding gift?” You flashed her a toothy smile, hoping to humor her at least a little. She looked at you with apprehension. “Not a word, okay? I want him to come home to you, I don’t mind spending some money if it means you can be happy.”

She could have the happiness you never could.

Rosie’s eyes filled with tears and you thought she was going to burst into tears in the middle of the emergency department, but instead she hugged you, and she hugged you so fucking hard you thought she broke one of your ribs. You laughed softly and patted her head reassuringly. You were about to say something to her but you heard your name being called. You turned around and saw one of the rotation nurses.

“You have visitors at the front desk.” She told you. You scrunched up your face in confusion.

“Who? I wasn't expecting anyone.”

“Don’t know. The front desk just said two guys asked for you directly.”

Oh. Colter. But who was the other guy?

‘Alright, thanks.” You nodded at her. You then looked at Rosie with a warm reassuring smile and you held her hands in yours. “We’re gonna find James, I know it. I’ll let you know when my friend wants to meet with you, he normally likes to talk with the missing person’s closest relative. Try to focus on work alright?” 

You left her with that, hoping she would trust you. And you hoped you could trust Colter. With a heavy sigh you walked to the front desk of the emergency department. And there you saw Colter, hands in his pockets as he talked with another man you didn’t recognize. With a bit of skepticism, you approached both men, letting your presence be known with a clear of your throat. They both turned to look at you, Colter with a warm welcoming smile, but the other guy, who was arguably the hottest man you had ever seen in your life—not that it was relevant—looked at you like a deer in headlights, like starstruck.

“Hey Colter,” you gave him a cordial smile, then you looked at his slightly shorter companion, though both men were still a good head taller than you. “And Colter’s friend. Didn’t know you had a partner.”

“I don’t. This is—”

“Russell. Colter’s more handsome and charming older brother.” Russell interrupted, extending a hand to you. You looked at Colter, who looked less than impressed and you couldn’t help but snort a bit.

“I see the flirty nature is a family thing then?” You took Russell’s hand with a small laugh but you quickly swallowed when you felt the warmness of his large hand as it engulfed your smaller one. You weren’t really laughing then. You made eye contact with Russell, you had never seen a pair of prettier eyes, a breathtaking shade of green, and an intensity that was equally breathtaking. It didn’t help that he was smiling at you, too. 

You cleared your throat and took your hand back, choosing to look at Colter instead, “So uh, what’s the plan?”

“Right, well, first things first, I need more details about this James, think you could take an early lunch? I would also need to talk to your sister as soon as possible.” 

You chewed on your bottom lip, catching a glimpse of your watch before ultimately nodding, “Yeah, just give me an hour. We can meet at this cafe nearby, I’ll send you the address. You can meet with my sister after her shift. She’s been staying with me.”

