What If @amethystsong - Tumblr Blog

Jul 28

In Focus

Parts 7-9

Pairing: Tony Stark x F!Reader

Warning/Rating: 18+/Explicit, Workplace romance, power dynamics, emotional cruelty, explicit sexual content, strong language, possessive themes, emotional vulnerability

Parts 1-3/4-6/7-9

Word Count: 5.6 K

The Grand Gesture

It takes him three days.

Three days of no sleep, no distractions, no anything except building. JARVIS helps. Pepper helps, though she makes him explain himself twice and threatens to withdraw her support if he's "doing this for the wrong reasons."

"I'm doing this because I'm an idiot who didn't see what was right in front of me," Tony tells her. "Is that the right reason?"

Pepper studies him for a long moment. Then she nods. "Get to work."

He does.

________________________________________________________________

You're leaving the building at exactly 5:02 PM - your new normal - when JARVIS's voice stops you in the lobby.

"Excuse me, miss. Mr. Stark requests your presence in Lab Three."

You don't break stride. "Tell Mr. Stark I'm off the clock."

"He anticipated that response. He asked me to inform you that this is not work-related."

"Then I'm definitely not interested."

"He also asked me to tell you -" JARVIS pauses, and you could swear there's something almost apologetic in his synthetic voice. "He asked me to tell you that he's sorry. And that he's been an idiot. And that if you give him ten minutes, just ten minutes, he'll never bother you again if you don't want him to."

You stop walking.

You should leave. You should go home, maybe call Wes, continue the process of moving on from Tony Stark and his cruel words and his complete inability to see you as anything other than useful.

But something in JARVIS's tone - or maybe it's the fact that Tony Stark has never, in the entire time you've known him, apologized for anything - makes you turn toward the elevator.

"Ten minutes," you say. "And I'm timing it."

________________________________________________________________

Lab Three is one of the smaller workshops, usually reserved for prototype testing. You've been here a handful of times, but it's not your usual space.

The lights are dimmed when you enter. Not romantic-dinner dimmed - this is still Tony Stark - but softer than the usual fluorescent glare.

And in the center of the room, taking up nearly the entire space, is -

"What is this?" you breathe.

It's a holographic display, but unlike anything you've ever seen. Three-dimensional, impossibly detailed, floating in the air like something out of science fiction. Except it's not fiction. It's real. It's here.

And it's your work.

Every breakthrough you've ever had. Every solution you've found. Every elegant piece of code, every innovative approach, every moment of brilliance - it's all here, rendered in light and data, spinning slowly in the air like a galaxy.

"It's you," Tony says quietly.

You spin around. He's standing in the doorway, and he looks -

He looks terrible. Exhausted. His hair is a mess, there are shadows under his eyes, and his t-shirt has what appears to be motor oil on the sleeve.

He looks more real than you've ever seen him.

"I don't understand," you say.

"I know." He steps into the room, but he doesn't come close. Keeps his distance, like he's afraid you'll bolt. "I've been - I've been going through everything. Every project we worked on together. Every conversation. Every moment."

He gestures, and the hologram shifts. Suddenly you're looking at a specific piece of code - the propulsion breakthrough from that night. The night you told him how you felt.

"This," Tony says, "was genius. Pure genius. I said it was good. I said to implement it. But I didn't - I didn't tell you what it actually was." He looks at you, and there's something raw in his expression. "It was revolutionary. It changed everything about how the suit handles energy distribution. It's in every Mark since then. Every single one. And I never told you that."

The hologram shifts again. Another project. Another breakthrough.

"This one saved me three months of work. You saw a solution I'd been missing for weeks, and you just - you just saw it. Like it was obvious."

Again. Another memory.

"This one was elegant. Beautiful, even. I've shown it to other engineers and they don't understand how you made those intuitive leaps. But you did."

He's moving through them faster now. Project after project, moment after moment. Your work, your brilliance, displayed like art.

"I told you that you were useful," Tony says, and his voice cracks slightly. "I told you that you were efficient. Background noise. Not someone I'd fantasize about."

You flinch. The words still hurt.

"I was wrong." He stops the display, and suddenly the room is filled with something else. Moments. Conversations. You and Tony in the lab, talking, laughing, arguing. "I've been fantasizing about you for three days straight. Can't stop. Can't think about anything else."

"Tony…"

"No, let me -" He runs a hand through his hair. "I have eight minutes left, and I need to say this. I was cruel to you. I said things that were -" He stops. Starts again. "You told me you remembered everything I said. Every stupid comment, every throwaway thought. And I mocked that. I took it for granted."