They looked at each other for a second, shrugged then nodded at you. These two were definitely brothers. 

~~~~~~~~

You were frantic as you pulled into the cafe, running late after a code blue that took up almost the whole hour to get under control. You were sure that you looked like a mess, still in your scrubs, pieces of hair falling out of your bun as you entered the cafe. You were almost embarrassed that Russell was going to see you like this, you didn’t care too much about Colter, though. When you entered you saw them sitting at a booth, two cups of coffee sitting on the table but no food. You felt a bit bad. Colter noticed you and waved you over, making Russell turn his head to look at you. And somehow he didn’t seem to care about how wild you looked. 

“I’m so sorry. I had a code blue. I hope I didn’t waste your guy’s time.” You said almost frantic, barely able to catch your breath. You unconsciously sat next to Russell, who seemed quite happy about that.

“Nonsense. We were actually waiting for you to order, right Colt?” Russell reassured, and when you turned your head to look at him he was smiling at you, a toothy smile that made the corners of his eyes wrinkle a tiny bit, it was kind of cute, actually. 

“Yep. Russell insisted we waited. Even though we haven't eaten anything in over six hours.” Colter sighed sipping on his coffee. 

“Well at least one of you has manners.” You narrowed your eyes at Colter, and you heard Russell rumble a laugh.

“Y’know what? Let’s just focus on the case, okay?” You held back a laugh and simply nodded, trying to ignore the intoxicating scent of Russell beside you, a mixture of bourbon and sandalwood. 

Colter asked you a million questions, ones you had answers to, and others didn’t, which was probably best if he talked to your sister, too. Your food also arrived quickly, which you were thankful for since you hadn’t had anything other than the Keurig coffee from the doctors lounge. 

“So, you said James was in the army?” You nodded as you munched on a fry. “And is Navy SEAL now?” 

“Yeah, he went overseas every month or so. But after his last assignment a few weeks ago he told my sister about getting out.” You answered as you bit into your cheeseburger. You didn’t often like to indulge in greasy heavy foods, but you were beyond stressed from both work and your sister, so you needed some joy in your life.

“He wanted out? Why?” Russell asked beside you. You shrugged.

“I don’t know. One thing or another about being tired of being on the battlefield, wanting to be home more. Or that’s what Rosie told me.” You answered as you munched on your burger. You thought for a few seconds before speaking again. “But if you ask me, I think something went wrong in his last assignment. Rosie said he didn’t speak to her for a whole day after coming home, and that he was constantly on edge and irritable for weeks leading up to his disappearance.” 

“Maybe. Might be worth looking into.” Colter shrugged as he took a bit out of his sandwich. “You think we’d be able to look into his assignments overseas?” He asked Russell.

“Doubt it. If they’re classified, which most likely they are, they’d either have little to no paper trail, or they would be heavily secured.” Russell said with a mouthful of fries, which Colter clearly disapproved of. But Russell paid no mind to it, his attention was all on you.

“How do you know?” You asked Russell with genuine curiosity. He half grinned a bit.

“I used to be in the Army too. Spec ops. That's why Colter brought me along.” Russell explained, and you almost wanted to sigh out loud. “So I know damn well how secretive some of those overseas assignments can be. Most are black-ops and off the books. It’d be hard to find the files.” 

So much for tall, rugged and handsome. Guess you’re going to have to look from afar.

‘Well fuck. That sounds lovely.” You mumbled into your burger, annoyed and frustrated. Russell actually laughed this time.

“You know that burger isn’t gonna run away, right?” He chuckled at the way you were so aggressively stuffing your face. Colter narrowed his eyes at his older brother and kicked him under the table. “Okay, ow.” 

“Mind your business? Also, you have no room to talk dude.” You scoffed, eyeing his sriracha covered fries with disgust. “That’s actually fucking criminal.”

“Well, this one has a mouth on her. And here I was trying to be a gentleman.” He chuckled, playful grin on his face as he shoved a particularly heavily sriracha-covered fry in his mouth while you watched. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.” 

You stared at him with an indescribable feeling. You didn’t remember the last time a man had this much of an effect on you. Sure, in your mind it didn’t do him any favors that he used to be in the military, but you’d gladly break your own rule for just a little taste of him. He was a little rugged, sure, but he was undeniably handsome and carried himself with an alluring sense of self confidence. And the way he smiled at you, God, it made you feel like a schoolgirl, warm and tingly. You didn’t remember the last time a man looked at you like that, either.