The hologram shifts one more time, and suddenly you're looking at something new. Something that wasn't there before.

It's a simulation. Complex, intricate, beautiful. And it's -

"Is that -"

"The Mark 49," Tony says quietly. "I designed it in the last three days. And every single innovation, every improvement, every breakthrough - it's based on your work. Your approaches. Your way of thinking." He looks at you. "I built it the way you would have built it. Because your way is better than mine."

You stare at the hologram. At the suit that's somehow both entirely Tony and entirely you. A collaboration, even though you weren't there.

"I don't know what you want me to say," you whisper.

"I don't want you to say anything. I want -" He stops. Takes a breath. "I want you to know that I see you now. Really see you. Not as my assistant, not as someone useful, not as background noise. As you. The woman who's smarter than me in ways I'm still discovering. The woman who stayed late and came in early and put up with my bullshit because -"

"Because I loved you," you finish, and your voice is steady even though your hands are shaking. "Past tense, Tony."

"I know." He looks wrecked. "I know I killed that. I know I took something real and I - I destroyed it because I was too stupid and shallow to see what was right in front of me."

"You said I was delusional."

"You weren't. I was." He takes a step closer. Just one. "I was delusional thinking that what I wanted - the models, the actresses, the women who looked good in photographs - that any of that mattered. That any of that was real."

"And now?" You hate how much you want to believe him. "Now you've decided I'm good enough? Now that I'm leaving, now that I'm moving on, suddenly I'm worth your attention?"

"No." The word is fierce. "You were always worth it. Always. I was just too much of an asshole to see it. And I know -" His voice breaks. "I know I don't deserve another chance. I know I hurt you. I know I said things that can't be unsaid. But I'm asking anyway."

The hologram is still spinning slowly, your work rendered in light. Evidence of everything you've done, everything you are.

"I'm going on a date with Wes tomorrow," you say.

Tony flinches like you've hit him. "I know. JARVIS told me. He's - he's a good guy. He'll treat you right. He'll see what I was too blind to see."

"He will," you agree.

"But he won't challenge you." Tony's eyes are locked on yours. "He won't argue with you at three AM about quantum mechanics. He won't push you to be better, sharper, more brilliant. He won't know that you bite your lip when you're thinking, or that you make this little sound when you solve a problem, or that you organize everything the way my brain works because you understand how I think."

"You noticed that?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

"I noticed everything. I just didn't let myself care." He takes another step closer. "I'm caring now. I'm caring so much it's killing me. And I know it's too late. I know I don't get to waltz back in and expect you to forgive me just because I finally pulled my head out of my ass. But I needed you to know -"

"Know what?"

"That you were right. There was something here. Something real. And I threw it away because I'm an idiot who values the wrong things." His voice drops. "I'm not asking you to cancel your date. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm just asking you to know that you mattered. You matter. You always mattered."

The hologram flickers, and suddenly it's showing something else. The two of you, that moment eight months ago. Laughing together. Connected.

"I want that back," Tony says quietly. "I want you back. Not as my assistant. Not as someone useful. As -" He stops. "As everything."

You stand there, surrounded by light and data and evidence of everything you've built together, and feel something crack open in your chest.

"Your ten minutes are up," you say.

Tony nods. Starts to turn away.

"Tony."

He stops. Looks back.

"That simulation," you say, gesturing at the Mark 49. "The energy distribution in the left repulsor is off by point-three percent. You'll need to recalibrate."

He stares at you. "You can see that from here?"

"I can always see it." You take a step toward him. Just one. "You're brilliant, Tony. But you're sloppy. You always have been."

"I know." His voice is rough. "That's why I need you."

"To fix your mistakes?"

"To make me better." He doesn't move, doesn't push. Just stands there, vulnerable in a way you've never seen. "To make me want to be better."

You look at the hologram. At your work, your brilliance, finally seen and acknowledged. At the suit he built using your methods, your approaches. At the evidence that he's been paying attention all along, even when he claimed he wasn't.

"I have a date tomorrow," you say again.

"I know."

"But tonight -" You take another step. "Tonight, you're going to fix that calibration error. And I'm going to watch you do it. And you're going to explain to me, in detail, every single design choice you made on that suit."

Hope flares in his eyes. "Yeah?"

"And then -" You take a breath. "And then we're going to talk. Really talk. About what you said. About what you did. About whether this -" You gesture between you. "Whether this is something that can be fixed, or if you broke it beyond repair."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Tony says immediately. "Whatever you need. I'll grovel. I'll apologize. I'll -"

"You'll be honest," you interrupt. "No charm. No deflection. Just honesty. Can you do that?"