“Can we focus here?” Colter, the ever present voice of reason. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who woulda thought, you look even more beautiful without the scrubs.” Those were the first words out of Russell’s mouth when you opened the door. You had told them to stop by in the evening after Rosie’s shift so they could talk to her. 

“Russell,” Colter sighed, looking at his brother with annoyance but Russell simply smiled, unapologetically proud of himself. They both looked at you, you were trying so hard not to smile right now. “Alright, is Rosie home?”

“Yeah, she’s in the living room. Come in.” You shook your head softly as you allowed both brothers into your apartment. 

You led them to the living room, you caught Russell looking around with curiosity. Maybe he was trying to figure you out, figure out how to get on your good side. But he otherwise didn’t say anything. 

“Rosie, the guys I told you about are here.” You called out to her and she immediately shot up to her feet and rushed to your side. You looked at her, poor thing looked like she had been crying again. “This is Colter, the tracker, and that’s his brother, Russell. They’re going to help us, okay? Colter just needs to ask you a few questions about James.”

Rosie was nodding profusely, “Anything, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Just help me find him? Please?” 

Colter led her to the couch, perhaps she’d feel safer if she was comfortable. You didn’t want to intrude, you probably weren’t needed right at this time, anyway.

“I’m going to get you guys something to drink.” You announced, wanting to give them some privacy. 

“I’ll help.” Russell piped up and you looked at him with curiosity, he simply smiled at you. You didn’t bother to question him.

You went into the kitchen, Russell was close behind you. You could feel his intense gaze burn into the back of your head as you rummaged through your fridge. You tried to ignore it.

“Beer?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder at him. 

“Sure.” 

You grabbed three beers from the fridge and Rosie’s iced tea. You handed Russell his beer before moving around your kitchen to grab a glass cup from the cupboard. You poured the iced tea into the cup before turning around to find Russell still looking at you, with wonder, and maybe something else you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“So what’s your deal?” He asked you as he sipped his beer. You tilted your head at him and furrowed your eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, yeah you’re clearly a kick-ass doctor, and a caring sister but, what else is there? I don’t see any pets, surely no kids, no pictures on the walls, minimal decor, hopefully no boyfriend,” You laughed at the last part. “So, what are you about?”

“Right, well uh,” you chuckled softly, awkwardly sipping on your beer as you leaned on the counter. You shrugged. “I’m a doctor who works sixty-plus hours a week, I have zero social life, I’m not home nearly enough to have a pet. And I certainly have no time for the nonsense of men my age. But hey, if you want to know what I’m about, it’ll take more than just shitty beer and a kitchen conversation to figure me out.”

Russell smiled. Genuinely smiled. But it was a different kind of glint, like he was amused, impressed almost. He chuckled as he nodded, stepping to stand in front of you. You straightened up, looking up at him.

“Surely you’d have time to get a drink with me sometime then? I don’t know if I’m your age but I can assure you I’m not going to waste your time. Would love to try and figure you out while I’m here.” He bit his bottom lip, eyebrows raised and green eyes big with expectancy. 

Yes—said the warmth between your legs.

No—said your rational mind.

“Russell…” Your voice was a warning, apprehensive as you chewed on your bottom lip. “I don’t think I should be going on dates while my sister’s fiance is missing.” 

“It’s her fiance that’s missing, not yours.” He chuckled. You knew he didn’t mean to sound mean, or mocking but you scoffed softly, moving away from him. His words hit you in ways he could never know.

“I don't do… That. Y’know, dating? Or hookups. I don’t do romance, period.” You argued, hands on your hips. He tilted his head at you, eyebrows raised as he looked at you with that indescribably charming look of his. God, did he make it hard to say no.

“Don’t have to be anything. I’m not expecting anything. Just drinks, no strings attached, we’ll see where the night takes us, yeah?” He made a very compelling argument, and his unwavering confidence and charm was hard to resist.

Truly, you didn’t remember the last time you felt so tempted to go on a date with someone, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. From coworkers to patients have made advances you’ve always easily turned down. But Russell? You didn’t feel like you wanted to turn him down. You gave in so easily.

“Whadaya say?”

“Yeah, okay. Just drinks. We’ll see what happens. But don’t get any funny ideas, okay?” You warned him. He chuckled but ultimately raised his hands up in defense when you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I am a gentleman, sweetheart. I know how to behave in front of a pretty girl.”