He looks at you for a long moment. Then nods. "Yeah. I can do that."

"Then get to work, Stark." You move toward the hologram, already analyzing the suit's specs. "You've got a lot to prove."

"I know." But he's smiling now, that real smile you've missed. "Lucky for me, I've got the smartest person I know to help me prove it."

"Flattery won't work on me anymore."

"Good." He comes to stand beside you, close enough that you can feel his warmth. "I don't want it to. I want -" He stops. Starts again. "I want real. With you. If you'll give me the chance."

You don't answer. Not yet. Instead, you pull up the calibration specs and start working.

But you don't leave.

And for the first time in weeks, Tony Stark doesn't work alone.

________________________________________________________________

The Conversation

You work in silence for twenty minutes.

It's not uncomfortable - not exactly. But there's a weight to it, a tension that has nothing to do with repulsor arrays and everything to do with the two feet of space between you.

"You're using the Fibonacci sequence for the energy distribution pattern," you say finally, gesturing at the hologram.

"Yeah. Your approach from the Mark 46 redesign." Tony's hands move through the display, pulling up subsystems. "It's more efficient than the standard grid pattern. By about twelve percent."

"Fourteen percent if you offset the timing by point-zero-three seconds."

He stops. Looks at the numbers. "You're right. How did you -"

"Because I know how you think." The words come out sharper than you intend. "I've always known how you think. That was never the problem."

Tony's quiet for a moment. Then: "No. The problem was that I didn't think about you at all. Not the way I should have."

You don't respond. You adjust the timing offset, watching the efficiency numbers climb.

"That's not true, actually," Tony continues, and there's something raw in his voice. "I thought about you constantly. I just - I categorized it wrong. Filed it under 'work' instead of -" He stops. "Instead of what it actually was."

"And what was it actually?" You keep your eyes on the hologram, but your hands have stopped moving.

"Dependency. Need. The feeling that everything worked better when you were there." He's quiet for a beat. "I told myself it was because you were good at your job. That you made my life easier. But that wasn't it."

"No?"

"No. You made my life better. There's a difference." He moves closer, just slightly. "You made me want to be in the lab. Made me excited to work on problems because I knew you'd see the solution from an angle I'd never considered. Made me -" He stops. "Made me feel less alone."

Your throat tightens. "You were never alone, Tony. You had a different woman here every other week."

"I was surrounded by people and completely alone," he says quietly. "Until you. And I was too stupid to realize that what I was feeling - what I felt every time you walked into a room - that wasn't just professional respect."

You finally look at him. "Then what was it?"

"Attraction." The word hangs in the air between you. "Real attraction. Not the shallow bullshit I convinced myself I wanted. Not the magazine-cover, photograph-well, look-good-on-my-arm attraction. The kind that sneaks up on you. The kind that's based on -" He gestures helplessly. "On actually knowing someone. On watching them think. On the way they argue with you and call you on your shit and make you laugh at three in the morning."

"You said I was background noise," you say, and you hate how your voice wavers. "You said I didn't have that spark. That edge. That I was someone you'd never fantasize about."

Tony flinches. "I know. I know what I said. And I -" He runs a hand through his hair. "I can't take it back. I can't undo it. But I can tell you that I was lying."

"You weren't lying. You were being honest. That's what made it hurt so much."

"I was being honest about what I thought I wanted," he corrects. "I was wrong about what I actually needed. What I -" He stops. Starts again. "I've been fantasizing about you for days. Can't stop. Can't think about anything else. The way you bite your lip when you're concentrating. That little sound you make when you solve something. The way you look at me when I'm being an idiot - which is often - like you're deciding whether to argue or just let me figure it out myself."

"Tony…"

"I'm not done." His voice is rough. "You asked for honesty. Here it is: I was terrified of you."

You blink. "What?"

"Terrified," he repeats. "Because everyone else - Sienna, Sophia, all of them - they wanted Tony Stark. The brand. The image. The guy in the suit who throws parties and makes headlines. But you -" He looks at you, and there's something vulnerable in his expression. "You wanted me. The actual person. The one who's obsessive and difficult and sometimes cruel. And that was…" He stops. "That was real. And real is terrifying."

"So you rejected me." Your voice is flat. "Twice. The second time in the cruelest way possible."

"Yes." He doesn't look away. "I rejected you because accepting what you were offering meant admitting that everything I'd been chasing was empty. It meant looking at my life and realizing I'd been filling it with people who didn't matter because I was too scared to let someone in who did."

"That's not an excuse."

"It's not meant to be. It's an explanation." He takes a breath. "I hurt you. Deliberately. I said things that were designed to make you stop wanting me because I couldn't handle being wanted like that. Being seen like that. And I -" His voice cracks. "I'm so fucking sorry."

The apology lands like a physical thing. You've never heard Tony Stark apologize. Not like this. Not without deflection or charm or a joke to soften the blow.

"You called me delusional," you say quietly. "For thinking we made sense."

"You weren't delusional. I was." He moves closer, and you don't step back. "We make perfect sense. We always did. I was just too much of a coward to admit it."

"And now?" You look up at him, and you're close enough to see the shadows under his eyes, the exhaustion, the genuine regret. "Now you've decided I'm worth it? Now that I'm leaving, now that someone else sees what you couldn't?"

"No. You were always worth it. I just -" He stops. "I finally let myself see it. See you. Really see you."

"And what do you see?"

"Everything." The word is fierce. "I see the woman who's smarter than me in ways that terrify and excite me in equal measure. I see the person who knows me better than anyone - better than Pepper, better than Rhodey, maybe better than I know myself. I see -" He stops. "I see the only person I've ever wanted to stay."

Your breath catches. "Tony -"

"Everyone leaves," he says quietly. "Or I drive them away. It's what I do. It's what I'm good at. But you - you stayed. Even when I was an asshole. Even when I didn't deserve it. You stayed until I made it impossible. And now I'm asking -" His voice breaks. "I'm begging you not to leave. Not for good. Not before I can show you that I -"

"That you what?"

He looks at you, and there's no charm, no deflection. Just raw honesty.

"That I'm falling for you," he says. "That I might have been falling for you the whole time and was too stupid to realize it. That the thought of you with Davidson, or anyone else, makes me want to -" He stops. "That I want you. Not as my assistant. Not as someone useful. As mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sends heat through you. You should be angry. You should make him work harder, grovel more.

But you're tired of pretending.

"You hurt me," you say, and your voice is steady even though your heart is racing. "You made me feel invisible. Worthless. Like I was stupid for wanting you."

"I know."

"And I don't know if I can trust you not to do it again."

"I don't know either," he admits. "I'm probably going to fuck this up. I'm going to say the wrong thing or be an asshole or -" He stops. "But I'm going to try. Really try. Because losing you - actually losing you - that's not something I can do."

You study him. This man who's been larger than life, untouchable, cruel. Who's now standing in front of you looking more human than you've ever seen him.

"I have a date tomorrow," you say.

"I know."

"I should go on it. I should move on. Find someone who saw my value from the start."

"You should," Tony agrees, and it clearly costs him. "Davidson’s a good guy. He'll treat you right."

"But he's not you."

Tony goes very still. "What?"

"He's not you," you repeat. "He doesn't challenge me. Doesn't push me. Doesn't make me want to be sharper, better, more brilliant just to keep up." You take a breath. "He doesn't make me feel the way you do."

"And how do I make you feel?"

You step closer, and now there's barely a foot between you. "Alive. Frustrated. Excited. Like I'm the only person in the room even when I'm invisible to everyone else." You look up at him. "Like I matter."

"You do matter." His voice is rough. "You're the only thing that matters."

"Prove it."

The challenge hangs in the air. Tony's eyes darken, and suddenly the space between you feels charged, electric.

"How?" His voice has dropped, gone rough with want.

"Kiss me." Your heart is hammering. "Kiss me like you mean it. Like I'm not background noise. Like I'm someone you actually want."

"I do want you." He reaches up slowly, giving you time to pull away. His hand cups your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I want you so much I can't think straight. Can't work. Can't focus on anything except the thought of you with someone else and how much that's killing me."

"Then stop talking," you whisper, "and show me."

Tony's control breaks.

He kisses you like he's starving for it. Like you're air and he's been drowning. His mouth is hot and demanding, and when you gasp against him, he takes advantage, deepening the kiss until you're dizzy with it.

Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer. He responds immediately, backing you against the workbench, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes heat pool low in your belly.

"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"Then stop wasting time," you say, and pull him back down.

This kiss is different. Slower. Deeper. His hands slide into your hair, angling your head exactly where he wants it, and you let him. Let him take control. Let him show you without words what he couldn't say before.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard.

"I'm still angry at you," you say.