Your concern was if you could behave in front of a hot guy. Especially when he was as hot as Russell.

[memingoapp]

More like terms and 'nah, I'm good'

[lighthousepigeons]

Iris: Do you want to explain the text you sent to me last night?

Declan: It was autocorrect.

Iris, raising an eyebrow: Autocorrect wrote "You're so hot, please step on me"

Declan: Yes.

[alexandor]

Rednote terms and conditions

Keep in mind!

[greatrunner]

Thinking about how US Americans are being banned from xiaohongshu/red note for not reading or abiding by the TOS and community guidelines (+ posting things explicitly censored by the Chinese govt), and how much that attitude translates into the actual enforcement (or Lackthereof) of TOS/CG/TAC on social websites in the US unless the act is politically motivated.

Tumblr repeatedly fails to protect people from harassment and dogpiling, but the moment someone says something funny about the head of the website, their account gets nuked. You can be violently racist on AO3 despite the platform modeling itself as a 'safe space' for marginalized persons.

It would certainly explain why so many spaces on the internet lack genuine accountability, and how everything effectively becomes politicized to the point of making guideline violations a matter of opinions you disagree on, lest you be accused of censorship yourself.

[deepdreamnights]

Terms and Conditions Do Not Overrule the USTPO

Originally from reddit. I am not a lawyer, but this hardly needs one.

I use Suno, but it being a useful tool doesn't mean they're off the hook for trying to be sneaky. Also, this isn't just about them. Pretty much every Generative AI tool has some similar such claim or clause in place.

Any so-called controlling rights on public domain works are entirely unenforceable.

This is a long post, so enjoy this public domain song which you can use for whatever purpose you like.

Terms and conditions do not override the determinations of the USTPO, which is that without significant human modification, generative AI generations do not qualify for copyright protections and thus are in the public domain.

So for Suno, you own your lyrics if you wrote them. You own any modifications you make to the song in post. You might own the tune if it was prompted directly using Suno's weird symbols/tabulature stuff, but at this point there's been no judgement on whether a significantly complex prompt makes a resulting generation have "significant human expression".

Not to say Suno can't pull DMCA BS or issue takedowns, but it wouldn't be hard to prove they lack the standing. You'd probably have to go to court to do it, so if you're not willing to roll the dice on having to do that sending an email is easier, and that's what the company is counting on.

The important part, is to remember that human authorship is required for copyright. If you want those rights, you gotta make sure you're putting in the authorship (lyrics, editing, remixing, etc.)

Or, you can be cool with the commons and be open about the copyleft nature of AI generations.

I tend to approach my own work in a "making parts" sense because I've been doing multimedia collage for far longer than there's been generative AI. The final work is the faux trailer, fake commercial, music video or the comic or the mini-episode or whatnot.

But everyone's process is going to be different.

Part of countering misinformation around generative AI is breaking the hype side of things as much as the doom.

The corporate dream of an endless IP machine is a paper tiger, because all they've made is an infinite public domain machine. A century of trying to control and hoard the "rights" to our culture have drained the commons dry and this new tech just pumps solely into it's parched reservoir.

On the other end, the idea that one is going to get rich just because they've got some generative tools is just mist and vapor awaiting a light breeze. It's a great force multiplier, but anyone can get access to the same tools. The things the robot can't bring to the table are the things that matter, and they're going to matter even more now.

I like to compare most AI to toys (an object's use defines its function) and a way of making parts of a whole, so Lego is a good metaphor here. The creations that get attention are the ones that aren't out-of-the-box and made from the instructions.

I don't say this to discourage anyone from trying to use the tech to fulfill their expressive vision, but to emphasize that it's not a push-button-get-end-result situation.

Everyone has access to the same bricks. Everyone can use your bricks if they find them in an out of the box state. This is a feature, not a bug.

[rckyfrk]

“Where is she?” he demanded, but Hershel didn’t answer fast enough. “Where the fuck is Beth?” he all but growled, not willing to admit the possibility that…no…he couldn't even think the words.

“Now, just calm down, son,” Hershel used a voice that Daryl assumed was supposed to be calming, but it only pissed him off more.

“No, fuck that,” he yelled back, pacing because he had nothing else to do. His entire system had already been flooded with adrenaline for so long now, he felt his knees ready to give out from below him. “What happened to her?” he demanded.

Hershel smiled. He fucking smiled. Daryl was ready to haul off and punch the man until he finally spoke in that same calming voice.

“Beth’s fine. And I’ll take you to her, but you’ll need to calm down a minute before I take you to see her.”

[critical-quoter]

Because there is nothing I want more than to turn a house into a home with you.

Terms and Conditions - Lauren Asher

[phanartist]

I’ve already gotten blocked by someone and unfollowed by a few of the friends of the blocker because I didn’t put their friend’s art up. I’d just like the artists to know the rules that I have for my gallery. The art wasn’t even to do with Dan & Phil and they weren’t 16 yet,

Did you see my challenge to draw your favorite Dan&Phil character(s)?

Terms and conditions :

16+ artists only

You can only submit your own work

Your work has to be some form of phanart

Art of Dan & Phil with others is fine, so is art like a portrait of flame Susan or the pheal just as long as it’s Phanart

You can send in more than one picture of your artwork and it’s fine if it’s already been on your blog

I’m fine with you submitting more than once as long as it’s not the same piece that you sent before

I’m the curator of a gallery you’re the artist, you can’t complain to me if I decide not to put up your art

If your art gets put up and you want it done just say so, I don’t need any other reason than you wanting it down

It’s your art not mine so if you do or don’t want a specific tag, caption , or poll tell me and it’s done

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Chapter 5 - Terms and Conditions

A/N: Alright we’re getting there! Let me know your thoughts :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

.

Malibu feels colder than you remember.

Maybe it’s the jet lag. Or maybe it’s the weight of what followed you home, something heavier than suitcases and lingering tabloid headlines.

Tony disappears into the lab almost as soon as you step off the plane. No goodbyes. No check-ins. Just a “Don’t touch anything that hums or glows” over his shoulder before the door hisses shut.

You wait. An hour. Two.

Then you go down there anyway.

It’s late and the lab lights are dimmed, casting everything in sterile blue. He’s hunched over a table, hands blackened with grease, arc reactor glowing through a tank top like a lighthouse losing power.

You clear your throat.

He looks up. Surprise flickers across his face—but not annoyance. Just… caution.

“Didn’t expect you to follow me down here.”

You step closer, holding up the tablet. “I’ve been running simulations.”

He blinks. “Of what?”

“Your arc reactor problem.”

Tony scoffs. “You make it sound like a bad break-up.”

“It is. You just haven’t filed the paperwork.”

He smirks despite himself. “And let me guess…you’ve solved it?”

“No. But I might’ve cracked the way in.”

You set the tablet down between his prototypes, right next to the coffee he forgot to drink. On the screen is a restructured elemental matrix—unstable, yes, but promising. Stark-grade promising.

He studies it. Then you.

“Where did you learn this?”

You shrug. “My company deals with quantum instability modeling. Novastem’s been prototyping renewable reaction chambers for years. I applied the same logic to your core.”

His eyes narrow, not with suspicion…with interest. And maybe something else.

“You’ve been holding out on me.”

“You never did your research before signing the contract.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table. “So what’s the play, boss lady? You gonna start redesigning my tech behind my back now?”

“I could. But I figured we could build something together.”

There’s a beat of silence. You’re both suddenly too aware of how close you are. His breath catches—so soft you almost miss it.

“You’re really not afraid of me, are you?”

“No,” you say. “I’m afraid for you.”

Something changes in his face. The smirk softens. The bravado slips.

He looks down at your design again. “This—this could work. With some restructuring. A different power funnel.”

“And a new containment field. You’d need to isolate the toxicity at the molecular level.”

You’re talking science, but your voice is low. Gentle.

Calming.

And Tony—for once—listens.

You stay in the lab all night solving equations, sketching circuits. Every so often, your hands brush. Every so often, you catch him staring—and he doesn’t look away.

There’s a point, just before sunrise, when the music cuts out and the silence settles in. You glance up. He’s still watching you, arc reactor casting a soft blue glow over the shadows on his face.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter than usual, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to save my life.”

You don’t blink. “I am.”

He doesn’t have a response to that.

So you both go back to work.

.

You’ve lost track of time.

It’s been hours since the sun rose, then dipped again below the horizon, and somewhere in between, you and Tony Stark have created three promising prototypes, burned through a whiteboard’s worth of equations, and ignored four meals and at least one alarmingly passive-aggressive message from Pepper.

Tony’s hair is a mess. There’s a scorch mark on your sleeve. Dum-E the robot has just rolled by dragging a fire extinguisher it wasn’t asked for.

“False alarm, bud,” Tony mutters, waving him off with a wrench. “We only set one thing on fire.”

You glance up from your calculations, glasses slipping a little on your nose, and push them back with the back of your hand. “Correction—we only set one thing on fire. The coffee machine doesn’t count.”

Tony turns, sees you in your glasses and a smudge of grease on your cheek, and visibly pauses. Long enough for Dum-E (the cat) to leap onto the workbench and knock a stylus off with zero remorse.

“You okay?” you ask, catching Tony staring.

He blinks. Coughs. “Yeah. Just… trying to remember when lab goggles started looking like that.”

You glance at him over the rim of your glasses. “Like what?”

“Like they belong on the cover of Scientific American meets Playboy’s ‘Women in Science special edition.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s not a real issue.”

“It should be,” he mutters, and goes back to his holographic projection.

Another hour ticks by. Equations are solved, frustrations muttered, a few genius-level arguments are had over whether your containment approach is better than his. (It is. He pretends to disagree anyway.)

Then, Tony leans back in his chair, rubbing at his temple.

“I’m calling it. Brain’s fried. You’ve bested me with science, glasses, and sheer stamina.”

You smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Take it as surrender. I’m cooked.” He nods toward the little stack of gift boxes someone, probably Pepper left on the table by the espresso machine. “You wanna open some of those? Could be explosives. Or more ties.”

You set down your stylus. “That’s the most domestic thing you’ve said all week.”

“Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

You both head over, Dum-E the robot tries to follow and bumps into the cat, who gives him a deeply judgmental meow before hopping onto a high shelf, tail flicking.

You pick up a box labeled with your name in surprisingly neat handwriting.

Tony watches as you open it, and you watch him watching. There’s something softer in his eyes. Less performative. More real.

Inside the box? A set of styluses and a sleek notebook. You turn it over—there’s an embossed quote on the cover.

“To invent, you need a good imagination and a pile of junk.” — Thomas Edison.

You glance at Tony.

He shrugs, casual. “Thought it was fitting. You’ve got the imagination. And I’ve got a hell of a junk pile.”

A beat.

Then he adds, “Metaphorically.”

You laugh. “Sure.”

He hands you a second box—small, velvet. You raise an eyebrow, suspicious.

He smirks. “Don’t worry. Not a ring. You’d run.”

“Depends on the stone.”

You open it.

Inside: a pair of delicate earrings shaped like atomic models—silver electrons orbiting tiny sapphires. Subtle. Nerdy. Beautiful.

You’re quiet for a second too long.

Tony shifts on his feet. “If you hate them—”

“I don’t.” You meet his eyes. “I really don’t.”

The tension lingers—but it’s not the bad kind. It’s the kind that hums under your skin. The kind that says this could be something… if you let it.

“Alright,” he says, breaking the silence. “We’ve got brains, biceps, and banter. Back to building a new element?”

You nod. “Let’s finish what we started.”

“Oh and cheeseburgers are on the way.” He adds, not waiting for you to respond. You chuckle to yourself before shaking your head.

And just like that, you’re back at it.

Side by side.

.

It happens sometime after midnight.

The lab is humming—alive with the flicker of projections, the whirr of processors, and the faint jazz Tony queued up hours ago that neither of you bothered to turn off.

Tony’s discarded his outer shirt long ago, down to that black sleeveless tank that hugs his frame a little too well. His arc reactor pulses through it like a second heartbeat—its light casting shadows on the angles of his collarbone, the taut line of his arms as he tightens something on the collider prototype you both jury-rigged together.

You’re holding a tablet, double-checking a sequence, but it’s getting harder to focus.

Because—let’s be honest—damn.

There’s sweat at his temple. Grease smudges at the crook of his elbow. And the way his biceps flex as he adjusts the wiring?

Scientific miracle? Maybe. Divine intervention? Possibly. Existential crisis about how this whole arrangement started and what you’re feeling now? Definitely.

Tony turns toward you, catching your gaze mid-stare.

You absolutely don’t look away in time.

His lips twitch. “See something you like, wifey?”

You deadpan, “Just admiring your circuitry.”

“Sure you are.”

But then—just like that—his tone shifts. More serious. Focused.

“I think this is it.”

You blink. “Wait—really?”

He nods toward the collider. “If your recalibration holds—and it should—this should give us a stable reaction. Better output, safer levels. It’s not just palladium-free. It’s… smarter.”

You set down the tablet. Step closer.

“Let’s light it up.”

Tony grins—wild, hopeful, brilliant. The man who once said I am Iron Man now holding a makeshift element born out of desperation and genius and, your collaboration.

He hits the switch.

The lab glows white-blue as the core ignites. It pulses once—twice—and then steadies into a brilliant hum.

A perfect reaction.

You both stare at it.

Tony exhales a shaky laugh. “Holy hell.”

You smile, heart pounding, fingers brushing the edge of the console. “We did it.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you.

And not like a business partner. Not like someone he tolerates out of obligation or contract. But like someone who helped save his life. Like someone who saw the worst of him and stayed.

Your breath catches.

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

Instead, he just murmurs, “You’re kind of extraordinary, you know that?”

And for once, there’s no joke to follow.

Just the soft glow of something new beginning—burning steady, like a star forged under pressure.

Like the proof of something real.

The silence between you stretches, soft and charged.

Tony’s still looking at you like he doesn’t quite know what to say—but for once, he wants to. That flicker of sincerity in his eyes feels new, untested, like something fragile made of glass and stubbornness.

He opens his mouth to speak—

“Tony?”

The voice cuts in, sharp and efficient, from the comm unit on the desk.

Pepper.

Tony curses under his breath and hits the console. “Yeah?”

“You missed the call with the Japan team. Again. Also, there’s a press conference tomorrow—9 a.m. sharp. They’re expecting a smiling CEO. Try not to scare any shareholders this time.”

There’s a pause. You can hear her typing.

“And please, don’t let the cat near any explosives.”

Tony glances at Dum-E (cat edition), who is currently asleep in a toolbox like the absolute chaos gremlin she is.

“Too late,” he mutters, then into the comm: “Got it, Pep. Thanks.”

“Don’t forget to hydrate,” she adds, sweet as a sword.

The comm cuts out.

The silence returns—but it’s a little more brittle now. A little more real-world-shaped.

Tony exhales, running a hand down his face. “Well. There goes the moment.”

You arch a brow, arms crossing. “Was there a moment?”

He looks at you. And for a split second, it’s like he wants to rewind, to reach for it again.

But instead, he smirks. “Nope. Just a hallucination. Must be the lab fumes.”

You snort softly. “And here I thought it was the power of teamwork.”

He tosses a rag at you, easy, but you catch the glint of something unspoken in his eyes. Something softer.

“You should get some rest,” you say, voice quieter now. “We both should.”

He nods, but doesn’t move.

As you walk away, Dum-E (bot version) lets out a mechanical chirp and bumps lightly against Tony’s leg.

Tony sighs, rubbing his jaw.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” he mutters. “She’s smarter than me.”

Dum-E chirps again, louder.

“…And hotter.”

.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But you’d settled into the couch near the back of the lab some time later, Tony’s tablet still propped on your lap, blueprints faintly glowing in the dark. You’d been going over his element models again, cross-referencing particle decay data with your own theories.

Your glasses are still on. The screen’s gone idle. And Dum-E—the cat this time, not the bot—is curled up in your lap, tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm, tail flicking once in her dreams.

You don’t stir when the elevator opens with a soft ding.

Tony steps out, barefoot, still in that black sleeveless compression shirt he wears when he’s in work mode but just shy of shutting down. There’s a smear of grease across one arm, and he’s holding a bag of takeout with your cheeseburgers.

He spots you instantly.

And stops.

For a long beat, he just… watches. The tablet’s glow lights your face in a soft haze. One arm is draped over Dum-E’s furry body, the other tucked beneath your head. You look peaceful. Relaxed in a way he hasn’t seen before. Like the tech, the chaos, him—none of it has touched you in this moment.

He swallows, sets the bag down quietly.

Crosses the floor on silent feet.

And then—because he can’t help himself—he crouches beside the couch, gentle fingers reaching up to slide your glasses off. You murmur something unintelligible in your sleep, shifting slightly, and the cat lifts her head just enough to give him a do not disturb the nap ecosystem glare before resettling.

He chuckles under his breath.

“Alright, alright,” he whispers. “Noted.”

He pulls the throw blanket from the armrest and lays it over both of you with a care he usually reserves for circuit boards and prototypes.

Then, just before he straightens, he hesitates.

His hand brushes your hair back, fingers pausing at your temple. And for a moment, he lets himself look at you the way he doesn’t when you’re awake—unguarded, like he’s afraid of how much he wants to stay right here.

“You’re gonna outsmart me one of these days,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Probably already have.”

Dum-E the bot chooses that exact moment to let out a low, suspicious beep from the hallway.

Tony startles. Glares.

“Ssshhh. Go snitch to someone else.”

Then he turns back to you one more time.

And walks away.

But the warmth of the blanket lingers. So does the faint scent of motor oil and that aftershave he pretends he doesn’t use.

And somewhere behind your dreaming mind, your heart flutters.

.

You wake to the low growl of your stomach.

The lab is still cloaked in semi-darkness, save for the soft glow of the reactor core downstairs and the strip lights lining the walls. The tablet’s screen has gone black. Dum-E (the cat) has vanished from your lap, replaced by a lack of feline warmth.

You sit up, blinking slowly, blanket sliding off your shoulders. A blanket you don’t remember draping around yourself.

And then you smell it.

Cheeseburgers.

Not the kind from five-star kitchens or health-conscious eateries—no, these are unapologetically greasy, bag-rustling, artery-threatening cheeseburgers. The kind Tony Stark would absolutely crave after a 12-hour bender of science and emotional avoidance.

A paper bag sits on the nearby counter, beside two unopened cans of soda and one very familiar pair of sunglasses.

“I was gonna wake you,” comes his voice behind you, “but then Dum-E gave me that ‘if you disturb the cat, you die’ look. So I ordered food and decided to wait until it was safe.”

You turn.

Tony’s leaning against the lab doorway, hair tousled, the black sleeveless top swapped for an old hoodie that hangs low on his frame. He’s barefoot again, but this time he’s holding two burgers and wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes—but comes closer than usual.

“You hungry?” he asks, tossing you one of the burgers.

You catch it with both hands. “Starving.”

You settle on opposite ends of the couch, the silence between you filled with the crinkle of wrappers and the occasional satisfied sigh. For a while, it’s just the two of you, biting into warmth and salt and melted cheese.

Then he says, “My mom used to make cheeseburgers when things got bad. She burned them. Every single time. But it was… her way of trying.”

You glance over. He’s not looking at you—just staring at the wall across from him like it holds something only he can see.

“She was soft. Always trying to smooth things over. My dad, on the other hand—” he pauses, laughs bitterly, “—was made of steel and vodka. Never home. And when he was, he’d rather talk to the bourbon bottle than his son.”

You stay quiet. Let him keep going.

“Jarvis, the butler—not the AI—he raised me. Taught me how to tie a tie, how to drive, how to pretend I wasn’t breaking inside. He called me ‘Master Tony’ until the day he died.”

You reach for your soda. “And people wonder why you built a suit of armor around your heart.”

Tony glances at you then, a flicker of something passing over his face.

“Yeah, well. You don’t grow up like that and come out unscathed. But I guess you already figured that out.”

You offer him a smile, soft at the edges. “I think you turned out better than you think.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he nods at you. “What about you? Got any tragic backstory I should be bracing for?”

You shrug, leaning back into the couch. “Mine’s less headline-worthy. My mom was a teacher. My dad ran a hardware store. We weren’t rich, but they loved me.. I got into tech because I used to tinker with broken stuff at the store after school. Fixed a toaster when I was eight. Thought I was a genius.”

Tony raises a brow. “You are a genius.”

“Tell that to the toaster I set on fire two weeks later.”

He laughs. Really laughs. And it does something to your ribcage.

For a moment, the genius billionaire and the tech-savvy stranger-who’s-now-his-wife sit in shared warmth, surrounded by flickering lab lights and fast food. Not partners. Not enemies. Not pawns in a corporate chess game.

Just two people with old wounds and new stories. And half-eaten cheeseburgers.

[livingdxadwriter]

Russell Shaw x F!Doctor!Reader

Series summary: when your sister's fiance goes missing, you call Colter for help, and he brings along his rugged, but handsome and charming older brother, Russell.

Series warnings: explicit sexual and mature content, minors dni, smut, age gap, mentions of ptsd, kidnaping, mentions of minor violence. Check individual parts for specifics.

Reader is in her early 30s, Russell is his late 30s

Additional character appearances: Colter Shaw, OFC Rosalie, OMC James Summers, more TBD

*means part contains smut

Part one

Part two

Part three

More parts tbd

If you'd like to keep up with future updates follow @midnightreadinglibrary and turn on notifications.

Happy readings.

[beatsforbrothels]

Boldy James & Conductor Williams - Terms And Conditions

[lighthousepigeons]

Declan: I'm at a loss for words.

Cal, voice over: Despite being lost for words, Declan yelled at me for the next 45 minutes.

[dumblr]

Are you terms and conditions? Cause whatever you say i'll always agree with you.