"I know." His forehead rests against yours.

"And I'm still scared you'll hurt me again."

"I know that too." His hands tighten in your hair. "But I'm going to spend every day proving that I won't. That I see you. That I want you. That you're -" He stops. "That you're everything."

You look up at him, at this man who's been cruel and careless and is now looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.

"Take me home, Tony," you say quietly. "And show me."

His eyes go dark with want. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You pull him down for another kiss, this one promising everything that comes next. "But if you ever call me background noise again -"

"I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you," he finishes. "Starting right now."

And then he's kissing you again, and you're not thinking about rejection or hurt or fear.

You're only thinking about this. About him. About finally being seen.

________________________________________________________________

Finally

The elevator ride to his penthouse is endless.

Tony can't stop touching you - hands on your waist, your hips, sliding up your back. His mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and you gasp.

"Impatient?" you manage, even as your fingers curl into his shirt.

"You have no idea." His voice is rough against your throat. "I've been thinking about this for days. Weeks, maybe. I just didn't let myself admit it."

"That's your problem, Stark. You think too much."

He pulls back to look at you, eyes dark with want. "Then stop me from thinking."

You kiss him hard, all teeth and tongue and desperation. He groans into your mouth, backing you against the elevator wall, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes your core clench with need.

The elevator chimes. Tony pulls away just long enough to drag you down the hallway to his bedroom - not the sterile showpiece you've glimpsed in passing, but his actual bedroom. Dark, intimate, unmistakably his.

"JARVIS," Tony says, voice rough. "Privacy mode. No interruptions unless the building's on fire."

"Of course, sir. Might I say -"

"No, you may not. Goodbye, JARVIS."

The AI's presence fades, and suddenly it's just the two of you in the dim light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Tony turns to you, and there's something almost vulnerable in his expression. "Last chance to change your mind."

"Are you having second thoughts?" You step closer, fingers finding the hem of his shirt. "Because I'm not."

"God, no. I just -" He stops as your hands slide under his shirt, nails dragging lightly across his abs. "Fuck. I just want to make sure you want this. Want me. Not because I groveled or made some grand gesture, but because -"

"Because I've wanted you since the first time you explained quantum entanglement at two in the morning and actually listened when I disagreed with you," you finish. You pull his shirt over his head, taking in the arc reactor's glow, the scars, the evidence of everything he's survived. "Because you're brilliant and infuriating and the only person who's ever challenged me to be better."

"Even when I was an asshole?"

"Especially then." You trace the edge of the arc reactor gently. "Though you have a lot to make up for."

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. "I'm very motivated."

"Prove it."

Something shifts in his expression - goes dark and possessive and hungry. "Careful what you wish for."

Then his mouth is on yours again, and this time there's no hesitation. His hands slide under your shirt, callused fingers tracing patterns on your skin that make you shiver. He pulls the fabric over your head in one smooth motion, and then his mouth is on your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts above your bra.

"You have no idea," he murmurs against your skin, "how many times I've thought about this. About you. The way you bite your lip when you're thinking. That little sound you make when you solve something. I've been fantasizing about making you make that sound for entirely different reasons."

"Then stop talking," you breathe, "and make me."

He grins against your skin - that sharp, dangerous grin that's pure Tony Stark. "Bossy. I like it."

His hands make quick work of your bra, and then his mouth is on your breast, tongue circling your nipple before he takes it between his teeth. The sensation shoots straight to your core, and you gasp, hands fisting in his hair.

"There it is," he says, satisfaction clear in his voice. "That sound. I want to hear it again."

"Then you're going to have to work harder than that."

He pulls back to look at you, eyes blazing. "Challenge accepted."

In one smooth motion, he lifts you - you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively - and carries you to the bed. He lays you down with surprising gentleness, but there's nothing gentle about the way he looks at you. Like he wants to devour you. Like he's been starving and you're the first real meal he's seen in months.

"You're wearing too many clothes," you say, reaching for his belt.

"Agreed." But he catches your hands, pinning them above your head with one hand while the other works open your jeans. "But I'm in charge right now. I've got a lot to make up for, remember?"

"Tony…"

"I called you background noise." His voice is rough as he slides your jeans and underwear down your legs, leaving you bare beneath him. "I said you weren't someone I'd fantasize about. I'm going to spend the rest of the night proving how wrong I was."

He settles between your thighs, and the first touch of his mouth against your core makes you arch off the bed.

"Fuck," you gasp.

"That's the idea." His tongue traces patterns that make your vision blur, and when he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you can't stop the moan that escapes.

He works you with the same focused intensity he brings to everything - learning what makes you gasp, what makes you writhe, what makes you cry out his name. It's methodical and devastating and so perfectly Tony that you almost laugh.

"Are you -" You can barely form words. "Are you applying the scientific method to this?"

He pulls back just enough to grin at you. "Hypothesis: you like it when I do this." He does something with his tongue that makes you see stars. "Conclusion: hypothesis confirmed."

"You're such a - oh god - such a nerd!"

"You love it." He adds a third finger, and the stretch is perfect. "You love that I'm figuring out exactly how to take you apart."

"Arrogant!"

"Accurate," he corrects, and then his mouth is back on you, and you can't think anymore. Can't do anything but feel as he builds you higher and higher, until you're trembling on the edge.

"Tony, I'm -"

"I know. I can feel it. Come for me." His voice is commanding, and combined with the perfect pressure of his fingers and tongue, it's enough to shatter you.

You come with his name on your lips, pleasure crashing through you in waves. He works you through it, gentling his touch as you come down, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs.

When you can finally breathe again, you look down to find him watching you with something like awe.

"That was -" He stops. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come."

"I thought I was background noise," you say, but there's no heat in it. Just breathless satisfaction.

His expression shifts - goes serious. "You were never background noise. You were the only thing I heard, and it terrified me." He crawls up your body, settling his weight on you. "I'm done being terrified."

You reach between you, finally getting his belt open, shoving his jeans down. He helps, kicking them off along with his boxers, and then he's bare against you, the hard length of him pressing against your core.

"I need you," he says roughly. "Need to be inside you. Need to feel you. Is that -"

"Yes." You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Yes, Tony. Now."

He reaches over to the nightstand, fumbling for a condom. You take it from him, rolling it on with steady hands, and the way he watches you - like you're performing some kind of miracle - makes your chest tight.

Then he's positioning himself, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and he pauses.

"Look at me," he says. "I want to see you. Want to watch you take me."

You meet his eyes, and the intensity there steals your breath. Then he's pushing inside, slow and steady, and the stretch is perfect. The fullness is everything.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel - you're so tight. So perfect. Like you were made for me."

"Maybe I was," you manage, and his control breaks.

He pulls back and thrusts in hard, setting a rhythm that's demanding and possessive and exactly what you need. You meet him thrust for thrust, nails digging into his shoulders, and the sounds filling the room are obscene - skin on skin, breathless moans, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

"This," he grits out, "this is what I should have had all along. You. Like this. Mine."

"Possessive," you gasp.

"You have no idea." He shifts the angle, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. Davidson, or whoever - they'll never compare. Because this -" Another hard thrust. "This is what you deserve. Someone who sees you. Who wants you. Who can't fucking breathe without you."

"Tony!"

"Say it." His hand slides between you, fingers finding your clit. "Say you're mine."

"I'm -" You can barely think. "I'm yours. I've always been yours."

"Damn right." He increases his pace, and you can feel yourself climbing again, pleasure building at the base of your spine. "Come with me. Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you fall apart."

His fingers work your clit in tight circles, and combined with the perfect angle of his thrusts, it's too much. You come with a cry, clenching around him, and he follows immediately after, groaning your name as he spills inside you.

For a long moment, you just breathe together, tangled and sweaty and perfect.

Then Tony pulls out carefully, disposing of the condom before collapsing beside you. He immediately pulls you against him, like he can't stand not touching you.

"That was -" You stop. "That was worth the wait."

"Yeah?" He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Because I'm just getting started. I've got months of being an idiot to make up for."

"Months, huh?" You turn in his arms to face him. "That's ambitious."

"I'm a very ambitious person." His hand slides down your side, over your hip. "And I'm very motivated to prove that I see you. That I want you. That you're -"

"Everything," you finish softly. "You said."

"I meant it." He kisses you, slow and deep. "You're everything. And I'm going to spend the rest of the night and every night after, if you'll let me - proving it."

"That's a big promise, Stark."

"I'm good at keeping promises." His hand slides between your thighs, and you gasp as his fingers find you still sensitive. "Especially when the reward is this good."

"Again?" But you're already arching into his touch.

"Again," he confirms. "And again. And again. Until you believe me. Until you know, without a doubt, that you're not background noise. You're the whole fucking symphony."

And then he's kissing you again, touching you again, and you stop thinking about rejection or hurt or fear.

You're only thinking about this. About him. About finally, finally being seen.

And being wanted.

And being his.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark