Tony Stark and Reader are married and crazy about each other; he’s working at SI, and she drops by to visit her husband. She’s starving for his cock and she’s going to suck the soul right out of him through it in his office, it’ll be the best blowjob of his life. Later, when he gets home, he’s going to fuck her all night long until they’re both spent, limp in each other’s arms, and drift off to sleep happy as fuck and in love as fuck.
Tasting the Genius
Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife F!Reader
Warning/Rating: 18+; explicit sexual content (fellatio, penetration, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, descriptions of arousal and climax), moderate language, workplace sexual encounter, emotional intimacy, genuine devotion, passionate intensity, playful banter
Word Count: 2.6 K
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the pristine hallway of Stark Industries' executive floor. You strode past Tony's assistant with a smile and a wave and pushed open the door to his corner office without knocking.
Tony looked up from the holographic display hovering over his desk, his arc reactor glowing softly beneath his Tom Ford shirt. Those dark eyes lit up the moment he saw you, a slow smirk spreading across his face.
"Well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure, Mrs. Stark?" He swiped the holograms away with a casual flick of his wrist. "Let me guess - you were in the neighborhood, thought you'd drop by, maybe grab some coffee, discuss quarterly earnings?"
You locked the door behind you with a decisive click.
His eyebrows rose. "Or not."
"I need you," you said simply, walking toward his desk with purpose. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him showcased the glittering cityscape, but you only had eyes for your husband.
"Need me?" Tony leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Could you be more specific? Need me to save the world? Fix your phone? I'm a man of many talents, but I work better with clear parameters."
You rounded his desk, and he swiveled his chair to face you, that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips. But you could see the heat already kindling in his eyes, the way his gaze tracked down your body and back up again.
"I need your cock in my mouth," you said bluntly. "Right now."
For once, Tony Stark was momentarily speechless. His mouth opened, closed, then curved into a delighted grin. "I love it when you talk dirty. It's like Shakespeare, but better. Dirtier Shakespeare. Dirtyspeare."
"Tony." You dropped to your knees between his spread legs, hands sliding up his thighs. "Stop talking."
"Honey, we both know that's never going to happen. It's literally impossible. I'd have better luck holding my breath for - oh, fuck."
Your palm pressed against the growing bulge in his slacks, rubbing firmly. Even through the expensive fabric, you could feel him hardening under your touch.
"You were saying?" you purred, looking up at him through your lashes.
Tony's jaw clenched, his fingers gripping the armrests. "I was saying... something incredibly witty. Give me a second, it'll come back to me."
"The only thing coming is going to be you." Your fingers found his belt buckle, making quick work of it. "In my mouth. Down my throat."
"Jesus Christ." His hips lifted slightly as you unzipped his pants. "Remind me why I married you again?"
"Because I give the best head you've ever had in your life," you said, tugging his slacks and boxer briefs down enough to free his cock. It sprang up, already hard and flushed, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. "And because you're crazy about me."
"Both extremely valid points," Tony managed, his voice already rougher. "Though I'd argue the order of importance -"
You cut him off by wrapping your hand around his shaft and licking a slow stripe from base to tip. His words dissolved into a sharp inhale.
"What was that?" you asked innocently, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Please continue with whatever you were doing. Don't let me interrupt."
You smiled and took him into your mouth, just the first few inches, sucking gently while your hand stroked the rest of his length. Tony's head fell back against his chair with a soft thunk.
"Fuck, baby," he breathed. "You know, there's something to be said for - ah - for workplace morale. Employee satisfaction. This is really… really boosting productivity."
You hummed around him, the vibration making him jerk. His hand came down to tangle in your hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needed to anchor himself to something.
Taking him deeper, you relaxed your throat and slid down until your nose nearly touched his pelvis. Tony's fingers tightened in your hair, his other hand white-knuckling the armrest.
"Holy shit," he gasped. "That's - you're - fuck, how do you do that?"
You pulled back slowly, letting him feel every inch of your mouth, your tongue working against the underside of his shaft. When you reached the tip, you sucked hard, hollowing your cheeks, before taking him deep again.
"Okay, okay," Tony panted, his hips starting to move in small thrusts. "New plan. Forget the office. We're doing this at home. Every day. Multiple times. I'm putting it in my calendar. JARVIS, remind me to - oh fuck, right there!"
You'd found that sensitive spot just below the head, flicking your tongue against it while your hand pumped his shaft. His cock was rock hard now, pulsing against your tongue, and you could taste more precum leaking steadily.
"Baby, you're killing me," he groaned. "This is how I die. Not in a suit, not saving the world, but getting my soul sucked out through my dick in my office. Poetic, really."
You pulled off with an obscene pop, your hand still working him. "Best blowjob of your life?"
"Don't fish for compliments, it's… Jesus! It's unbecoming." But his eyes were dark with lust, his chest heaving. "Though yes, obviously, you're ruining me for all other blowjobs. Not that there will be other blowjobs. You know what I mean."
"Good." You took him back in your mouth, setting a faster pace now, taking him as deep as you could with each stroke. Your other hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently, and Tony's whole body went taut.
"Fuck, fuck, baby, I'm - " His voice cracked. "You're gonna make me come. I'm gonna come in that perfect mouth of yours and - oh God!"
You doubled your efforts, sucking harder, taking him deeper, your hand and mouth working in perfect rhythm. Tony's hips bucked up involuntarily, his fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair.
"I love you," he gasped out. "I love you so fucking much, you're so - so perfect, so good, your mouth is…fuck, I'm coming, baby, I'm -"
His cock pulsed and he came with a strangled groan, spilling hot and thick down your throat. You swallowed around him, taking everything he gave you, not stopping until he was trembling and oversensitive, trying to pull you off.
When you finally released him, you sat back on your heels and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at your husband. Tony looked absolutely wrecked - hair mussed, shirt rumpled, chest still heaving as he stared at you with something like awe.
"So," you said sweetly. "How was your day?"
Tony laughed, the sound breathless and slightly hysterical. "You're insane. I married an insane person." He reached down and pulled you up into his lap, kissing you deeply despite the taste of himself on your tongue. "An insane, perfect, incredible person who just gave me a religious experience in my office."
"You're welcome." You nuzzled against his neck, feeling his racing heartbeat start to slow.
"We're going home," Tony declared, already tucking himself back into his pants with one hand while the other held you close. "Right now. And I'm going to return the favor. Extensively. All night long. I'm talking multiple orgasms, different positions, possibly some light acrobatics -"
"Tony."
"- and definitely that thing you like where I -"
You kissed him to shut him up, smiling against his lips. "Take me home, Mr. Stark."
The drive home was torture in the best possible way. Tony kept one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, fingers drawing maddening patterns on your skin, creeping higher and higher until you had to grab his wrist.
"Eyes on the road, Stark."
"I'm an excellent multitasker," he protested, but he behaved himself. Mostly. "Besides, JARVIS could drive us if I really needed my hands free."
"We're almost home. You can wait five minutes."
"Five minutes?" Tony glanced at you, eyebrows raised. "Honey, I've been hard again since we got in the car. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die if I have to wait five minutes."
"So dramatic."
"It's part of my charm."
The moment you were through the door of your home, Tony was on you. He pressed you against the wall, his mouth hot and demanding on yours, hands already working at your clothes.
"Bedroom," you gasped between kisses.
"Too far." He'd gotten your shirt off and was working on your bra. "Right here is good. Here is great. Here is perfect."
"Tony…"
"Shh. Genius at work." Your bra hit the floor and his mouth closed over your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you arch against him with a moan. "See? This is good. This is working."
His hands slid down to your pants, making quick work of the button and zipper. You kicked off your shoes as he shoved everything down your legs, leaving you naked except for your panties.
"These are pretty," Tony said, snapping the elastic against your hip. "Be a shame to ruin them."
"Don't you dare."
The sound of fabric tearing cut you off. Tony grinned, dangling the ruined panties from one finger. "Oops."
"You're buying me new ones."
"I'll buy you a hundred new ones." He dropped to his knees, throwing your leg over his shoulder. "After I do this."
His mouth was on you before you could respond, tongue sliding through your folds, and your head fell back against the wall with a thunk. Tony knew exactly what he was doing, knew your body better than anyone, and he used that knowledge ruthlessly.
"Fuck, Tony," you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. "Oh God, right there!"
He hummed against you, the vibration making your thighs tremble. His tongue circled your clit, then flicked rapidly, then sucked, never letting you settle into a rhythm. Two fingers slid inside you, curling to hit that perfect spot, and you were already embarrassingly close.
"Come on, baby," Tony murmured against your skin. "Let me taste it. Come on my tongue."
That did it. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, pleasure rolling through your body as you cried out his name. Tony worked you through it, his fingers and tongue gentling as you came down, trembling and gasping.
"Bedroom," he said, standing and scooping you into his arms like you weighed nothing. "Now."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, still floating in post-orgasmic bliss. "My hero."
"Damn right."
He carried you to the bedroom and laid you on the bed with surprising gentleness, then stepped back to strip off his clothes. You watched appreciatively as he revealed his body - the arc reactor glowing in his chest, the lean muscles, the obvious evidence of how much he wanted you.
"Like what you see?" he asked, crawling onto the bed.
"Always."
Tony settled between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. "I love you," he said, suddenly serious, his eyes locked on yours. "So fucking much."
"I love you too," you whispered, pulling him down for a kiss. "Now fuck me."
He pushed inside in one smooth thrust, both of you groaning at the sensation. You were still sensitive from your orgasm, and the stretch of him filling you was almost too much.
"Fuck, you feel good," Tony breathed, holding still to let you adjust. "So tight, so perfect, so…"
"Move," you demanded, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Tony, please!"
He didn't need to be told twice. He pulled back and thrust in again, setting a steady rhythm that had you moaning with each stroke. His hips rolled in that way that hit every perfect spot inside you, and you could already feel another orgasm building.
"That's it, baby," Tony panted, his face buried in your neck. "Take it. Take all of me. You're so good, so perfect, fuck!"
You raked your nails down his back, making him hiss and thrust harder. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard starting to hit the wall, and neither of you cared.
"Harder," you gasped. "Tony, harder, I need -"
He shifted the angle, throwing your leg over his shoulder, and the next thrust went so deep you saw stars. "Like that? Is that what you need?"
"Yes, yes, oh God, yes!"
Tony fucked you harder, faster, his control starting to slip. You could see it in his face, the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes squeezed shut. He was close, but he was determined to make you come first.
His thumb found your clit, rubbing in tight circles, and that was all it took. Your second orgasm crashed over you, even stronger than the first, your inner walls clenching around him as you cried out.
"Fuck, baby, yes," Tony groaned, his rhythm faltering. "Come on my cock, just like that, so good, so - fuck!"
He came with a shout, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you. You held him close, feeling him pulse and throb, both of you trembling with the intensity of it.
For a long moment, you just lay there, catching your breath, hearts racing in sync. Then Tony lifted his head and grinned at you.
"Round two in five minutes?"
You laughed, swatting his shoulder. "You're insatiable."
True to his word, Tony was ready again in less than five minutes. This time he took you from behind, your face pressed into the pillows as he gripped your hips and fucked you with deep, powerful strokes that had you screaming his name.
"That's it," he growled, one hand sliding up your spine. "Let the whole building hear who's making you feel this good."
"Tony, Tony, oh fuck, Tony!"
He reached around to play with your clit, and you came again, your third orgasm of the night, your body going limp as pleasure overwhelmed you. Tony followed moments later, collapsing over your back with a groan.
Round three happened in the shower, where Tony pressed you against the tile wall and fucked you slow and deep while the hot water cascaded over both of you. It was intimate and intense, your foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air as you moved together.
"Love you," he murmured, over and over like a prayer. "Love you so much."
"Love you too," you gasped, clinging to him as another orgasm built. "Always, Tony, always…"
Round four was back in bed, with you riding him, your hands braced on his chest as you rolled your hips. Tony watched you with dark, hungry eyes, his hands on your waist, helping you move.
"So beautiful," he breathed. "Look at you, taking me so well. Could watch you like this forever."
You were both exhausted by now, movements slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. When you came this time, it was a slow, rolling wave that left you shaking. Tony followed, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrust up into you one last time.
You collapsed onto his chest, completely spent, and Tony wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. His heart was pounding beneath your ear, his chest heaving with each breath.
"I think you killed me," he mumbled into your hair. "I'm dead. This is heaven."
"If you're dead, I'm dead," you mumbled back, too exhausted to even lift your head. "We're dead together."
"Romantic."
You managed a weak laugh, nuzzling closer. Tony's hand stroked lazily up and down your back, soothing and gentle.
"Best day ever," he murmured, his voice already drowsy. "Best wife ever. Best life ever."
"Sap," you accused, but you were smiling.
"Your sap."
"My sap," you agreed.
You felt him smile against your hair, his arms tightening around you. Within minutes, his breathing had evened out, and you knew he was asleep. You weren't far behind, exhaustion pulling you under like a warm tide.
Your last conscious thought was how perfectly you fit together, how right this felt, how deeply and completely you loved this impossible, brilliant, infuriating man.
And then you were asleep, tangled together, limp and satisfied and blissfully happy, exactly where you both belonged.
I had a Tony Stark x reader idea and I thought your amazing writing would be able to bring this request justice.
So imagine reader is a new avenger and after some quick introductions, her and the rest of the avengers are hanging out in the tower. Tony immediately thinks she is the most perfect woman he’s met, but when attempting to flirt with her, he finds out she has quite the ‘men ain’t shit’ attitude. Tony proceeds to embarrassingly try to make moves on her for quite a bit. As this goes on, his attempts get increasingly pathetic, only for her to finally show interest. That’s when Tony (and anyone unfortunate enough to be an observer) that he is VERY into being submissive.
I guess it doesn’t have to be avengers though lol. This is an idea I’ve wanted as a one shot and thought you may be interested in making it! (no pressure though)
Surrender
Pairing: Tony Stark x F!Reader
Warning/Rating: 18+; explicit sexual content (penetration, oral sex, power dynamics, multiple orgasms, voyeurism), moderate to strong language, BDSM-adjacent themes (dominance/submission), emotional vulnerability, romance, self-discovery, public embarrassment, workplace dynamics with the Avengers team
Word Count: 9.2 K
The first time you meet Tony Stark, you're not impressed.
Sure, you've seen him on TV - who hasn't? The genius billionaire playboy philanthropist with his smirk and his suits and his ego the size of Manhattan. But standing in the common area of Avengers Tower, surrounded by actual heroes who've saved the world more times than you can count, you're more focused on not making a fool of yourself than on the man currently staring at you like you've descended from heaven on a golden cloud.
"And this is our newest recruit," Steve Rogers says, his hand gentle on your shoulder as he guides you further into the room. Captain America himself is introducing you to the team, and you're trying very hard to play it cool. "Everyone, meet -"
"Wow."
The word comes from Tony Stark, who's frozen mid-step with a coffee mug halfway to his lips. His brown eyes are locked on you with an intensity that makes you want to check if you have something on your face. "Just... wow."
You raise an eyebrow. Natasha Romanoff, perched on the arm of the couch, smirks into her own coffee. Bruce Banner looks up from his tablet with mild interest.
"Tony," Steve says, a warning in his voice.
"No, I mean -" Tony sets down his mug and crosses the room toward you, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, the charm offensive preparing to launch. "Steve, you didn't mention that our new recruit was going to be the most stunning woman I've ever laid eyes on."
Oh, here we go.
"That's because her appearance isn't relevant to her abilities," Steve says, his jaw tightening.
"Of course, of course," Tony says, waving a dismissive hand while never breaking eye contact with you. "I'm sure she's incredibly talented. Skilled. Powerful." He stops directly in front of you, and you catch a whiff of expensive cologne and motor oil. "But can we just acknowledge that she's also absolutely perfect?"
You stare at him for a long moment, taking in the designer jeans, the Black Sabbath t-shirt, the carefully maintained goatee, the expectant smile that says he's used to women melting at his feet.
"Are you done?" you ask flatly.
His smile falters slightly. "I - what?"
"I asked if you're done." You cross your arms over your chest. "Because I'd really like to finish the tour without having to listen to some rich guy with an ego problem try to get in my pants."
The room goes silent.
Natasha's smirk transforms into a full grin. Bruce's eyes widen behind his glasses. Steve makes a choking sound that might be a suppressed laugh.
Tony's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. For possibly the first time in his life, Tony Stark is speechless.
"I've dealt with enough men who think a compliment and a smile entitles them to my attention," you continue, your voice calm and measured. "So let me be clear: I'm here to be an Avenger. I'm here to do my job. I'm not here to be another notch on your bedpost or another story you tell at parties. We clear?"
"I - " Tony blinks rapidly. "I wasn't… I didn't mean -"
"Great." You turn back to Steve, whose lips are twitching with barely contained amusement. "Can we continue?"
"Absolutely," Steve says, and there's definitely laughter in his voice now. "Tony, try to control yourself."
As Steve leads you toward the kitchen, you hear Natasha's low chuckle and her murmured, "Oh, I like her."
You don't look back, but you can feel Tony's eyes boring into your back, and you can practically hear the gears in his head grinding as he tries to process what just happened.
The rest of the evening is surprisingly pleasant. Bruce is kind and soft-spoken, explaining some of the tech you'll have access to. Natasha is sharp and funny, trading barbs with Clint Barton when he arrives. Steve is the perfect gentleman, making sure you feel welcome and comfortable.
Tony keeps his distance, but you catch him staring at you no less than fifteen times.
When you're all gathered around the massive dining table for takeout - apparently even superheroes can't be bothered to cook on a Friday night - Tony finally makes his second attempt.
"So," he says, leaning back in his chair with forced casualness, "what does someone like you do for fun?"
You look up from your lo mein. "Someone like me?"
"You know." He waves his hand vaguely. "Beautiful, powerful, probably has guys lining up around the block..."
"I train," you say, cutting him off. "I read. I watch movies. Revolutionary stuff."
"What kind of movies?" He leans forward, and you can see him trying to find an angle, a connection. "I've got a pretty extensive collection. We could -"
"Let me stop you right there," you say, setting down your chopsticks. "Whatever you're about to suggest? The answer is no."
Clint snorts into his beer. Natasha doesn't even bother hiding her laugh.
Tony's jaw tightens. "I was just going to offer to show you the theater room."
"Sure you were."
"I was!"
"Tony," Bruce says quietly, "maybe just... let it go, buddy."
But Tony Stark has never let anything go in his entire life, and you can see the determination settling into his features. It's almost fascinating, watching him recalibrate, watching him refuse to accept defeat.
"Okay," he says, holding up his hands. "Okay, I get it. You think I'm some kind of playboy who's just trying to add you to a collection or whatever. But what if I told you that I genuinely think you're interesting? That I'd like to get to know you as a person?"
You meet his eyes, those warm brown eyes that probably make most women weak in the knees, and you see something there - something that might be sincerity, buried under layers of bravado and ego.
For a moment, you almost feel bad.
Almost.
"Then I'd say you should work on your approach," you tell him. "Because leading with 'you're the most stunning woman I've ever seen' doesn't exactly scream 'I value you as a person.'"
His face flushes slightly, and you realize with some surprise that you've actually embarrassed him. Tony Stark, embarrassed.
"That's... fair," he admits quietly.
The table is silent for a beat, everyone watching this exchange like it's a tennis match.
Then Tony straightens up, and you can see him gathering his confidence again. "So what would be a better approach?"
"Not trying at all would be a good start," you say sweetly, returning to your noodles.
Natasha actually laughs out loud at that. "Oh, she's going to fit in just fine."
You think that might be the end of it. You really do.
You're wrong.
Over the next week, Tony Stark launches what can only be described as a campaign of romantic terrorism.
It starts the next morning when you find a note slipped under your door: Didn't mean to come on too strong. Fresh start? - TS
You crumple it up and throw it away.
The morning after that, there's a coffee waiting for you in the kitchen - your exact order, which you'd mentioned once in passing to Bruce. Tony is conspicuously absent, but you know it's from him.
You pour it down the sink.
On day three, he tries a different tactic. You're in the training room, working through a combat sequence, when he appears in the doorway.
"Don't mind me," he says, leaning against the frame. "Just appreciating the view."
You stop mid-kick and turn to stare at him. "Seriously?"
"What? I meant the - the technique! Your technique is very... viewable."
"Get out."
"I'm just -"
"Out."
He leaves, but not before you catch the dejected slump of his shoulders.
Day four brings flowers. An enormous bouquet of roses delivered to your room with a card that reads: Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm really bad at poetry, but I'm trying to impress you.
You have to admit, it's so terrible it's almost charming. Almost.
You give the flowers to Natasha, who puts them in the common area and spends the entire day making fun of Tony's "romantic gesture."
By the end of the first week, the other Avengers are starting to look at Tony with a mixture of pity and secondhand embarrassment.
"Tony," Steve says one morning, after Tony has spent ten minutes trying to engage you in conversation about quantum physics - a subject you have zero interest in and he clearly knows nothing about. "Maybe you should just... give her some space."
"I'm giving her space," Tony protests. "I'm being respectful. I'm not being pushy."
You look up from your breakfast. "You literally followed me to the gym yesterday and offered to spot me."
"That's what teammates do!"
"I was on a treadmill, Tony."
Clint chokes on his orange juice. Bruce drops his head into his hands. Even Steve can't quite suppress his wince.
Tony's face goes through several shades of red. "I was... nearby. It was a coincidence."
"You were on the treadmill next to mine, going 0.5 miles per hour, staring at me."
"I was cooling down!"
"For forty-five minutes?"
Natasha is openly laughing now, her shoulders shaking with mirth. "Oh my God, Tony. This is painful to watch."
"Thank you, Natasha, very helpful," Tony snaps, but his eyes are still on you, and there's something almost desperate in them now. "Look, I just -"
"Tony." You set down your fork and look at him directly. "I'm going to say this once, as clearly as I can: I am not interested. Not in dating you, not in sleeping with you, not in being wooed by your money or your charm or your increasingly pathetic attempts to get my attention. I think you're arrogant, self-absorbed, and way too used to getting what you want. So please, for the love of God, leave me alone."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Tony stares at you, his face pale now, and for a moment you see something crack in his expression - something that looks almost like genuine hurt.
Then he stands up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Right," he says, his voice tight. "Message received. Loud and clear."
He walks out of the kitchen, and you hear the elevator ding a moment later.
"Damn," Clint says softly. "That was brutal."
You shrug, ignoring the small twist of guilt in your stomach. "He needed to hear it."
Steve is watching you with those too-perceptive blue eyes. "Maybe," he says carefully. "But Tony... he doesn't handle rejection well. Never has."
"Not my problem," you say, but the guilt twists a little tighter.
You should be relieved. You are relieved. This is exactly what you wanted.
So why do you keep looking for him in the common areas? Why does the tower feel weirdly empty without his constant presence, his terrible jokes, his over-the-top attempts to make you smile?
You're not interested in Tony Stark. You're not.
But on the fourth day, when you pass by his workshop and hear the sound of something crashing, followed by a string of creative cursing, you find yourself stopping.
You should keep walking. This isn't your business.
You push open the door.
The workshop is chaos - tools scattered everywhere, holographic displays flickering, and Tony standing in the middle of it all, staring at what looks like a partially disassembled Iron Man gauntlet with an expression of pure frustration.
"What do you want?" he asks without looking up.
"I heard a crash."
"And you decided to check on me? How touching." His voice is bitter, sharp in a way you haven't heard before. "Don't worry, I'm not going to bother you anymore. You made yourself perfectly clear."
You should leave. You should turn around and walk out and let him sulk in peace.
Instead, you step further into the workshop. "What are you working on?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
"Tony…"
"Look," he says, finally turning to face you, and you're struck by how tired he looks. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is sticking up in about fifteen different directions. "I get it, okay? You think I'm an arrogant asshole who was just trying to get in your pants. And maybe you're right. Maybe that's all I am. But I'm trying to work here, so if you could just -"
"I don't think that's all you are," you say quietly.
He stops mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open slightly. "What?"
You're not sure why you're saying this. You're not sure what you're doing here at all. But something about the defeat in his posture, the genuine hurt in his eyes, makes you continue.
"I think you're brilliant," you say. "I think you're funny, and brave, and you've done incredible things. I think you hide behind arrogance because it's easier than being vulnerable. And I think you're so used to people wanting you for your money or your fame that you don't know how to just... be a person around someone new."
Tony stares at you like you've grown a second head. "I... what?"
"But," you continue, "I also think you came on way too strong, and your approach was terrible, and you needed to be shut down."
A laugh bursts out of him - short and surprised. "Wow. You really don't pull punches, do you?"
"Not really my style."
He runs a hand through his already messy hair, making it worse. "So what are you saying? That you... what? Want to start over?"
"I'm saying that maybe we could try being friends," you say. "Actual friends. No flirting, no pickup lines, no flowers or notes or following me to the gym."
"I wasn't -" He stops at your look. "Okay, yeah, that was weird. I acknowledge that was weird."
"Very weird."
"In my defense, you look really good when you work out."
"Tony."
"Right, right. Friends. No flirting." He makes a zipping motion across his lips. "I can do that. Totally. I'm great at having female friends. Ask Pepper. Actually, don't ask Pepper, she'll tell you about that time I - never mind. Point is, I can be friends."
You can't help but smile at his rambling. "Good."
"Although," he says, and you can see the familiar spark returning to his eyes, "just to be clear, when you inevitably fall for my charm and wit and devilish good looks -"
"Tony."
"- I will be gracious and understanding and only say 'I told you so' once. Maybe twice. Definitely no more than five times."
"That's never going to happen."
"Sure," he says, grinning now. "Keep telling yourself that."
You shake your head, but you're smiling too. "Show me what you're working on."
His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Really?"
"Really. But if you make one inappropriate comment -"
"I'll be the perfect gentleman," he promises, already pulling up holographic displays. "Scout's honor."
"Were you ever a scout?"
"No, but I could have been. If I'd wanted to. Which I didn't, because camping is terrible and I prefer my technology to my wilderness."
As he launches into an explanation of the new repulsor technology he's developing, complete with wild hand gestures and tangents about quantum mechanics, you find yourself relaxing. This Tony - enthusiastic, brilliant, unselfconscious - is someone you could actually like.
Tony keeps his word about the flirting. Mostly. There are still moments where he'll say something that toes the line, but he always catches himself, makes a joke, and moves on. It's almost endearing, watching him actively try to be respectful.
You start spending more time in his workshop. At first, it's just occasional visits, but soon you find yourself drawn there in the evenings, watching him work, asking questions, learning about his inventions. He's a good teacher when he's not trying to impress you - patient, enthusiastic, willing to explain things five different ways until you understand.
"You're a natural," he tells you one night, after you successfully calibrate a repulsor array on your first try. "Have you ever thought about engineering?"
"Not really my thing," you say, but you're pleased by the compliment. "I prefer the hands-on approach to problem-solving."
"You mean punching things?"
"Punching things is a valid problem-solving technique."
"Can't argue with that logic."
He starts bringing you coffee in the mornings - your actual order this time, not some elaborate attempt to impress you. Just coffee, handed over with a casual "Morning" before he disappears into his workshop or off to some meeting.
You start saving him a seat at team dinners.
It's small things, gradual things, but you notice them. And you notice the way the other Avengers notice them too.
"So," Natasha says one afternoon, cornering you in the training room. "You and Tony."
"Are friends," you finish firmly. "That's it."
She gives you a look that says she doesn't believe you for a second. "Uh-huh. And that's why you spend every evening in his workshop?"
"He's interesting to talk to."
"He's been interested in talking to you since day one. You're the one who's changed."
You want to argue, but you can't. Because she's right. Something has shifted in the past few weeks. Tony has stopped being the arrogant playboy you dismissed on day one and started being... Tony. The real Tony, underneath all the bravado.
The Tony who works himself to exhaustion trying to make the world safer. The Tony who remembers everyone's coffee orders and favorite foods. The Tony who makes terrible jokes when he's nervous and rambles about science when he's excited. The Tony who looks at you sometimes like you're the most fascinating person in the world, but respects you enough not to say it.
"I'm not interested in him," you tell Natasha, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.
You're looking for Tony - he missed team training, which is unusual - and JARVIS directs you to the workshop. But when you get there, the door is locked.
"JARVIS, is Tony in there?"
"Yes, miss. However, he has requested not to be disturbed."
You frown. "Is he okay?"
There's a pause. "Sir has been... working extensively. I believe he may benefit from a break, but he has not been receptive to my suggestions."
That's concerning. You've learned that when JARVIS starts hinting that Tony needs help, it usually means Tony is in bad shape.
"Can you let me in?"
"I'm afraid I cannot override Sir's direct orders without cause."
"JARVIS," you say firmly. "Let me in."
Another pause. Then: "Of course, miss."
The door slides open, and you step into the workshop.
It's a disaster. Worse than usual. Tools and parts are scattered everywhere, holographic displays flicker and glitch, and in the middle of it all is Tony, hunched over a workbench, his hands shaking as he tries to solder something.
"Tony?"
He doesn't look up. "JARVIS, I said no interruptions."
"When's the last time you slept?"
"I'm fine."
You move closer and see the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands, the way he's swaying slightly even while sitting down. "You're not fine."
"I said I'm fine!" He slams his hand down on the workbench, and the soldering iron clatters to the floor. "I just need to - I have to -"
His voice cracks, and that's when you see it: the arc reactor in his chest is flickering.
"Tony." You're at his side in an instant, your hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? What's happening?"
"Nothing. It's nothing. Just a glitch in the -" He tries to stand and immediately sways. You catch him, and he's burning up, his skin hot to the touch.
"JARVIS, what's going on?"
"Sir has been experiencing complications with the arc reactor," JARVIS says, and there's something almost worried in the AI's voice. "He has been attempting to repair it himself for the past forty-eight hours without success. I have recommended medical attention, but he has refused."
"Forty-eight hours?" You stare at Tony in disbelief. "You haven't slept in two days?"
"I can't," he says, and his voice is small, almost childlike. "If I sleep, if I stop working, it might… the reactor might -"
"Okay," you say, forcing calm into your voice even though your heart is racing. "Okay, it's going to be fine. We're going to fix this. JARVIS, get Bruce down here. Now."
"Already on his way, miss."
You guide Tony to a chair, and he goes without resistance, which is more alarming than anything else. Tony Stark never goes without resistance.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't want - I didn't want anyone to see me like this."
"Like what?"
"Weak. Broken. Pathetic." He laughs, but it's hollow. "The great Tony Stark, brought down by his own technology. Ironic, right?"
"You're not pathetic," you say firmly. "You're human. And you're an idiot for not asking for help sooner, but you're not pathetic."
He looks up at you, and there's something raw in his expression. "You must think I'm such a mess."
"I think you're scared," you say softly. "And I think you've been dealing with this alone for too long."
Bruce arrives then, medical bag in hand, and you step back to let him work. But you don't leave. You stay there, watching as Bruce examines the reactor, as he and Tony talk in low voices about palladium poisoning and energy output and a dozen other things you don't fully understand.
It takes three hours, but eventually, Bruce manages to stabilize the reactor. Tony slumps in his chair, exhausted and pale but alive.
"You need to sleep," Bruce says firmly. "At least twelve hours. And then we're going to have a serious conversation about your health and your tendency to hide medical emergencies from your team."
"Can't wait," Tony mutters, but there's no heat in it.
Bruce leaves, and you're alone with Tony again. He's staring at the floor, his shoulders hunched, and he looks smaller somehow. Diminished.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," he says quietly.
"I'm not." You pull up a chair and sit next to him. "Tony, you can't keep doing this. You can't keep trying to handle everything alone."
"I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not a burden. You're part of a team. That means we help each other."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "I wanted you to think I was strong. Capable. Someone worth... worth knowing."
Your heart clenches. "Tony…"
"I know, I know. We're friends. You've made that very clear. But I still wanted - I wanted you to see the best parts of me. Not this." He gestures vaguely at himself. "Not the broken parts."
You reach out and take his hand. His fingers are still trembling slightly, but they curl around yours, holding on like you're an anchor.
"The broken parts are part of you too," you say. "And they don't make you less worth knowing. They make you real."
He looks at you then, really looks at you, and something passes between you. Something that makes your breath catch and your pulse quicken.
"I should get you to bed," you say, and your voice comes out rougher than intended. "You need to sleep."
"Will you stay?" The question is quiet, almost hesitant. "Just until I fall asleep. I don't - I don't want to be alone right now."
You should say no. You should maintain boundaries, keep things professional, remember that you're just friends.
"Okay," you say instead. "I'll stay."
You help him up to his bedroom - a space you've never seen before, surprisingly simple compared to the rest of the tower. He collapses onto the bed fully clothed, and you sit in the chair by the window.
"Thank you," he murmurs, his eyes already closing. "For not leaving. For not... for not thinking I'm pathetic."
"Never," you promise.
You watch him fall asleep, his face relaxing, the tension finally leaving his body. And you realize, with a jolt that feels like touching a live wire, that Natasha was right.
The next morning, you're in the kitchen early, nursing a cup of coffee and trying to process your revelation from the night before, when Tony appears in the doorway.
He looks better - still tired, but the color has returned to his face, and his hands are steady. He stops when he sees you, something uncertain crossing his expression.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey. How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck, but Bruce says the reactor is stable." He moves into the kitchen, pouring himself coffee. "Thank you. For last night. For staying."
"Of course."
He leans against the counter, studying you. "I meant what I said, you know. About wanting you to see the best parts of me. I know I came on too strong at first, and I know you're not interested, but I…" He stops, seeming to struggle with the words. "I value your friendship. More than I've valued anything in a long time. And I don't want to lose that."
Your heart is pounding. This is the moment. You could keep things as they are, safe and simple and uncomplicated. Or you could take a risk.
"What if I said I was interested?" you hear yourself ask.
Tony freezes, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. "What?"
"What if I said that maybe I've been wrong? That maybe I've been seeing you differently lately?"
He sets down the cup very carefully, like he's afraid any sudden movement will shatter this moment. "Are you... are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"I don't know." You stand up, moving closer to him. "What do you think I'm saying?"
"I think -" His voice is rough. "I think you're saying that maybe you don't hate the idea of us being more than friends."
"I never hated the idea," you admit. "I hated the approach. The arrogance. The assumption that I'd just fall at your feet like everyone else."
"And now?"
"Now I've seen who you really are. Not the persona, not the performance. Just... you." You're standing right in front of him now, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "And I like what I see."
He swallows hard. "I don't… I don't know what to say. I've been trying so hard not to push, not to make you uncomfortable, and now you're -"
You kiss him.
It's not planned, not thought through. You just lean in and press your lips to his, and for a moment he's frozen in shock. Then his hands come up to cup your face, gentle and reverent, and he's kissing you back like you're something precious.
When you pull away, he's staring at you with wonder. "Wow."
"Yeah," you agree breathlessly. "Wow."
"So does this mean - are we -"
"I don't know what we are," you say honestly. "But I'd like to find out. If you're interested."
A laugh bursts out of him, bright and disbelieving. "If I'm interested? I've been interested since the moment I saw you. I've been pathetically, embarrassingly interested."
"I know." You grin. "It was kind of hard to miss."
"I made such an idiot of myself."
"You really did."
"And you still want to give this a shot?"
"Apparently I have terrible taste in men."
He kisses you again, and this time there's more confidence in it, more heat. His hands slide into your hair, and you press closer, and it's perfect and terrifying and -
"Oh my God."
You break apart to find Natasha standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with delight.
"Finally," she says, grinning. "I thought I was going to have to lock you two in a closet."
Tony groans. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." She pulls out her phone. "Steve owes me fifty bucks."
"You bet on us?" you ask incredulously.
"Honey, everyone bet on you. Well, everyone except Clint, who thought Tony would give up after the treadmill incident." She's already typing. "This is going to make my whole week."
As she leaves, still grinning, Tony turns back to you. "So," he says. "This is going to be all over the tower in about five minutes."
"Probably."
"Everyone's going to have opinions."
"Definitely."
"And I'm going to be insufferably smug about being right."
"I'm already regretting this."
But you're smiling, and so is he, and when he kisses you again, you think that maybe, just maybe, this is worth all the complications.
In public, around the team, you and Tony maintain a careful balance. There's no dramatic PDA, no constant touching, nothing that would make the others uncomfortable. But there are small things: his hand on the small of your back as you walk into a room, the way he saves you a seat next to him, the inside jokes that make you both laugh while everyone else looks confused.
In private, it's different.
In private, Tony is... not what you expected.
You'd assumed, based on his public persona, that he'd be dominant, aggressive, always in control. The Tony Stark the world sees is confident to the point of arrogance, always taking charge, always leading.
But the Tony you're getting to know in quiet moments is something else entirely.
He's hesitant. Careful. Always checking in, always making sure you're comfortable, always letting you set the pace. When you kiss him, he responds eagerly but never pushes for more. When you're alone in his workshop or his bedroom, he seems content to just be near you, to talk and laugh and exist in the same space.
It's sweet. It's respectful.
It's also starting to drive you crazy.
You're in his workshop one evening, three weeks after that first kiss, watching him work on some new piece of tech. He's explaining the mechanics of it, his hands moving expressively, and you're barely listening because you're too busy watching the way his t-shirt stretches across his shoulders, the way his fingers manipulate the delicate components with surprising grace.
" - and that's why the energy output is so much more efficient than the previous model. Are you even listening?"
You blink. "What?"
He's watching you with amusement. "You're not listening at all."
"I'm listening."
"Really? What did I just say?"
"Something about... energy?"
He laughs, setting down his tools. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
You could deflect. You could make a joke. Instead, you stand up and cross to where he's sitting, and before you can second-guess yourself, you swing your leg over his lap, straddling him in his chair.
His eyes go wide. "Oh."
"Hi," you say.
"Hi." His hands hover uncertainly near your hips, like he's not sure if he's allowed to touch. "This is... this is new."
"Is it okay?"
"Is it - yes. Yes, it's very okay. It's extremely okay." He's rambling now, a sure sign he's nervous. "I just wasn't expecting… not that I'm complaining, I'm definitely not complaining, I just -"
You kiss him, and he melts into it, his hands finally settling on your waist. You deepen the kiss, and he makes a small sound in the back of his throat that sends heat pooling in your belly.
When you pull back, he's flushed, his pupils dilated. "Wow."
"We've been doing this for three weeks," you say, your hands on his shoulders. "And we haven't... we haven't gone past kissing."
"I didn't want to rush you," he says quickly. "I didn't want you to think that's all I wanted, because it's not. I like spending time with you. I like talking to you. I like -"
"Tony." You cut off his rambling. "I'm not feeling rushed. I'm feeling like maybe you're not interested in more."
His laugh is incredulous. "Not interested? Are you kidding? I'm extremely interested. I'm so interested it's actually kind of embarrassing."
"Then why haven't you made a move?"
He's quiet for a moment, his thumbs rubbing small circles on your hips. "Because I didn't want to screw this up," he finally says. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you, and I came on way too strong, and I nearly ruined everything before it even started. And now that I actually have you, now that you've given me a chance, I don't want to do anything that might make you change your mind."
Your heart squeezes. "Tony, you're not going to scare me off by wanting me."
"You say that now."
"I mean it." You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. "I want you too. I want this. I want more."
He shudders, his fingers tightening on your waist. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You pull back to look at him. "So maybe we could go to your room? And see what happens?"
For a moment, he just stares at you. Then he's standing up, lifting you with him, your legs wrapping around his waist. "JARVIS, lock down the workshop. No interruptions."
"Of course, sir. Shall I inform the team that you're indisposed?"
"Tell them I'm dead. Tell them I've been kidnapped by aliens. Tell them whatever you want, just make sure no one bothers us."
"Very good, sir."
Tony carries you to the elevator, kissing you the entire way, and you're laughing against his mouth because this is ridiculous and perfect and exactly what you want.
His bedroom is dark when you arrive, but JARVIS helpfully turns on soft lighting. Tony sets you down on the bed carefully, like you're something fragile, and then he's hovering over you, his weight supported on his forearms.
"Hi," he says, and there's something vulnerable in his expression.
"Hi yourself."
"I just want to make sure - you're sure about this? Because we can stop anytime. We can just kiss, or we can just sleep, or -"
You pull him down into a kiss, and this time there's no hesitation, no holding back. Your hands slide under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the arc reactor smooth and cool under your palm. He gasps into your mouth, and you feel him hardening against your thigh.
"I'm sure," you murmur against his lips. "Are you?"
"God, yes."
You push at his shoulders, and he goes easily, rolling onto his back. You follow, straddling him again, and his hands immediately find your hips, holding on like you're an anchor.
"Is this okay?" you ask, grinding down slightly.
His head falls back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering closed. "So okay. So, so okay."
You lean down to kiss him again, your hands exploring his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He's more muscular than you expected under the t-shirts, his body hard and warm beneath your touch. When you pull back to tug off your own shirt, his eyes go wide.
"Jesus," he breathes. "You're so - you're perfect."
"I'm really not."
"You are to me."
It should be cheesy, but the way he says it makes your heart skip. You reach back to unhook your bra, and his hands come up to help, fumbling slightly with the clasp.
"Sorry," he mutters. "It's been a while, and I'm a little -"
"Tony." You catch his hands, stilling them. "Relax. We've got time."
He takes a deep breath, nodding, and you guide his hands to your breasts. His touch is gentle, almost tentative, and you arch into it, encouraging him. He grows bolder, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you gasp.
"Good?" he asks.
"Very good."
You lean down to kiss him again, and this time there's more urgency, more heat. Your hands work at his shirt, and he helps you pull it off, and then it's skin against skin, and it's perfect.
You work your way down his body, kissing his chest, his stomach, the arc reactor. He tenses when your lips touch the metal, but you don't pull away, and gradually he relaxes.
"You don't have to -" he starts, but you cut him off.
"I want to."
You undo his jeans, and he lifts his hips to help you pull them off. He's hard, straining against his boxers, and when you palm him through the fabric, he makes a choked sound.
"Fuck," he gasps. "That's - that's really good."
You pull down his boxers, and his cock springs free, flushed and hard. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he bucks into your touch.
"Wait," he says suddenly, his hand catching your wrist. "Wait, I - I need to tell you something."
You pause, concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, I just…" He's flushed, his breathing ragged. "I'm not - I'm not usually like this."
"Like what?"
"Like..." He gestures vaguely. "Passive. Submissive. I don't usually let someone else take control like this."
You process that. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No! God, no. It's just -" He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I want you to know that this is different for me. You're different. And I don't know why, but with you, I don't want to be in control. I want you to take what you want from me."
Your breath catches. There's something raw in his admission, something vulnerable that makes you want to protect him and devour him in equal measure.
"Are you sure?" you ask softly.
"I've never been more sure of anything."
You lean down to kiss him, slow and deep. "Okay," you murmur against his lips. "Then let me take care of you."
You work your way down his body again, and this time when you take him in your mouth, he cries out, his hands fisting in the sheets. You work him slowly, learning what makes him gasp, what makes him moan, what makes his hips buck involuntarily.
"Please," he gasps after a few minutes. "Please, I need you."
You pull off, wiping your mouth. "What do you need?"
"You. Please."
You strip off the rest of your clothes, and his eyes track every movement, dark with want. When you straddle him again, positioning yourself over his cock, his hands come up to grip your hips.
"Wait," he says. "Condom. I have - drawer."
You lean over to the nightstand, finding the box and pulling one out. You roll it onto him slowly, enjoying the way he watches you, the way his breath comes faster.
Then you sink down onto him, and you both moan.
"Oh fuck," he gasps. "Oh fuck, you feel so good."
You start to move, slowly at first, adjusting to the stretch. His hands are tight on your hips, but he's not controlling your movements - he's just holding on, letting you set the pace.
You pick up the pace, riding him harder, and his head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut. He looks wrecked, completely undone, and the sight of him like this - powerful Tony Stark, completely at your mercy - is intoxicating.
"Look at me," you command, and his eyes snap open immediately. "I want you to watch."
"Okay," he breathes. "Okay, yes, anything."
You lean forward, changing the angle, and he groans. "Touch me," you tell him. "Make me come."
His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, and you gasp. He circles it carefully, watching your face for reactions, adjusting his touch based on your responses.
"Like that," you gasp. "Just like that."
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. "So fucking beautiful like this. Using me. Taking what you need."
His words push you closer to the edge, and you ride him harder, chasing your pleasure. When you come, it's intense, your body clenching around him, and he cries out.
"Can I -" he gasps. "Please, can I -"
"Come for me," you tell him. "Let go."
He does, his hips bucking up into you, his hands bruising on your hips, and you feel him pulse inside you. He's beautiful like this, completely lost in pleasure, and you lean down to kiss him through it.
When you both come down, you collapse onto his chest, and his arms wrap around you immediately, holding you close.
"Holy shit," he breathes.
"Yeah."
"That was - I don't even have words."
You laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Good words?"
"The best words. All the words." He's quiet for a moment, his hand stroking your back. "I meant what I said. About this being different. About you being different."
"I know."
"I don't usually - I'm not usually like that. In bed, I mean. I'm usually more... in control."
You prop yourself up to look at him. "Did you not like it?"
"Are you kidding? That was the hottest thing that's ever happened to me." He cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. "I loved it. I loved giving up control to you. I loved letting you take what you wanted. I just… I wanted you to know that it's not my usual thing. It's a you thing."
Your heart swells. "I liked it too. A lot."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You kiss him softly. "I liked seeing you like that. Vulnerable. Trusting me."
"I do trust you," he says quietly. "More than I've trusted anyone in a long time."
You curl back into his chest, and he holds you close, and for a while you just lie there, basking in the afterglow.
"So," he says eventually, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Does this mean I can finally tell everyone I was right about us?"
The next morning, you wake up in Tony's bed, wrapped in his arms. He's still asleep, his face peaceful, and you take a moment to just look at him. Without the bravado, without the performance, he's just a man. A brilliant, complicated, wonderful man who somehow decided you were worth all his pathetic attempts at wooing.
His eyes flutter open, and he smiles when he sees you. "Morning."
"Morning."
"So," he says, his hand tracing patterns on your bare shoulder. "Last night was..."
"Amazing?"
"I was going to say life-changing, but amazing works too." He pulls you closer. "Can we do it again? Like, right now? And then maybe again after breakfast? And then possibly several more times throughout the day?"
You laugh. "Insatiable."
"Only for you." He kisses your forehead. "But seriously, last night... that thing I told you about. About being submissive with you. That's not something I usually share."
"I know."
"The media, the public, they all see me as this dominant alpha male type. And usually, I play into that. But with you..." He trails off, seeming to struggle with the words.
"With me, you can be yourself," you finish softly.
"Yeah." He looks relieved that you understand. "Is that... is that okay? Because I know it's probably not what you expected, and if you're not into it -"
You kiss him, cutting off his rambling. "Tony, I loved it. I loved seeing that side of you. I loved that you trusted me enough to show me."
"Really?"
"Really." You grin. "Plus, I have to admit, having Tony Stark completely at my mercy is kind of a power trip."
He laughs. "I bet. Just don't let it go to your head."
"Too late."
You spend the morning in bed, talking and laughing and exploring each other. When you finally emerge, it's nearly noon, and you're both starving.
In the kitchen, you find Natasha and Clint making lunch. They both look up when you enter, and matching grins spread across their faces.
"Well, well," Natasha says. "Look who finally decided to join the land of the living."
"Shut up," you mutter, but you're smiling.
"JARVIS said Tony was 'indisposed' last night," Clint says, his grin widening. "We figured that meant one of two things: either he was having a mental breakdown, or you two were finally…"
"Clint," you warn.
"I'm just saying, it's about time. The sexual tension was getting unbearable."
Tony appears behind you, his hand settling on your lower back. "Good morning, team. Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Someone's in a good mood," Natasha observes.
"I'm always in a good mood."
"Not like this, you're not." She's studying you both with knowing eyes. "This is the 'I finally got laid' good mood."
"Natasha," you groan.
"What? I'm just making an observation."
Steve walks in then, takes one look at all of you, and immediately turns around. "Nope. I don't want to know."
"Steve, come on," Tony calls after him. "Don't you want to hear about how I was right all along?"
"Not even a little bit!"
You bury your face in your hands. "This is going to be a thing now, isn't it?"
"Oh, absolutely," Natasha says cheerfully. "We're never letting either of you live this down."
Tony just grins, pulling you closer. "Worth it," he murmurs in your ear.
And despite the teasing, despite the knowing looks and the jokes that will probably continue for months, you have to agree.
Over the next few weeks, you and Tony settle into a relationship that's unlike anything you expected.
In public, he's still Tony Stark - confident, charming, always ready with a quip or a joke. But in private, with you, he's different. Softer. More vulnerable. And yes, decidedly submissive.
It's not something you talk about explicitly at first. It's just something that happens naturally. When you're alone together, you take the lead. You decide when to kiss him, when to touch him, when to take things further. And he follows your lead eagerly, happily, like it's exactly what he needs.
One evening, about a month into your relationship, you're in his workshop. He's working on something, and you're reading on the couch, and it's comfortable and domestic in a way that makes your heart ache.
"Can I ask you something?" you say suddenly.
He looks up from his work. "Always."
"Why me?"
He blinks. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you could have anyone. You're Tony Stark. You're rich, you're famous, you're brilliant. You could have any woman you wanted. So why did you fixate on me? Why did you keep trying even after I shut you down over and over?"
He sets down his tools and comes to sit next to you on the couch. "You really don't know?"
"I really don't."
He takes your hand, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. "Because you were the first person in years who saw through the bullshit. The first person who called me on my crap and didn't let me get away with anything. The first person who made me want to be better."
"Tony…"
"I'm serious. Everyone else, they either want something from me or they're intimidated by me or they buy into the persona. But you? You looked at me and saw exactly who I was, and you weren't impressed. And that was... that was incredible. That was exactly what I needed."
You're quiet for a moment, processing. "And the submissive thing? Is that new, or...?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "It's not new. I've always had those tendencies. But I've never acted on them before. Never felt safe enough to let someone else take control like that."
"Why not?"
"Because Tony Stark isn't supposed to be submissive," he says, and there's bitterness in his voice. "Tony Stark is supposed to be dominant, in control, always on top. That's the image. That's what people expect. And for a long time, I tried to be that person, even in private. But it never felt right. It always felt like another performance."
"And with me?"
"With you, I don't have to perform." He looks at you, and there's such honesty in his eyes. "With you, I can just be myself. All of myself, including the parts I usually hide."
You lean in and kiss him softly. "Thank you for trusting me with that."
"Thank you for not running away screaming."
"Never."
He pulls you into his lap, and you go willingly, straddling him. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel him already hardening beneath you.
"You know," you murmur, grinding down slightly, "I'm starting to really enjoy this dynamic."
He groans. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I like having you at my mercy. I like watching you fall apart for me."
"Fuck," he breathes. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because it makes me want to drag you to bed and let you do whatever you want to me."
You grin. "Is that a problem?"
"Not even a little bit."
You stand up, pulling him with you. "Come on, then. Let's go to bed."
"Yes, ma'am," he says, and the way he says it sends heat pooling in your belly.
In the bedroom, you take your time undressing him, enjoying the way he shivers under your touch. When he's naked, you push him onto the bed and stand back to look at him.
"God, you're beautiful," you say.
He flushes. "I'm really not."
"You are to me." You strip off your own clothes slowly, watching his eyes track every movement. "Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to lie there and let me use you however I want. You're not going to touch me unless I tell you to. And you're not going to come until I give you permission. Understand?"
His breath catches. "Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, ma'am."
The title sends a thrill through you. You climb onto the bed, straddling his thighs, and wrap your hand around his cock. He's already hard, already leaking, and when you stroke him, he bucks into your touch.
"Stay still," you command.
He freezes immediately, his hands fisting in the sheets. "Sorry."
"Good boy."
He moans at the praise, and you file that away for later. You work him slowly, learning his body, figuring out what makes him gasp and what makes him whimper. When he's trembling, right on the edge, you stop.
"Please," he gasps. "Please, I need -"
"What do you need?"
"You. I need you."
You shift forward, positioning yourself over him, and sink down slowly. He fills you perfectly, and you both moan.
"Don't move," you tell him. "Let me do all the work."
"Okay," he breathes. "Okay, yes, whatever you want."
You ride him slowly, taking your pleasure, and he watches you with dark, desperate eyes. His hands are still fisted in the sheets, his whole body tense with the effort of staying still.
"You're doing so well," you tell him. "Being so good for me."
"Thank you," he gasps. "Thank you, fuck, you feel so good."
You pick up the pace, chasing your orgasm, and when you come, clenching around him, he cries out.
"Please," he begs. "Please, can I come? I need to come, please—"
"Not yet," you say, even though you're still trembling from your own orgasm. "I'm not done with you."
You ride him through the aftershocks, and he's shaking now, sweat beading on his forehead, his cock impossibly hard inside you.
"Please," he whimpers. "Please, I can't - I need -"
"Okay," you say, taking pity on him. "Okay, you can come. Come for me, Tony."
He does, immediately, his whole body going rigid as he spills inside you. He's beautiful like this, completely undone, and you lean down to kiss him through it.
When you both come down, you collapse onto his chest, and his arms wrap around you immediately.
"Holy shit," he breathes. "That was…”
"Good?"
"Transcendent. Life-altering. I don't have enough words."
You laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I like having you like this. All desperate and needy."
"I like being like this for you," he admits. "I like not having to be in control. I like just... surrendering."
"Good," you murmur. "Because I'm not letting you go anytime soon."
Three months into your relationship, you're more in love with Tony Stark than you ever thought possible.
He's still arrogant and infuriating and too smart for his own good. But he's also kind and generous and surprisingly vulnerable. He brings you coffee every morning and listens when you talk about your day and holds you when you have nightmares.
And in bed, he's everything you never knew you wanted. Eager and obedient and so desperate to please you that it sometimes takes your breath away.
The team has mostly adjusted to you being together. Steve still gets uncomfortable when Tony makes suggestive comments, but that's just Steve. Natasha thinks it's hilarious and never misses an opportunity to tease you both. Bruce is happy for you in his quiet way. Clint has a running bet with Sam about how long it'll be before Tony proposes.
(You pretend not to know about the bet, but you've seen the spreadsheet.)
One evening, you're curled up on the couch in Tony's penthouse, watching a movie, when he suddenly says, "I love you."
You freeze. It's the first time either of you has said it.
"You don't have to say it back," he continues quickly. "I just wanted you to know. I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been for a while now, and I just… I needed to tell you."
You turn to look at him, and there's such vulnerability in his expression that it makes your heart ache.
"I love you too," you say softly.
His face lights up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I love you, Tony Stark. Even though you're a disaster and you drive me crazy and you tried to impress me by following me to the gym that one time."
He groans. "Are you ever going to let me live that down?"
"Never."
He pulls you into his lap, and you go willingly, straddling him. "I'm the luckiest man alive," he murmurs against your lips.
"You really are."
"And so humble, too."
You laugh and kiss him, and it's perfect. Everything about this is perfect.
Later, in bed, after you've thoroughly exhausted each other, Tony traces patterns on your bare shoulder.
"Can I tell you something?" he asks quietly.
"Always."
"I never thought I'd have this. Someone who loves me for me, not for my money or my fame or the Iron Man suit. Someone who sees all my broken parts and doesn't run away. Someone who makes me feel safe enough to be vulnerable."
You turn to face him. "Tony."
"I know I was pathetic at first. I know I came on way too strong and made a fool of myself. But I don't regret it. Because it led to this. To us."
"I don't regret it either," you say. "Even the treadmill incident."
He laughs. "Especially the treadmill incident. That was a low point."
"It really was."
"But it was worth it." He pulls you closer. "You're worth it. This is worth it."
You kiss him softly. "I love you."
"I love you too." He grins. "And I'm never letting you go."
"Good," you say. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
And as you fall asleep in his arms, you think about how far you've both come. From that first disastrous meeting to this - to love, to trust, to a partnership that's unlike anything you ever expected.
Tony Stark may have been pathetic in his pursuit of you, but in the end, he won you over not with his charm or his money or his fame, but with his honesty. With his vulnerability. With his willingness to show you all of himself, even the parts he usually hides.
Hi hi! I absolutely love your interpretation of Tony Stark and I’m totally not binging your stuff rn 👀
Could you do one with the reader being the team’s doctor? Gender neutral if possible, with the ability to heal people with a touch and take their pain. They’re also a bit of an asshole and they go blow for verbal blow with each other. The relationship started with the healer bothering him every time he missed a checkup. Have fun with it and I hope you enjoy writing it! Thanks!
Prescription for Disaster
Pairing: Tony Stark x Doctor F!Reader
Warning/Rating: 16+; romantic tension and flirtation, language, medical scenes (minor blood/injury), emotional vulnerability, implied intimacy
Word Count: 6.8 K
You found him in his workshop at 2:47 AM, which was exactly where you knew he'd be. The holographic displays cast blue light across Tony Stark's face as he worked, and you caught sight of your own reflection in the glass panels - hair pulled back, the dark circles under your eyes a testament to your own sleepless nights. The holographic displays cast blue light across Tony Stark's face as he manipulated some piece of tech that probably cost more than a small country's GDP. He didn't look up when you entered, which meant he'd definitely seen you coming.
"JARVIS," you said pleasantly to the air, "lock the exits."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Doctor," the AI responded with what you swore was amusement.
"Worth a shot." You crossed your arms and planted yourself directly in Tony's line of sight. "Appointment was at fourteen-hundred hours. That's 2 PM for those of us who don't speak military time but pretend to."
"I know what fourteen-hundred hours means." Tony still didn't look at you, fingers dancing through holographic schematics. "I was busy. Saving the world. You know, the usual."
"You were in here building what appears to be..." you squinted at the projection, "a coffee maker that also plays Spotify?"
"It's a smart coffee maker that analyzes your circadian rhythms and adjusts caffeine levels accordingly while curating a playlist based on your neurological responses to -" He finally glanced up, catching your expression. "You don't care."
"Not even a little bit." You stepped closer, deliberately disrupting his workspace. "This is your fifth missed appointment, Stark. Fifth. I've had to chase down literal gods who were more cooperative than you."
"Thor likes you. Says you remind him of a Valkyrie. That whole healer thing combined with the death threat energy is apparently very Asgardian."
"Thor respects that I could kill him in seventeen different ways with the supplies in a standard med bay while looking this good doing it. You should too."
That got a smile. Small, but there. "Threatening me, Doc? That's not very Hippocratic of you."
"I took an oath to do no harm. I'm extremely creative about what constitutes 'harm.'" You planted your hands on his workbench, leaning in. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to walk your genius billionaire ass to the med bay right now, or I'm going to tell Pepper you've been dodging checkups again."
"That's a low blow."
"I fight dirty. It's why Fury hired me." You straightened. "Also, I can see you favoring your left side. That repulsor burn from the Hammer tech incident three weeks ago isn't healing properly, is it?"
Tony's expression flickered - just for a second - before the mask slammed back into place. "It's fine."
"If I had a nickel for every time someone said 'it's fine' right before collapsing in my med bay, I'd have enough money to buy Stark Industries."
"Stark Industries isn't for sale."
"My point stands." You moved around the table, and he tracked you with his eyes, wary now. "You know what happens when burns don't heal properly? Infection. Tissue necrosis. Sepsis. Would you like me to continue, or are you getting the picture?"
"You're very graphic for a healer."
"I'm very realistic for someone who's had to put you back together more times than I can count." You were close enough now to see the faint shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. "When's the last time you slept?"
"When's the last time you didn't ask me that?"
"When's the last time you gave me a straight answer?"
Tony leaned back in his chair, studying you with that calculating look that probably made shareholders nervous. On you, it had stopped working around appointment number twelve. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"I'm like a dog with a bone. Except the bone is your medical negligence and I have a healing degree from Johns Hopkins."
"Johns Hopkins doesn't offer degrees in supernatural healing."
"Shows what you know. They have a whole program now. Very exclusive." You grabbed his coffee mug - half full and probably cold - and moved it out of reach. "Med bay. Now. Or I start telling embarrassing stories at the next team meeting."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me. I've got a great one about the time you came in with that thing stuck in your -"
"Okay!" Tony stood abruptly, hands raised in surrender. "Jesus. You're worse than Pepper."
"Pepper uses disappointment. I use blackmail. We're a good team." You gestured toward the door. "After you, Mr. Stark."
"It's Tony. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"When you start showing up for appointments, I'll consider it." You followed him out, and didn't miss the way he moved - careful, guarded. That burn was definitely worse than he'd let on.
The walk to the med bay was silent except for the echo of footsteps in the empty corridor. Most of the team was asleep, like normal people. You and Tony existed in this weird nocturnal overlap, him because he didn't sleep and you because someone had to be awake when the inevitable 3 AM crisis occurred.
"You know," Tony said as you keyed open the med bay doors, "most people find my charm irresistible."
"Most people haven't seen you try to convince them that arc reactor maintenance counts as a medical checkup."
"It's a vital organ!"
"It's a machine in your chest. Different thing." You pointed at the examination table. "Sit. Shirt off."
"Buy me dinner first."
"Stark."
"Fine, fine." He pulled off his Black Sabbath t-shirt with a wince he tried to hide. Didn't work. You'd been doing this too long.
The burn was worse than you'd thought. The skin around his left ribs was angry red, blistered in places, and definitely infected. You felt your jaw tighten, your whole body going rigid with anger and concern. You'd seen a lot as a medical professional, but this level of negligence never stopped making you want to strangle him.
"It's not that bad," Tony said, reading your expression.
"You're right. It's worse." You snapped on gloves, gathering supplies. "This should have been treated weeks ago. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking I had more important things to do than -"
"Than take care of yourself? Yeah, I got that memo. It's practically your brand." You pulled up a stool, examining the wound more closely. "This is going to hurt."
"I can take it."
"I know you can. Doesn't mean you should have to." You met his eyes, and something passed between you - understanding, maybe. Recognition. "I'm going to clean it first, then heal it. The healing will take the pain, but the cleaning is going to suck."
"Your bedside manner needs work."
"My bedside manner is perfect. I just don't waste it on people who don't follow medical advice." You started cleaning the wound, and felt him tense. "You know, if you actually came to your appointments, I could catch things like this before they become problems."
"Where's the fun in that?" His voice was tight.
"The fun is in not getting sepsis, but maybe that's just me." You worked efficiently, years of practice making your movements sure. "Why do you do this, Tony?"
"Do what?"
"Avoid this. Avoid me. Avoid taking care of yourself." You didn't look up from your work. "You're not stupid. You know what happens when injuries go untreated."
Silence. Then: "Maybe I don't like being reminded that I'm breakable."
That made you pause. You looked up, found him staring at the ceiling, jaw tight. "Everyone's breakable. That's not a character flaw."
"Feels like one when you're supposed to be Iron Man."
"Iron Man is a suit. Tony Stark is a person." You finished cleaning, stripped off the gloves. "And people need maintenance too. Novel concept, I know."
"You're kind of an asshole, Doc."
"Right back at you." You placed your hands over the wound, felt the familiar warmth building in your palms. "Ready?"
He nodded.
The healing always felt like this - a rush of heat, the sensation of tissue knitting together, and underneath it all, the echo of pain transferring from him to you. It wasn't agony, not anymore. You'd learned to process it, let it flow through and dissipate. But you felt it: the sharp burn, the deep ache, the weeks of ignored discomfort he'd been carrying.
When you pulled back, the skin was clean. Healed. Like it had never been damaged.
Tony looked down, then up at you. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me. Just show up next time." You stood, putting distance between you because the air felt too close suddenly. "I mean it, Stark. You pull this again, and I'm staging an intervention. I'll get Rhodey involved."
"Evil."
"Effective." You turned back, found him still sitting there, something unreadable in his expression. "What?"
"Nothing. Just... you're good at this. The healing thing. The caring thing, even if you pretend you don't."
"I'm not pretending anything. I'm your doctor. It's literally my job to keep you alive." But your voice came out softer than you intended.
"Right. Your job." He slid off the table, grabbed his shirt. "Same time next week?"
"You're not going to show up."
"Probably not."
"Then I'll come find you again."
Tony paused at the door, looked back with something that might have been a smile. "Yeah. I figured you would."
The call came in at 11:37 PM: team returning from Moscow, multiple injuries, ETA twenty minutes.
You were already prepping the med bay when they arrived. Natasha walked in under her own power - dislocated shoulder, some bruising. Clint had a gash across his forehead that looked worse than it was. Steve was helping Bruce, who was still green-tinged and disoriented from a forced Hulk-out.
Tony wasn't with them.
"Where's Stark?" you asked, hands already on Natasha's shoulder, feeling for the displacement.
"Said he was fine," Steve answered, easing Bruce onto a bed. "Flew back separately."
"Of course he did." You relocated Natasha's shoulder with a quick jerk and a pulse of healing warmth. She didn't even flinch. "JARVIS, where's Tony?"
"Sir is in his workshop, Doctor."
"Is he injured?"
A pause. "Sir has instructed me not to answer medical inquiries."
"JARVIS."
"He's bleeding, Doctor. I estimate he has sustained significant injuries to his torso and left arm."
Natasha caught your wrist as you turned to leave. "He made us promise not to tell you."
"He can take that promise and shove it somewhere anatomically uncomfortable." You looked at Steve. "You're in charge. Anyone starts dying, come find me."
"We'll be fine," Steve said. "Go."
You found Tony in his workshop, still in the Iron Man suit from the waist down, the top half discarded on the floor. He was bent over the workbench, one hand pressed to his side, the other trying to manipulate a holographic display.
"JARVIS is a snitch," he said without turning around.
"JARVIS has a functioning sense of self-preservation. Unlike you." You crossed the space between you, grabbed his shoulder, and turned him around.
Blood. Too much of it, seeping between his fingers where he pressed against his ribs. His left arm hung wrong, and there was a gash across his chest that made your stomach drop.
"It looks worse than it is," Tony said.
"Shut up." Your hands were already moving, assessing. Broken ribs, definitely. Possible internal bleeding. The arm was dislocated. The chest wound was deep but had missed anything vital. "You flew back like this?"
"Autopilot is a beautiful thing."
"You're an idiot." You grabbed his good arm, started pulling him toward the door. "Med bay. Now."
"I'm fine here."
"You're bleeding all over your workshop. Move."
"Doc -"
"I swear to God, Stark, if you don't start walking right now, I will drag you, and I don't care how undignified it looks." You met his eyes, let him see how serious you were. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to hide down here and bleed out because you're too proud or too scared or too whatever to ask for help."
Something in his face cracked. Just a little. "I didn't want you to see."
"Too late. I'm seeing. Now let me fix it."
He let you lead him to the med bay. Let you ease him onto the table. Let you cut away what was left of his shirt and really see the damage.
"Moscow went sideways," he said quietly as you worked. "New tech. Didn't account for the cold affecting the suit's response time."
"Tell me later. Right now, shut up and let me concentrate." You cleaned the chest wound first, hands steady even though your heart was racing. This was bad. Not fatal, but bad.
When you placed your hands over the wound and started healing, the pain hit you like a freight train. You gasped, nearly pulled back, but forced yourself to hold on. Your legs threatened to give out, but you braced yourself against the table, teeth gritted, hands shaking slightly as the pain flooded through your system. This wasn't just physical pain - there was something else underneath it. Fear. Exhaustion. The weight of carrying too much for too long.
"Stop," Tony said, trying to sit up. "You're hurting."
"I'm fine." You weren't. The pain was overwhelming, but you pushed through it, felt the tissue knitting together, the bleeding stopping. "Stay still."
"Doc -"
"I said stay still!" It came out sharper than you intended, but you were drowning in his pain, his fear, and you needed him to just let you help.
When you finally pulled back, you were shaking. The wound was healed, but you felt like you'd been hit by a truck. You braced yourself against the table, breathing hard.
Tony's hand caught your wrist. "Hey. You okay?"
"I'm fine." You straightened, forced yourself to focus. "Ribs next. This is going to hurt."
"I know."
You placed your hands over his ribs, felt the breaks, the fractures. Started healing. The pain was different this time - sharp, stabbing, but manageable. You worked through it, feeling bone knit back together, tissue repair itself.
"Why do you do this?" Tony asked quietly.
"Do what?"
"Take the pain. You don't have to. You could just heal without absorbing it."
"Doesn't work that way. The pain has to go somewhere." You moved to his shoulder, felt the dislocation. "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you."
"That's not how that saying goes."
"I'm revising it." You relocated the shoulder and healed the damage in one smooth motion, gritting your teeth against the sharp spike of agony. When you stepped back, you were exhausted. "Done."
Tony sat up slowly, testing his movement. Everything worked. Everything was healed. He looked at you, really looked, and you saw the moment he understood what it had cost you.
"You're an idiot," he said softly.
"Right back at you." You turned away, started cleaning up supplies because you needed something to do with your hands. "You could have died, Tony. If that wound had been two inches to the right…"
"But it wasn't."
"But it could have been!" You spun back, and suddenly all the fear and anger and exhaustion was bubbling up. "You could have died in that suit, alone, and we wouldn't have known until JARVIS reported it. Is that what you want?"
"Of course not."
"Then stop doing this! Stop hiding injuries, stop avoiding checkups, stop acting like you're invincible when you're not!" Your voice cracked. "You're not invincible, Tony. You're human. And humans die."
Silence. Tony stared at you, something raw and vulnerable in his expression. "I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're trying really hard to prove otherwise."
"Maybe I just don't want to be weak."
"Needing help isn't weakness. It's being human." You moved closer, and you were so tired, so wrung out from healing him that your filters were gone. "You scare me, you know that? Every time you go out there, every time you don't come back with the team, every time you hide in your workshop instead of letting me help… you scare me."
"Doc."
"I'm not done." You poked his chest, right over where the wound had been. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to make me care and then throw yourself into danger like you don't matter. You matter, Tony. To the team. To Pepper. To..." You stopped, realizing what you were about to say.
"To you?" he finished quietly.
You looked away. "You're my patient. Of course you matter."
"That's not what you were going to say."
"Drop it, Stark."
"Tony." He caught your hand, the one still poking his chest. "It's Tony. And for the record? You scare me too."
That made you look back. "I scare you?"
"Terrify me. You see right through all the bullshit. You don't let me get away with anything. You're brilliant and caustic and you take my pain like it's nothing -"
"It's not nothing."
"I know. That's what scares me." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "You care. Even when I don't deserve it."
"Everyone deserves it." Your voice came out whisper-soft. "Even genius billionaire playboy philanthropists with death wishes."
"I don't have a death wish."
"Could've fooled me."
Tony smiled, small and sad. "Maybe I just don't know how to stop fighting long enough to live."
And that - that broke something in you. Because you understood. God help you, you understood.
"Then learn," you said. "Let me teach you."
"Is that a medical prescription?"
"It's a friend prescription." You squeezed his hand. "Show up for your appointments. Stop hiding injuries. Let people help you. Revolutionary concepts, I know."
"You're kind of amazing, you know that?"
"I'm really not. I'm just stubborn." You pulled your hand back, needed the distance. "Go get some sleep, Tony. Real sleep, not passing out in your workshop."
"Will you be here? When I wake up?"
"Someone has to make sure you don't do anything stupid."
"That's not an answer."
You looked at him - really looked. Saw the vulnerability he was trying to hide, the hope he didn't want to show. "Yeah. I'll be here."
"Okay." He slid off the table, steadier now. Healed. "Thanks, Doc."
"Don't thank me. Just don't make me do that again."
"No promises."
"Tony."
He paused at the door, and looked back. "But I'll try. For you."
The mission had been a success, which meant everyone was alive and relatively intact. You'd patched up minor injuries on-site - Natasha's split knuckles, a gash on Sam's arm, Steve's perpetual bruising that healed almost as fast as you could treat it.
Tony had stayed in the suit the whole time, which meant he was either fine or hiding something.
You were betting on option two.
Now, trapped in the Quinjet for the three-hour flight back to New York, you watched him pretend to sleep in one of the seats, helmet off but armor still on. You tucked one leg underneath you, getting comfortable for the long haul. Everyone else was actually sleeping - it had been a long forty-eight hours - but you knew Tony's tells by now. You could read him like a medical chart you'd memorized.
You moved across the cabin, dropped into the seat next to him. "You're not fooling anyone."
His eyes opened. "I'm resting my eyes."
"You're avoiding me."
"Can't avoid you. We're in a flying metal tube."
"And yet you're trying." You gestured at the suit. "Take it off."
"Again with the demands. You know, most people ask nicely."
"Most people aren't trying to examine you for injuries you're definitely hiding." You kept your voice low, aware of the sleeping team around you. "Armor off, Stark. Now."
"What if I say no?"
"Then I'll assume the worst and tell Pepper you're being difficult about medical care again."
"You play dirty."
"I play to win." You waited, and after a long moment, he sighed and triggered the release. The armor retracted piece by piece, revealing the compression suit underneath.
And the blood seeping through at his side.
"Son of a bitch," you muttered. "JARVIS, medical kit."
A panel opened, and you grabbed the kit, already moving. "Compression suit off too."
"It's not that bad."
"I'll be the judge of that." You helped him peel the suit down to his waist, and there it was—a puncture wound, small but deep, still bleeding sluggishly. "What did this?"
"Rebar. Building collapse. Didn't think it went through."
"It went through." You cleaned the wound, and he hissed. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because we had a job to finish."
"The job is finished. You're still bleeding." You prepped for healing, but hesitated. The Quinjet was cramped, the team was sleeping nearby, and you were exhausted from two days of constant vigilance. "This is going to take a lot out of me."
"Then don't. Just bandage it. I'll be fine until we get back."
"You'll be fine now." You placed your hands over the wound, felt the familiar warmth building. "Shut up and let me work."
The healing was harder this time. You were tired, he was tired, and the pain that transferred was sharp and deep. You felt the puncture like a spike through your own side, felt the hours he'd been carrying it, felt the exhaustion underneath.
When you pulled back, you were dizzy. Tony caught you before you could sway.
"Okay, that's it," he said firmly. "No more healing until you've rested."
"I'm fine."
"You're dead on your feet. When's the last time you slept?"
"When's the last time you did?" you shot back.
"Touché." He kept his hand on your arm, steadying you. "But seriously. You can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Taking care of everyone else and ignoring yourself." His voice was quiet, intense. "You're running yourself into the ground, Doc."
"That's rich coming from you."
"I know. That's how I recognize the signs." He shifted, and suddenly you were very aware of how close you were sitting, how his hand was still on your arm, how tired you both were. "You can't save everyone."
"Watch me."
"That's not -" He stopped, jaw tight. "You're going to burn out."
"So are you."
"I know." The admission was quiet. "I'm working on it."
That surprised you. "You are?"
"Trying to. It's hard." He looked away, and in the dim light of the Quinjet, he looked younger. Vulnerable. "I don't know how to stop. Every time I slow down, I think about New York, about the wormhole, about all the things out there that want to hurt people I…" He stopped. "People."
"People you care about," you finished softly.
"Yeah."
You understood. God, you understood too well. "That's why you build. Why you suit up. Why you can't stop."
"And you? Why can't you stop?"
"Because people need me. Because I can help. Because if I don't..." You trailed off, realizing you'd never said it out loud before. "Because if I don't, people die."
"That's not your responsibility."
"Yes, it is. I have this ability. I have to use it."
"Even if it kills you?"
The question hung in the air between you. You didn't have an answer.
"We're a mess," Tony said finally.
"Yeah. We really are." You leaned back in the seat, suddenly too tired to maintain the walls. "I don't know how to stop either."
"Maybe we figure it out together."
You looked at him. "Is that your way of saying you'll actually show up for appointments?"
"It's my way of saying maybe we both need someone to tell us when we're being idiots."
"I already do that."
"And I'm saying maybe I should return the favor." His hand was still on your arm, warm and steady. "You take care of everyone. Who takes care of you?"
"I don't need -"
"Everyone needs, Doc. Even you." He shifted closer, and you should have moved away but you didn't. "Let me help. For once."
"You want to help me?"
"Crazy, right? But yeah. I do." His voice dropped lower. "You've been chasing me around for months, making sure I don't kill myself through negligence. Maybe it's my turn."
"That's not how this works."
"Why not?"
You didn't have an answer for that either.
The Quinjet hummed around you, the team slept on, and you sat there in the dim light with Tony Stark looking at you like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.
"I don't know how to let people help," you admitted finally.
"Yeah. I got that. Recognizes recognize." He smiled, small and genuine. "But maybe we start small. You stop healing when you're exhausted. I stop hiding injuries. We both try to sleep occasionally."
"That's a terrible plan."
"You have a better one?"
You didn't. And you were so tired of carrying everything alone. "Fine. But if you miss another appointment, all bets are off."
"Deal." His thumb brushed over your arm, and you felt that touch like electricity. "Get some sleep, Doc. I'll wake you when we land."
"You should sleep too."
"I will. Promise."
You didn't believe him, but you were too exhausted to argue. You let your eyes close, let yourself drift, and just before sleep took you, you felt Tony's hand squeeze your arm gently.
You found him in the common area three days later, surrounded by the team, holding court like he always did. Everyone was laughing at something he'd said, and he looked relaxed. Happy.
You'd been in surgery for six hours - one of Fury's agents, touch and go, finally stable. You were exhausted, still had blood on your scrubs, your hair falling out of its bun, and you'd come up for coffee before going back to check on your patient. You wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.
" - and that's when the Doc told me that if I didn't show up for my appointment, they'd tell Pepper I was being difficult," Tony was saying. "Like I'm some kind of child who needs managing."
The team laughed. You froze in the doorway.
"I mean, I get it," Tony continued, playing to his audience. "It's their job to be paranoid about every little scratch. But there's a difference between medical care and being a control freak, you know?"
Something cold settled in your chest.
Natasha saw you first. Her smile faded. "Tony -"
But you were already moving, crossing the room with your coffee. You didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge the sudden silence.
"Doc," Tony said, and there was something careful in his voice. "Didn't see you there."
"Clearly." You poured coffee, hands steady through sheer force of will. "Don't let me interrupt. You were saying something about control freaks?"
"I was just -"
"No, please. Continue." You turned, leaned against the counter, and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Tell everyone about how unreasonable I am. About how I'm just paranoid. About how caring whether you live or die makes me a control freak."
"That's not what I meant."
"No? Then what did you mean?" You took a sip of coffee, and it tasted like ash. "Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you were making fun of me for doing my job. For giving a shit whether you bleed out in your workshop."
The room was silent now. Steve looked uncomfortable. Natasha was watching you with sharp eyes. Clint had suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.
"I wasn't making fun of you," Tony said quietly.
"Really? Because it sounded a lot like you were getting laughs at my expense." You pushed off the counter. "But hey, what do I know? I'm just the control freak who keeps you alive."
"Doc…"
"It's Doctor, actually. Since we're apparently not friends." You headed for the door, and you hated that your hands were shaking. "Enjoy your coffee klatch. Try not to get injured. I'd hate to be paranoid about it."
You made it to the hallway before you heard footsteps behind you.
"Wait." Tony caught up, grabbed your arm. "Just wait."
You spun on him. "What? What do you want, Stark?"
"I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. That came out wrong."
"Did it? Because it sounded pretty clear to me." You pulled your arm free. "I get it. I'm annoying. I'm pushy. I don't let you get away with your bullshit. But I do it because I care, and if that makes me a control freak, then fine. I'm a control freak."
"You're not -"
"I just spent six hours putting someone back together. Six hours of surgery, of taking their pain, of fighting to keep them alive. And I came up here for five minutes of peace and coffee, and I got to hear you mock me to the team." Your voice cracked. "So yeah, Tony. I'm a little sensitive right now."
His face changed. "I didn't know."
"You didn't ask." You turned away. "I have to get back to my patient."
"Doc. Please." He moved in front of you, blocking your path. "I'm an asshole. I say stupid things when I'm uncomfortable. You know this."
"What were you uncomfortable about?"
"You!" It burst out of him. "You make me uncomfortable. You see too much, you care too much, and I don't know what to do with that."
You stared at him. "So you mock me?"
"So I deflect. It's what I do." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "You scare the hell out of me, okay? You and your healing hands and your sharp tongue and the way you look at me like I matter. Like I'm not just Iron Man or Tony Stark, genius billionaire, et cetera. You look at me like I'm just... me. And that's terrifying."
"Why?"
"Because what if I'm not enough?" His voice dropped. "What if you see the real me and decide I'm not worth the effort?"
The anger drained out of you, replaced by something else. Something that hurt worse. "You really think that?"
"I don't know what I think. I just know that you've gotten under my skin, and I don't know what to do about it, so I make stupid jokes and push you away because that's easier than -" He stopped.
"Than what?"
"Than admitting I need you." He said it quietly, like a confession. "Than admitting that you've become important to me. That when you're not around, I notice. That I look for you in rooms. That I actually want to show up for appointments because it means I get to see you, even if you're yelling at me."
You couldn't breathe. "Tony…"
"I'm sorry. For what I said. For being an asshole. For all of it." He stepped closer. "You're not a control freak. You're someone who cares, and I'm an idiot who doesn't know how to handle that."
"You're right. You are an idiot." But your voice was soft now.
"I know. It's part of my charm."
"You don't have charm. You have audacity and good hair."
"You think my hair is good?"
"Shut up." But you were almost smiling. Almost. "You hurt me."
"I know. I'm sorry." He reached out slowly, giving you time to pull away. When you didn't, his hand cupped your cheek. "Let me make it up to you."
"How?"
"I'll show up for my next appointment. On time. Without you having to hunt me down."
"That's a low bar."
"I'll also stop making jokes about you to the team. And I'll try… really try to be less of an asshole about accepting help."
"Still a low bar."
"I'll take you to dinner. Somewhere nice. Somewhere that's not the compound cafeteria." His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. "Let me try to do this right."
Your heart was pounding. "Do what right?"
"This. Us. Whatever this is." He was close now, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "Because it's something, right? I'm not imagining it?"
"No," you whispered. "You're not imagining it."
"Okay. Good. Because I've been going crazy thinking I was alone in this."
"You're not alone." You reached up, covered his hand with yours. "But if you ever mock me to the team again, I will end you."
"Noted. Feared. Respected." He smiled, and it was real. Vulnerable. "Are we okay?"
"We're getting there." You stepped back, needed the space to think. "I have to get back to my patient."
"I know. Can I walk you?"
"You don't have to."
"I want to." He fell into step beside you, and his hand brushed yours. Not quite holding, but close. "For the record? You're not annoying. You're persistent. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yeah. Annoying is someone who doesn't know when to quit. Persistent is someone who cares enough not to." He glanced at you. "You care. About all of us. About me. Even when I don't deserve it."
"Everyone deserves it, Tony. Even you."
"See? That right there. That's why you scare me." But he was smiling. "You actually believe that."
"Because it's true."
You reached the med bay, and he stopped at the door. "Dinner. Tomorrow night. Seven o'clock. I'll pick you up."
"That's not a question."
"Do you want it to be?"
You looked at him. Saw the hope, the fear, the vulnerability he was trying to hide. "No. Seven is fine."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You smiled. "But you're still coming to your appointment next week."
"Wouldn't miss it." He caught your hand, squeezed gently. "Go save lives, Doc. I'll see you tomorrow."
You watched him walk away, your fingers still tingling from where his hand had held yours. Something warm unfurled in your chest, spreading through you like heat. Something that felt dangerously like hope. Something that terrified and thrilled you in equal measure.
You were so shocked you almost dropped your tablet.
"Don't look so surprised," Tony said, strolling into the med bay like he owned it. Which, technically, he did. "I said I'd be here."
"You say a lot of things." But you were smiling. You'd been smiling a lot lately. Ever since dinner three nights ago, and the breakfast the morning after, and the lunch yesterday where he'd stolen food off your plate and you'd threatened him with a fork.
"I'm a man of my word. Sometimes. When properly motivated." He hopped up on the examination table without being asked. "So what's the damage, Doc?"
"That's what I'm here to find out." You pulled up his chart, scanned the notes. "How are you feeling?"
"Honestly? Pretty good. Slept six hours last night."
You looked up. "Six consecutive hours?"
"Don't sound so shocked. You're the one who told me to try sleeping."
"I tell you to do a lot of things. You rarely listen."
"I'm listening now." His eyes were warm. "You're a good influence."
"I'm a terrible influence. I threatened to poison your coffee yesterday."
"Because I said your diagnostic approach was 'cute.' Which, in my defense, it is."
"Medicine isn't cute, Stark."
"Tony. And everything you do is cute. It's a problem." He was grinning now, and you wanted to kiss him. You'd been wanting to kiss him for days, ever since that dinner when he'd talked about his mom and you'd talked about why you became a healer and somewhere in the middle you'd both realized this was real.
"Shirt off," you said instead. "I need to check your arc reactor."
"You just want to see me shirtless."
"I see you shirtless all the time. It's part of my job."
"But now it's different." He pulled off his shirt, and yeah, it was different. Because now you knew what his skin felt like under your hands when you weren't healing - warm and alive and his. Now you knew he had a scar on his shoulder from a childhood bike accident and that he was ticklish just below his ribs. Now you felt something entirely new course through you, something that had nothing to do with healing and everything to do with wanting.
You stepped closer, professional despite the way your heart was racing. The arc reactor hummed under your fingers as you checked the connections, the tissue around it, the integration with his chest cavity.
"Everything looks good," you said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You're taking care of yourself." You met his eyes. "I'm proud of you."
Something in his expression softened. "You know, I don't think anyone's ever said that to me before."
"Then people are idiots." You stepped back, made notes on your tablet. "Blood pressure is good. Heart rate is normal. No new injuries. No hidden wounds. You're actually healthy, Tony."
"Miracle of miracles."
"It's not a miracle. It's you making better choices." You set down the tablet. "Keep it up."
"Yes, Doctor." He slid off the table, pulled his shirt back on. "So, we done here?"
"Officially? Yes. Unofficially..." You hesitated.
"Unofficially?"
"I wanted to say thank you. For dinner. For listening. For trying."
"You don't have to thank me for that."
"I do, though. Because I know it's not easy for you. Letting people in. Accepting help. Being vulnerable." You moved closer. "But you're doing it anyway."
"Only for you." He said it lightly, but you heard the truth underneath. "You make me want to try."
"Good. Because you make me want to try too." You reached up, straightened his collar even though it didn't need straightening. "I'm not good at this. The relationship thing. I'm too focused on work, too intense, too -"
"Perfect?" He caught your hands. "You're perfect. Intense and focused and brilliant and perfect."
"I'm really not."
"You are to me." He pulled you closer, and this time you let him. "I know we're doing this backwards. I know we should probably take it slow. But I don't want slow. I want you. All of you. The healer, the hardass, the person who cares too much and takes everyone's pain and refuses to let me get away with anything."
Your breath caught. "Tony…"
"I'm falling for you, Doc. Pretty sure I've been falling since you first cornered me in my workshop and threatened to tell Pepper on me." He smiled. "You're it for me. Just so you know."
"That's a big statement."
"I'm a big statement kind of guy." His hands framed your face. "Tell me I'm not alone in this."
"You're not alone." You covered his hands with yours. "I'm falling too. Have been for a while. Since you showed up bleeding and still tried to make jokes. Since you looked at me like I was more than just the team doctor. Since you started trying, really trying, to take care of yourself."
"So we're doing this?"
"Yeah. We're doing this." You smiled. "But I'm still your doctor. Which means I still get to yell at you when you do stupid things."
"I wouldn't have it any other way." He leaned in, and you met him halfway.
The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing like the sharp banter and verbal sparring that had defined you for months. It was sweet and real and perfect.
When you pulled back, you were both smiling.
"So," Tony said. "Same time next week?"
"You're really going to keep showing up for appointments?"
"I'm really going to keep showing up for you." He kissed you again, quick and light. "Besides, I have motivation now."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"If I show up on time, do I get a reward?"
You laughed. "What kind of reward?"
"I'm thinking more kisses. Maybe dinner. Possibly you wearing that leather jacket I saw in your closet."
"You went through my closet?"
"I was looking for a shirt. Your apartment is confusing."
"My apartment is organized. You're just nosy." But you were grinning. "Fine. You show up on time, you get rewards."
"Best medical plan ever." He grabbed his jacket. "Walk you back to your office?"
"I have patients to check on."
"Then I'll walk you to your patients." He offered his arm, and you took it.
As you left the med bay together, his hand warm in yours, you felt lighter than you had in months. Maybe years. Because for the first time, you weren't carrying everything alone. You had someone who understood what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and refused to let you do it solo. You had someone who understood. Someone who was trying. Someone who saw you and didn't run away.
"Hey Doc?" Tony said as you walked.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For not giving up on me."
You squeezed his arm. "Thanks for being worth it."
He smiled, and it was real and warm and yours. "Always."
Last call chapter 3 request (Paul Avery x reader)- Reader gives Paul a blowjob for the first time (she wants to switch it up so she takes charge and control instead of him. I feel he’s more in control when they are having sex, this time she would be more in control of him and the focus is more on how he reacts, (running his fingers through her hair like she does his.). Also there is more intimacy and softness (kissing, holding each others arms/wrists, hand grazing, hugging, moaning from Paul). Another thing can be (prior to what I wrote above) she calls him on the phone as she said she would and it leads to phone sex, and the detail goes into their voices. (More sex (very intimate, Paul praises readers body) can be added to this request). I feel so freaky asking for this 😂 but I love your writing, thank you. 🩷
Not because you're playing games - well, maybe a little - but because you want to. Because the anticipation is part of the fun. Because you like knowing he's thinking about you, wondering when you'll reach out, if you'll reach out.
You call him on a Thursday night at ten-thirty. Late enough that he's probably home, probably had a few drinks, probably thinking about you.
The phone rings three times before he picks up.
"Avery."
His voice is rough, thick with something - exhaustion, maybe, or whiskey. Or want.
"Hi."
There's a pause. Then: "Jesus Christ."
You smile, settling back against your pillows. "Miss me?"
"You have no idea." His voice drops lower, intimate. "Been thinking about you all week. About that dress. About what you did to me in my kitchen."
"Yeah?" You let your free hand trail down your stomach, over the thin fabric of your nightgown. "What else have you been thinking about?"
"Your mouth. Your hands. The way you look when you come." He exhales slowly, and you can hear the want in it. "The way you taste. The sounds you make when I'm inside you."
Heat pools low in your belly. "Where are you right now?"
"Houseboat. Bedroom." There's a pause, the sound of movement. "Where are you?"
"My bed." You slide your hand lower, between your thighs. "Thinking about you."
"Fuck." His breathing changes, gets heavier. "What are you wearing?"
"A nightgown. Thin. Nothing underneath."
He groans, low and rough. "Are you touching yourself?"
"Maybe."
"Jesus… tell me. Tell me what you're doing."
"My hand's between my legs." You circle your clit slowly, feeling yourself getting wet. "Thinking about your mouth. About how good you felt inside me."
"Fuck - I want to see you. Want to watch you touch yourself."
"You'll have to use your imagination." You press harder, pleasure sparking through you. "Tell me what you're doing, Paul."
"What do you think I'm doing?" His voice is strained now, breathless. "Got my hand on my cock, thinking about you. About how tight you were. How wet."
"Are you hard?"
"So fucking hard. Been hard since you said 'hi.'"
You smile, circling your clit faster. "Tell me what you want to do to me."
"Want to taste you again. Want to make you come on my tongue until you're shaking." His breathing is ragged now. "Want to fuck you slow this time. Want to watch your face while I'm inside you. Want to hear you say my name when you come."
"Paul!" Your fingers slide lower, push inside, and you gasp.
"Fuck. Are you -"
"Yes." You pump your fingers slowly, imagining they're his. "Wish it was you. Wish it was your fingers inside me."
"Me too. God, me too." You can hear the slick sound of him stroking himself, and it makes you clench around your own fingers. "You sound so good. So fucking good. Love the sounds you make."
"Tell me - tell me what you like about me."
"Everything." His voice is thick, rough with need. "Love your confidence. The way you look at me like you're deciding whether to fuck me or walk away. Love your body… your tits, your ass, the way you move." He groans. "Love how you taste. How you feel wrapped around my cock. How you take control. How you're not afraid to tell me what you want."
"I want you," you breathe, fingers moving faster. "Want to feel you inside me again. Want to make you lose control."
"You already do. Every time I think about you, I lose it." His breathing is harsh now, punctuated by soft groans. "Fuck - I'm close. Are you close?"
"Yes!" You press your palm against your clit while your fingers work inside you. "Keep talking. Tell me more."
"You're so fucking beautiful. The way you looked riding me - taking what you wanted - using my cock to get yourself off…" He breaks off with a groan. "Want to see you again. Want to touch you. Want to make you come so many times you forget your own name."
"Paul - I'm -"
"Come for me. Want to hear you come. Want to know I'm making you feel good even when I'm not there."
His words push you over the edge. You come with a gasp, clenching around your fingers, pleasure washing through you in waves. You can hear him groaning on the other end of the line, his breathing ragged as he follows you over.
For a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of both of you breathing, trying to recover.
"Fuck," he finally says, voice rough and satisfied.
"Yeah."
"When can I see you?"
You smile, still catching your breath. "Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock."
The next night, you arrive at eight-fifteen wearing jeans and a simple blouse - nothing fancy, nothing designed to drive him crazy. You don't need to try that hard anymore.
Paul's waiting on the deck, and when he sees you, his whole face lights up. It's different from before - less cocky, more genuine. Like he's actually happy to see you, not just happy to fuck you.
"Hi," he says, and there's something soft in his voice.
"Hi."
He reaches for you, pulls you close, and kisses you. It's slower, deeper, like he's savoring it. His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and when he pulls back, he's looking at you like you're something precious.
"Missed you," he murmurs.
"It's been four days."
"Still missed you."
You let him lead you inside, and this time you take your time looking around. The houseboat is still cluttered - papers everywhere, books stacked on every surface, empty coffee cups and overflowing ashtrays - but there's something charming about it. It's so completely him.
"Want a drink?" he asks.
"Not yet." You turn to face him, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch. He's watching you like he's trying to memorize every detail. "Come here."
He does, and you kiss him again, slower this time. Your hands slide up his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt. His hands settle on your waist, holding you close but not demanding, not rushing.
When you pull back, you're both breathing harder.
"Bedroom?" he asks.
"Not yet." You push him gently toward the small couch. "Sit down."
He does, watching you with dark, curious eyes. You can see the bulge already forming in his pants, the way his hands flex against his thighs like he's trying not to reach for you.
You step between his legs, and his hands come up automatically to your hips. You let him touch you this time, let him pull you closer until you're standing right between his spread thighs.
"I want to try something different tonight," you say, running your fingers through his hair.
"Yeah?" His voice is already rough. "What's that?"
"I want to taste you." You watch his eyes darken, his pupils dilating. "Want to make you feel good. Want to watch you fall apart."
"Fuck…" His grip on your hips tightens. "Yes. Please."
You smile, lean down to kiss him again. This time you take your time, exploring his mouth, feeling the way he responds to you. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer, and you can feel how hard he is, pressing against you.
When you pull back, you drop to your knees between his legs.
His breath catches. "Jesus."
"Relax." You run your hands up his thighs, feeling the muscle tense beneath your touch. "Let me take care of you."
Your fingers find his belt, and you take your time unbuckling it, drawing out the anticipation. He's watching you with dark, hungry eyes, his breathing already uneven. When you unbutton his pants and slide down the zipper, he lifts his hips to help you pull them down.
His cock is already hard, straining against his boxers, and you can see the wet spot where he's leaking. You palm him through the fabric, and he groans, head falling back against the couch.
"Look at me," you say softly.
He does, and the vulnerability in his eyes takes your breath away. This is different from before - he's not trying to be in control, not trying to dominate. He's just... open. Waiting for you.
You pull down his boxers, and his cock springs free, hard and flushed and beautiful. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he groans again, louder this time.
"You're so hard," you murmur, watching his face. "Have you been thinking about this?"
"Yes! Fuck - been thinking about your mouth since the first night."
You lean forward, lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, and he gasps, hips jerking. His hand comes up to your hair, fingers threading through it, not pushing or pulling, just... holding. Like he needs to touch you, needs the connection.
"So good," he breathes. "You feel so good."
You take him into your mouth, just the head at first, swirling your tongue around the tip. He tastes like salt and musk and something uniquely him, and the sound he makes - low and desperate - sends heat flooding through you.
"Fuck - your mouth."
You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and his fingers tighten in your hair. Not painful, just desperate. You can feel him trying not to thrust, trying to let you control the pace, and the restraint makes you want him even more.
You pull off, lick along the shaft, and look up at him. His eyes are dark and glazed, his mouth open as he pants. "You okay?"
"So fucking okay." His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek. "You're so beautiful like this. So fucking beautiful."
The tenderness in his voice makes your chest tight. You turn your head, press a kiss to his palm, and his breath catches.
Then you take him deep again, as far as you can, and he moans - loud and unguarded and completely vulnerable. His hips jerk up involuntarily, and you let him, let him fuck your mouth in shallow thrusts while you work him with your hand and tongue.
"God - fuck! I'm not going to last -" His voice is wrecked, desperate. "You feel too good - your mouth.”
You pull off, stroke him with your hand while you catch your breath. "I want you to come for me, Paul. Want to taste you."
"Jesus Christ…" His hand in your hair tightens, and you can see he's close, his whole body tense. "Keep going - please."
You take him back into your mouth, sucking hard, and his control shatters. He comes with a groan, hips bucking, and you swallow everything he gives you, working him through it until he's shaking.
When you finally pull off, he's staring at you with something like awe in his eyes. His hand is still in your hair, gentle now, and his other hand is still cupping your face.
"Come here," he says, voice rough.
You stand, and he pulls you down onto his lap, kissing you deeply. He doesn't seem to care that he can taste himself on your tongue - if anything, it seems to turn him on more. His hands are everywhere, sliding up your back, cupping your face, threading through your hair.
When he pulls back, he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen.
"That was…" He shakes his head. "You're incredible."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He kisses you again, softer this time. "Stay tonight. Please. I want -" He pauses, like he's not sure how to say it. "I want to hold you. Want to fall asleep with you. Want to wake up with you."
You should say no. Should remind him of the rules, the boundaries. This is just sex, nothing more. But the way he's looking at you - vulnerable and hopeful and so fucking genuine - makes you hesitate.
"Okay," you hear yourself say. "I'll stay."
His smile is brilliant, and he kisses you again, deep and slow and full of something that feels dangerously close to affection.
He takes his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin he reveals. When you're finally naked, he lays you down on his narrow bunk and just... looks at you.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, running his hands up your sides. "Every part of you. Your body, your mind, the way you look at me."
"Paul…"
"I mean it." He leans down, kisses your collarbone, your sternum, the curve of your breast. "You're incredible. The way you take control. The way you know exactly what you want. The way you make me feel -" He breaks off, shakes his head. "I've never felt like this before."
"Like what?"
"Like I'd do anything to keep you coming back." He looks up at you, and there's something raw in his eyes. "Like I'm completely at your mercy and I don't even care."
Your chest tightens. This is getting too close to something real, something more than just sex. You should stop it, should remind him of the rules.But instead, you pull him up for a kiss, deep and slow and full of everything you can't say.
He makes love to you this time - there's no other word for it. It's slow and intimate and tender, his hands gentle on your body, his mouth worshipping every inch of you. When he finally slides inside you, you both gasp at the sensation, and he pauses, forehead pressed against yours.
"Okay?" he whispers.
"Yes. More than okay."
He moves slowly, each thrust deep and deliberate, and you can feel every inch of him. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he holds it above your head while he rocks into you. His other hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek, and he watches your face like he's trying to memorize every expression.
"You feel so good," he murmurs. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."
"Paul!"
"I know. I know this is just sex. But right now -" He thrusts deeper, and you both moan. "Right now it feels like more."
You can't argue with that. Because it does feel like more. The way he's touching you, looking at you, moving inside you - it's not just fucking. It's something else. Something that scares you and thrills you in equal measure.
When you come, it's slow and deep and overwhelming, pleasure rolling through you in waves. He follows shortly after, groaning your name against your neck, and you hold him close, feeling his heart racing against yours.
Afterward, he doesn't pull away. He stays inside you, holding you, pressing soft kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders. When he finally does pull out, he immediately pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you.
"Stay," he whispers again. "Please stay."
"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur back.
And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, the houseboat rocking gently beneath you, you think that maybe this arrangement is becoming something more than you planned.
Something that feels dangerously close to real.
But for tonight, you let yourself have this. Let yourself be held. Let yourself feel wanted for more than just your body.
I've been devouring your stories during every bit of free time I have, which sadly isn't much these days, but that's not what this ask is about, and I've been dying to send you a little request or ask! I would love to make a request for a story with either RDJ or Tony Stark, whichever you think would fit this idea best, in which they help us, the readers, relax after a long, tiring day at work where we have been on our feet all day.
I'm honestly happy with anything in the fluff/smut department, whether that is the fluffiest of fluffy sweetness, the filthiest of filth to make us forget every single thing that happened that day, or a combination of the two. I know it'll be amazing, as all your stories are.
I apologize if this has been asked and written before, in which case you are, of course, free to ignore this ask and tend to the ones you undoubtedly have coming in plenty, as your writing is absolutely salivating.
Thank you for sharing the amazingness that is your mind and storytelling, and I'm looking forward to seeing everything you create in the future! 🤍
The elevator doors slid open with their usual soft whoosh, and you practically stumbled into the penthouse like a zombie extra from one of those films Tony always complained had "terrible CGI and even worse physics."
"Honey, I'm home," you called out weakly, dropping your bag by the door with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Your feet were screaming. Your back was screaming. Pretty sure your hair was screaming too, though that might've just been the headache.
"JARVIS, is that the sound of my beautiful, brilliant girlfriend, or did we just get invaded by a very polite burglar?" Tony's voice rang out from somewhere deeper in the penthouse.
"Miss has indeed arrived, sir," JARVIS replied with what you swore was amusement in his artificial voice. "Her vitals suggest extreme fatigue."
"Traitor," you muttered at the ceiling.
Tony appeared from around the corner, wearing a Black Sabbath t-shirt that had definitely seen better days and jeans that probably cost more than most people's cars. He took one look at you and his expression shifted from playful to concerned in a nanosecond - though he'd deny it if you called him on it.
"Okay, what fresh hell did they put you through today? You look like you went twelve rounds with Happy and he actually tried."
"Thanks, Tony. Really feeling the love." You kicked off your shoes and immediately regretted it when your feet touched the cold floor and protested the change in pressure.
He crossed the distance between you in a few strides, hands going to your shoulders. "I'm serious. You look exhausted. What happened to my girl who left here this morning making terrible puns about 'working hard or hardly working'?"
"She died somewhere around hour six of standing in heels because apparently sitting down is for quitters." You leaned into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with motor oil. He'd been in the workshop. "I'm pretty sure my feet have filed for divorce. They're citing irreconcilable differences."
"Well, we can't have that. I'm very attached to your feet. They're connected to your legs, which are -" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Tony."
"...which are very tired and need immediate attention from a genius billionaire philanthropist who happens to have excellent hands. It's in all the magazines. 'Tony Stark: Great Hands.' That's a direct quote."
Despite everything, you laughed. "That is absolutely not what any magazine has ever said."
"Pepper's magazine did. I had her publish it. It's called 'Tony Stark Quarterly' and it has a very limited circulation." He was already steering you toward the bedroom, hands gentle but insistent on your shoulders. "Come on, zombie girl. Operation Relaxation is now in effect."
"Operation Relaxation? Did you actually just come up with that, or have you been planning this?"
"I'm a genius. I can multitask. I came up with it just now AND I've been planning it since JARVIS told me you sounded dead on your feet during your lunch break call." He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed. "Stay. Don't move. I'm going to run you a bath that will make you forget you even have a job."
"Tony, you don't have to."
He pressed a finger to your lips. "Shh. The genius is working. Also, yes I do, because A) I love you, and B) you're cranky when you're tired and I have a vested interest in you not being cranky. Mostly A, though. Like, seventy-thirty."
"Seventy-thirty?"
"Sixty-forty?"
"Tony."
"Ninety-ten, final offer." He grinned and kissed your forehead. "Don't move. I mean it. If you move, JARVIS will tell on you."
"I will indeed, Miss," JARVIS confirmed.
You flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. From the bathroom, you could hear Tony moving around, the sound of water running, cabinets opening and closing. There was a concerning crash, followed by a very casual "I'm okay! That was already broken!"
"Tony, what are you breaking in there?"
"Nothing important! Just my dignity. It'll recover."
A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a triumphant expression. "Okay, so I may have gone a little overboard, but in my defense, going overboard is kind of my thing. It's like my signature move. That and the repulsor rays."
He helped you up - actually helped, with hands that were surprisingly gentle for someone who spent most of his time building weapons and robots. Well, former weapons. Mostly robots now. And suits. And -
"I can hear you thinking from here," Tony said, guiding you toward the bathroom. "Stop it. No thinking allowed during Operation Relaxation."
"You're really committed to that name, aren't you?"
"I had JARVIS make a logo and everything."
The bathroom was... well, it was exactly what you'd expect from Tony Stark going "a little overboard." The massive soaking tub was filled with steaming water, and the scent of lavender and something else - eucalyptus maybe? - filled the air. Candles flickered on every available surface, which seemed like a fire hazard but was admittedly romantic.
"Did you use all the candles in New York?"
"Just the good ones. The bad ones I left for people with less refined taste." He started helping you out of your work clothes with the kind of efficiency that would've been clinical if not for the way his fingers lingered, gentle and warm against your skin. "Also, I may have had JARVIS order that fancy bath salt stuff you were looking at online last week."
You paused, turning to look at him. "You noticed that?"
"I notice everything about you. It's creepy. I'm aware. But also romantic, so it balances out." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he slid your shirt off. "Now get in the tub before I have to make a joke about the water getting cold, which would ruin the whole mood I'm creating here."
The water was perfect - hot enough to make you sigh in relief but not so hot it was uncomfortable. You sank in up to your shoulders and felt your muscles start to unknot themselves.
Tony rolled up his sleeves and knelt beside the tub, which was not something you ever thought you'd see Tony Stark do voluntarily. "Okay, foot massage time. Give me your foot."
"Tony, you don't have to."
"Foot. Now. Don't make me use the armor to get it."
You lifted one foot out of the water, and his hands wrapped around it, thumbs pressing into your arch with exactly the right amount of pressure. You couldn't stop the groan that escaped.
"And that's the sound of my girlfriend remembering why she keeps me around," Tony said smugly, working his thumbs in slow circles. "It's not just the money and the good looks. It's also the excellent foot massages."
"You've never given me a foot massage before."
"I've been saving it. Building anticipation. It's called strategy." His fingers worked up to your ankle, then your calf, kneading the tight muscles. "Also, I may have watched several YouTube videos while the bath was running. Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation."
"Your secret is safe with me." You let your head fall back against the edge of the tub, eyes closing. "This is... really nice, Tony. Thank you."
"Yeah, well. You work too hard. Someone's gotta take care of you." His voice was softer now, less performative. "And before you say you can take care of yourself, I know you can. But you don't have to. That's what having a genius boyfriend is for."
"I thought it was for fixing my laptop when I download suspicious files."
"That too. I'm multifaceted. It's part of my charm." He switched to your other foot, and you melted a little more. "So, tell me about your day. What made it so terrible? Do I need to buy your company and fire everyone? Because I will. I've done it before."
"Please don't buy my company."
"Too late, already texted Pepper. She's on it."
"Tony!"
"I'm kidding. Mostly." His hands moved up your calf again, working out a particularly tight knot that made you wince. "Easy. I got you. Breathe."
You did, and his hands gentled, working the muscle more carefully. It was strange, seeing Tony like this - focused and careful, all his manic energy channeled into taking care of you. It made your chest feel tight in a completely different way than exhaustion.
"My day was just... long," you said finally. "Too many people, too many problems, too much standing in shoes that looked better than they felt. The usual."
"So what you're saying is, you need me to invent better shoes. I can do that. I'll call them Stark Heels. They'll have repulsor technology in the soles for extra support."
"That sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen."
"All my best inventions do." He released your foot and reached for a washcloth, soaping it up with something that smelled expensive. "Sit forward."
You did, and he started washing your back with slow, careful strokes. It was intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex - just Tony, taking care of you, his touch gentle and sure.
"You know what your problem is?" he asked, working the washcloth over your shoulders.
"I'm sure you're about to tell me."
"Your problem is that you're too good at your job. People rely on you, so they pile everything on, and you just... take it. Because you're capable and responsible and all those other adjectives that make me look bad in comparison."
"Tony…"
"I'm not fishing for compliments. I'm making a point." He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, right at the hairline. "My point is, you're allowed to say no sometimes. You're allowed to be tired. And you're definitely allowed to come home and let your incredibly handsome boyfriend pamper you."
"Incredibly handsome and incredibly humble."
"That too. It's a burden, really, being this perfect." His hands slid around to your shoulders, thumbs working into the tight muscles there. "But seriously. You don't have to be 'on' all the time. Not here. Not with me."
You reached back, finding his hand and lacing your fingers through his. "I know. Thank you. For this. For... everything."
"Yeah, well. You're welcome." He squeezed your hand. "Now finish relaxing while I go find something for us to eat. And by find, I mean order, because you know I can't cook."
"You can cook. You just choose not to."
"I choose not to because the last time I tried, I set off the fire suppression system and JARVIS threatened to call Pepper. It was traumatic." He stood, wiping his hands on a towel. "Take your time. I'll be out there, being domestic and ordering Chinese food."
"Tony?"
He turned back, eyebrow raised.
"I love you."
His expression softened, that rare genuine smile that he saved just for you. "I love you too. Even when you're a zombie. Especially when you're a zombie, actually. You're less likely to run away when I'm being sappy."
"I would never run away from your sappiness."
"Lies. You literally left the room last week when I tried to recite that poem."
"That wasn't a poem. That was you reading the periodic table in alphabetical order."
"It was a science poem. You're just not cultured enough to appreciate it." He blew you a kiss. "Relax. That's an order from your boyfriend who loves you and also happens to be a superhero, so you have to listen."
After he left, you sank deeper into the water, letting the heat and the scent and the quiet work their magic. Your muscles were finally starting to unclench, the tension of the day dissolving like the bath salts Tony had probably spent too much money on.
You could hear him in the other room, talking to JARVIS about food options, his voice carrying that animated quality it always had when he was engaged with something. Even something as simple as ordering dinner.
By the time you finally dragged yourself out of the tub - pruney and relaxed and feeling almost human again - Tony had laid out your favorite pajamas on the bed. Except they weren't pajamas. They were one of his MIT t-shirts and a pair of his boxer briefs.
"JARVIS said you prefer my clothes," Tony called from the living room. "Something about them being 'comfy' and 'smelling like me.' Which is weird, but I'm choosing to take it as a compliment."
You pulled on the shirt, smiling. It was soft and worn and smelled exactly like him. "It's definitely a compliment."
When you padded out to the living room, Tony was sprawled on the couch, already changed into sleep pants and a different t-shirt. He'd dimmed the lights, and there were takeout containers spread across the coffee table.
"I got all your favorites," he said, patting the couch next to him. "Plus some of my favorites, because I'm eating too and I have excellent taste."
You curled up next to him, and he immediately pulled you closer, arranging you so your head was on his chest and his arm was around your shoulders. It was comfortable and familiar and exactly what you needed.
"Better?" he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
"Much better." You stole a spring roll from one of the containers. "You're pretty good at this whole 'taking care of people' thing."
"Don't sound so surprised. I'm good at everything." He paused. "Except cooking. And feelings. And - okay, I'm good at some things. But taking care of you is definitely one of them."
You ate in comfortable silence for a while, some documentary about space playing on the TV that Tony was half-watching and half-commenting on ("That's not how that works. JARVIS, make a note to send them a strongly worded email about their terrible science.").
But you could feel his attention on you, the way he kept checking to make sure you were eating, that you were comfortable, that you had everything you needed. It was sweet in a way that Tony would never admit to being.
"Thank you," you said again, tilting your head to look up at him. "For tonight. For being... you."
"Well, I can't really be anyone else. I tried once, but the costume was uncomfortable and I have commitment issues." His hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "But seriously. You don't have to thank me. This is what people do when they love each other. They take care of each other. Even if one of them is a genius billionaire and the other one is... also pretty great, I guess."
"You guess?"
"I'm trying to be humble. Is it working?"
"Not even a little bit."
"Good. Humility is overrated anyway." He leaned down, kissing you softly. It was gentle and sweet and tasted like Chinese food, and it made your heart do that stupid fluttery thing it always did when Tony kissed you like you were something precious.
When he pulled back, his eyes were dark and warm. "How are you feeling? Still tired?"
"Less tired. More... relaxed." You shifted, moving to straddle his lap, your hands resting on his shoulders. "Thanks to you."
His hands settled on your waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of his shirt you were wearing. "Well, I am pretty amazing. It's been documented."
"So humble."
"It's one of my best qualities." He pulled you closer, until you were pressed against him, and kissed you again. This time it was deeper, more intent, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made heat pool low in your belly.
You broke the kiss, breathless. "Tony..."
"Yeah?" His hands were sliding up your sides now, taking the shirt with them. "Tell me what you need."
"You. Just... you."
"Well, that I can definitely provide." He stood, lifting you with him like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. "JARVIS, clear my schedule for the rest of the night. I'm going to be very busy."
"Of course, sir. Shall I activate privacy mode?"
"You're a good AI, JARVIS. The best AI. I'm definitely not replacing you with a newer model."
"Your reassurance is overwhelming, sir."
Tony carried you to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed with surprising gentleness. The city lights filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in a soft glow.
"You know," he said, crawling over you, settling between your legs, "I had a whole plan for tonight. Very romantic. Very smooth. But then you came home looking like you'd been through a war, and I had to improvise."
"I like your improvisation." You pulled him down for another kiss, your fingers threading through his hair.
"Good. Because I'm about to improvise a lot more." His hands slid up your thighs, pushing the boxer briefs up. "Tell me if anything doesn't feel good. Tonight is about you."
"Tony…"
"I know I don't have to. I want to." He kissed your neck, teeth grazing lightly. "Let me take care of you. Please."
The please did it. Tony Stark didn't say please often, and when he did, it meant something.
"Okay," you whispered.
His smile against your skin was triumphant. "That's my girl."
He took his time, kissing his way down your body, pushing the shirt up and off. His mouth was hot against your skin, tongue tracing patterns that made you shiver. When he reached your breasts, he lavished attention on each one, sucking and licking until you were arching into him, hands fisted in his hair.
"Still with me?" he asked, looking up at you with dark eyes.
"Very much with you."
"Good. Don't go anywhere." He continued his path downward, kissing across your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thighs. When he finally removed the boxer briefs, his breath ghosted over your center, making you shudder.
"Tony, please!"
"I love it when you beg. It's my second favorite sound you make." He licked a long stripe up your center, and you gasped. "That's my first favorite."
He proceeded to take you apart with his mouth, tongue and lips and fingers working in concert until you were writhing beneath him, one hand gripping his hair and the other fisted in the sheets. He was relentless and thorough, paying attention to every gasp and moan, adjusting his approach based on your reactions.
When you came, it was with his name on your lips and stars behind your eyes, pleasure rolling through you in waves that seemed to go on forever.
Tony kissed his way back up your body, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "And that's why they call me a genius."
"Pretty sure that's not why," you managed, still catching your breath.
"It should be. I'm adding it to my resume." He kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his lips. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I can't remember what I was stressed about."
"Perfect. That was the goal." He settled beside you, pulling you close. "We can stop here if you want. Tonight is about you being comfortable."
You ran your hand down his chest, feeling the arc reactor beneath the shirt, the warmth of his skin. "What if I want more?"
His breath hitched. "Then I am absolutely on board with more. Very on board. Enthusiastically on board."
"Tony."
"Yeah?"
"Stop talking and kiss me."
"Now that I can do."
He kissed you deeply, thoroughly, rolling you beneath him. You could feel him hard against your thigh, and you reached down, palming him through his pants. He groaned into your mouth.
"You're going to kill me," he muttered, but he was already pushing his pants down, kicking them off. "Death by beautiful girlfriend. Not the worst way to go."
"You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
"I really do."
He lined himself up, pausing to look at you. "You sure? We can still -"
"Tony. I love you. I want you. Please."
He pushed inside slowly, carefully, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. But there was none - just the perfect stretch, the feeling of being full, complete.
"Okay?" he asked, voice strained.
"Perfect."
He started to move, slow and deep, one hand braced beside your head and the other on your hip. It was intimate and intense, his eyes never leaving yours, like he was trying to memorize every expression.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you. "So perfect. I don't know what I did to deserve you."
"Tony!"
"I mean it." His thrusts were getting faster now, less controlled. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Better than the suits. Better than the company. Better than - fuck - better than everything."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, burying his face in your neck. His hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles.
"Come for me," he whispered against your ear. "Want to feel you. Please, baby. Come for me."
The combination of his words, his fingers, the angle of his thrusts - it was too much. You came with a cry, clenching around him, and he followed seconds later, your name a prayer on his lips.
He collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest, both of you breathing hard. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back.
"So," he said after a moment, "on a scale of one to ten, how well did I do at making you forget about your terrible day?"
You laughed, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Eleven."
"Eleven. I like that. JARVIS, make a note. I got an eleven."
"Noted, sir. Shall I alert the media?"
"No, this one's just for me." He tilted your face up, kissing you softly. "Feeling better?"
"So much better. Thank you, Tony. For everything."
"Anytime. Literally anytime. You have a bad day, you come home to me, and I will make it better. That's my job now. Professional bad day eraser. I'm adding it to my business cards."
"You don't have business cards."
"I'll make some. They'll be very fancy. Probably holographic."
You snuggled closer, feeling the exhaustion from earlier returning, but this time it was the good kind - the satisfied, relaxed kind that came from being thoroughly loved and cared for.
"I love you," you murmured, already half-asleep.
"I love you too." He pulled the blanket over both of you, his arms secure around you. "Now sleep. Tomorrow you're calling in sick and we're spending the whole day in bed."
"Tony, I can't."
"Already done. I had JARVIS send an email. You have the flu. Very serious. Definitely contagious. You need at least three days of bed rest with your boyfriend."
"Three days?"
"I'm very thorough. It's one of my best qualities."
You were too tired and too content to argue. Instead, you just smiled against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart - the arc reactor humming softly beneath it.
"Thank you," you whispered one more time.
"Always," he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Now sleep. I'll be here when you wake up. Promise."
Please, Tony has a wife (f reader). And she has kink about his butt😶🌫️ she was quiet about that because she thinks its weird. But one day he wears pants that look so tight on his ass that its impossible not to look at it. she opens up about liking it and it comes to having sex like in "friends and lovers" with rdj (you know, 🍑👏🗯, $panking)
His Best Asset
Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife F!Reader
Warning/Rating: 18+; explicit, graphic sexual activity (spanking, manual stimulation, penetration, orgasm described in detail), unprotected sexy time, language
Word Count: 3.6 K
You've been married to Tony Stark for two years now, and you'd think by this point nothing about him would surprise you anymore. You've seen him build an arc reactor in a cave with a box of scraps (well, the footage anyway), watched him save the world more times than you can count, and witnessed him argue with JARVIS about the proper temperature for coffee.
But there's one thing you've never told him. One secret you've kept locked away in the vault of your mind, tucked behind classified Stark Industries files and the memory of your first kiss.
You have an absolutely ridiculous obsession with your husband's ass.
It started innocently enough. A glance here, a lingering look there. But lately, it's gotten worse. Or better? You're not entirely sure which.
Like right now.
Tony's in the kitchen, reaching up to grab a coffee mug from the top shelf. He's wearing those gray sweatpants - the ones that should be illegal in seventeen countries - and a worn MIT t-shirt that's riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin at his lower back. And his ass... God, his ass in those sweatpants is a work of art that belongs in the Louvre.
You're supposed to be reading the news on your tablet. Instead, you're staring. Again.
"You want coffee, honey?" Tony asks, glancing over his shoulder.
You jerk your eyes up so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. "What? Yes. Coffee. I want coffee. The beverage. Hot bean water. Yes."
He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. "You okay over there? You sound like JARVIS when his processors are overheating."
"I'm fine!" Your voice comes out at least an octave too high. "Totally fine. Normal. Regular amounts of fine."
Tony gives you that look - the one that says he knows something's up but he's going to let it slide for now - and turns back to pour your coffee. Which means his back is to you again. Which means you're staring again.
It continues throughout the week. You can't help yourself.
When he's in the workshop, bent over one of his project tables, studying schematics with that intense focus he gets. The way his jeans hug his frame, the curve of his…
"JARVIS, is the temperature regulation broken? It feels warm in here," you say, fanning yourself.
"The temperature is a comfortable 68 degrees Fahrenheit, Mrs. Stark," JARVIS replies, and you swear there's amusement in his artificial voice.
When Tony's doing his morning workout, and he's in those compression shorts that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. You walk past the home gym three times with increasingly flimsy excuses.
"Just... getting water."
"Forgot my... phone."
"Need to... check on that thing. In this general area. That definitely exists."
Tony, doing planks, looks up at you with sweat dripping down his temple and grins. "You know, if you want to watch, you can just watch. I don't mind an audience. It's very motivating, actually. Makes me want to perform."
You flee.
This is getting ridiculous. You're a grown woman. You're married to this man. You've seen him naked more times than you can count. You've done things with him that would make a romance novelist blush.
But somehow, admitting that you have a thing for his butt feels... weird? Embarrassing? Like some kind of objectification that you shouldn't be engaging in?
Even though he literally told you last week that he loves your legs and could "write sonnets about what you do to a pair of heels."
You're overthinking this. You know you're overthinking this.
Tony emerges from the bedroom wearing pants that should come with a warning label.
They're designer - Tom Ford, probably, or maybe those Italian ones he likes - in a deep charcoal gray that looks almost black. They fit him like they were painted on. And they make his ass look like something Michelangelo would have wept over.
You're on the couch, and you actually feel your brain short-circuit.
"I've got that meeting with the board today," Tony says, adjusting his watch. "Should be back by three. We still on for dinner tonight?"
You can't speak. Words have abandoned you. The English language has left the building.
"Sweetheart?"
"Mm-hmm," you manage, which is impressive considering your higher brain functions have completely shut down.
Tony walks across the living room to grab his phone from the coffee table, and you track the movement like a heat-seeking missile. The way those pants hug every curve, the way the fabric stretches when he moves, the way his -
He turns around, and you snap your eyes up to his face so fast you see stars.
"You sure you're okay?" He steps closer, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. "You look flushed. JARVIS, run a health scan."
"Mrs. Stark's vitals are elevated but not concerning," JARVIS reports. "Heart rate and body temperature are increased, consistent with -"
"THAT'S FINE, JARVIS, THANK YOU," you interrupt loudly.
Tony's eyes narrow with that calculating look he gets when he's solving a problem. "Okay, seriously, what's going on? You've been acting weird all week. If something's wrong, you can tell me. Is it something I did? Because I have a list of things I've probably done wrong, but I'd like to know which specific one we're addressing."
"It's nothing you did wrong," you say quickly.
"So there is something."
Damn it. He's too smart for his own good.
"It's stupid," you mutter.
"I once built a robot that only spoke in Shakespearean insults. I'm the last person who gets to judge stupid." He sits down next to you, taking your hand. "Come on. Talk to me."
You take a deep breath. This is ridiculous. You're being ridiculous.
"I just... I like..." You gesture vaguely in his direction.
"My sparkling personality? My rugged good looks? My humble nature?"
"Your ass!" you blurt out. "I really, really like your ass, okay? Like, a lot. An embarrassing amount. I can't stop looking at it, and those pants are making it so much worse, and I feel like a creep, but oh my God, Tony, you have no idea what you do to me when you wear things like that."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Tony blinks. Once. Twice.
Then a slow, absolutely devastating grin spreads across his face.
"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is dripping with amusement. "Could you repeat that? I want to make sure JARVIS got it on record."
"Oh my God." You bury your face in your hands.
"JARVIS, please play that back. Specifically the part where my wife -"
"Don't you dare!"
Tony's laughing now, that full-body laugh that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He pulls your hands away from your face, still grinning like he's won the lottery.
"Let me get this straight," he says. "You've been acting like a malfunctioning robot all week because you think my ass is hot?"
"When you say it like that, it sounds…"
"Flattering? Ego-boosting? Like exactly the kind of thing I would absolutely love to hear?" He cups your face in his hands. "Honey, I'm married to a woman who thinks I'm hot. This is literally the best day of my life. Well, top ten. The day I married you is still number one. And that time I got the suit to break Mach 3. But this is definitely up there."
"You're not... weirded out?"
"Weirded out? I'm married to you. I've seen you eat cereal with orange juice because we were out of milk. I've watched you have full conversations with DUM-E. You once fell asleep with your face in a bowl of pasta." He kisses your forehead. "You thinking I have a great ass doesn't even crack the top fifty weird things in this relationship. Besides..."
He stands up, turning around and looking at you over his shoulder with a smirk that should be illegal.
"I mean, you're not wrong. I do have a great ass. It's all those stairs in the workshop. Really tones the glutes."
You laugh despite yourself, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders.
Tony turns back around, and there's something different in his eyes now. Something heated. "You know what? The board meeting can wait."
"Tony, you can't just…"
"I'm Tony Stark. I can do whatever I want. And right now, what I want..." He leans down, bracing his hands on either side of you on the couch, his face inches from yours. "...is to take my wife to bed and let her appreciate all of my best assets. Thoroughly."
Your breath catches. "Yeah?"
"Oh, absolutely. I mean, if you've been holding out on me, keeping this little secret..." His lips brush against your ear. "I think we need to have a very serious conversation about it. In the bedroom. Possibly multiple times."
"JARVIS," Tony says, straightening up and pulling you to your feet. "Clear my schedule for the rest of the day."
"Shall I tell the board you're indisposed, sir?"
"Tell them I'm attending to important personal matters. My wife needs my immediate attention."
"Very good, sir. Shall I activate privacy mode?"
"You're damn right you should."
Tony sweeps you up - actually sweeps you up like something out of a romance novel - and carries you toward the bedroom.
"This is ridiculous," you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"This is marriage, honey. And I'm about to make sure you never feel embarrassed about telling me what you want ever again."
He kicks the bedroom door closed behind you and sets you down, but before your feet fully touch the ground, his mouth is on yours. The kiss is hungry, demanding, full of promise and that particular brand of Tony Stark confidence that never fails to make your knees weak.
"So," he murmurs against your lips, walking you backward toward the bed. "My ass, huh?"
"Are you ever going to let this go?"
"Absolutely not. This is going in my highlight reel." His hands slide under your shirt, warm against your skin. "Right up there with 'that time I built a particle accelerator in my basement' and 'that time my wife admitted she's been objectifying me.'"
"I wasn't -"
"You totally were. And I love it." He pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. "You know what else I love? That you're finally telling me what you want."
His fingers work the button of your jeans, and you help him slide them down your legs. When you're standing there in just your underwear, Tony takes a step back, his eyes raking over you with an appreciation that makes you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
"God, look at you," he breathes. "How did I get this lucky?"
"Charm, good looks, and a concerning amount of money?"
"See, this is why I married you. Beauty and brains." He sheds his own shirt, revealing the arc reactor and the body that, yes, you've seen a thousand times, but still makes your mouth go dry. "Now, where were we? Oh right. You were admiring my assets."
He turns around, glancing at you over his shoulder with a smirk, and your face flushes hot.
"Don't be shy now," he teases. "You've been staring all week. Might as well get a good look."
And God help you, you do. Those pants are still criminally tight, and now that you have permission, you let yourself really look. The curve of his spine, the way the fabric clings to him, the shape of -
"Like what you see?"
"You're the worst," you say, but there's no heat in it.
"And yet, you married me." He turns back around, stalking toward you with predatory grace. "Now get on the bed."
You comply, settling back against the pillows, and Tony follows, crawling over you with that intense focus he usually reserves for his inventions. His mouth finds yours again, and this kiss is slower, deeper, a thorough exploration that leaves you breathless.
His hands map your body like he's memorizing every curve, every response. When he unhooks your bra and tosses it aside, his mouth trails down your neck, across your collarbone, lower.
"Tony," you gasp when his tongue circles your nipple.
"Mm?" He looks up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Something you want to say?"
"You're taking your time."
"I'm savoring. There's a difference." His hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the edge of your panties. "Besides, anticipation is half the fun."
"I've been anticipating all week."
"Fair point." In one smooth motion, he slides your panties down your legs. "But I'm going to make it worth the wait."
He settles between your thighs, and the first touch of his tongue makes you arch off the bed. Tony's always been good at this - attentive, thorough, reading your body like one of his schematics. He knows exactly where to lick, where to suck, how much pressure to apply.
"Fuck," you breathe, your fingers tangling in his hair.
He hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open for him, and when he slides two fingers inside you, you actually see stars.
"That's it," he murmurs, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "Let me hear you."
You're not quiet. You've never been quiet with Tony, and he loves it. Loves the sounds you make, the way you say his name, the way your body responds to his touch.
When you're right on the edge, trembling and desperate, he pulls back.
"Tony!"
"Patience," he says, grinning wickedly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "We're just getting started."
He stands up long enough to shed those sinful pants, and when he's finally naked, you take a moment to appreciate the view. All of him. Including, yes, that ass that started this whole thing.
"See something you like?" he asks, catching you staring.
"Get over here."
"Bossy. I like it." He climbs back onto the bed, but instead of covering you, he lies down on his back. "Come here."
You move to straddle him, but he stops you.
"Other way," he says, and the heat in his voice makes your stomach flip.
Oh.
You turn around, straddling him in reverse, and his hands immediately grip your hips.
"Perfect view," he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Now, I believe we were exploring your particular... interests?"
One hand slides up your back, then down, curving over your ass. He squeezes, and you gasp.
"You like that?" His voice is low, teasing.
"Yes."
"Good." His hand comes down in a light smack, and the sound echoes in the quiet room.
The sensation is electric - not painful, just enough to send heat flooding through you. You moan, and Tony makes a satisfied sound.
"Oh, we're definitely doing this again," he says. Another smack, slightly harder this time, on the other side. "You look so good like this, honey. Absolutely gorgeous."
His other hand slides around to find your clit, circling with just the right pressure while he continues the rhythmic spanking. The combination is overwhelming - pleasure and sensation and the sheer intimacy of letting him see you like this, vulnerable and wanting.
"Tony, please," you gasp.
"Please what? Use your words."
"I need you. Inside me. Now."
"Well, since you asked so nicely."
He guides you up, positioning himself, and when you sink down onto him, you both groan. The angle is deep, intense, and for a moment you just stay there, adjusting to the fullness.
"Move," Tony says, his hands gripping your hips. "Show me what you want."
You start to ride him, finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl. Tony's hands are everywhere - gripping your hips, sliding up your back, coming down in occasional smacks that make you clench around him.
"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groans. "So perfect. So good for me."
You brace your hands on his thighs, using the leverage to move faster, and the new angle makes you cry out.
"That's it," Tony encourages. "Take what you need. God, you're so beautiful like this."
One hand slides around to your clit again, and the dual stimulation is almost too much. You're close, so close, tension coiling tight in your belly.
"Tony, I'm…"
"I know. I can feel it. Come for me, honey. Let go."
His fingers press harder, circling faster, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, pleasure rolling through your body as you cry out his name. You clench around him, and Tony groans, his grip on your hips tightening.
"Fuck, yes, just like that," he gasps. "You're going to make me -"
Before he can finish, he's pulling you off him and flipping you onto your stomach. His hand presses between your shoulder blades, holding you down, and then he's entering you again from behind.
The new position is even deeper, and you're still sensitive from your orgasm. Tony sets a punishing pace, one hand gripping your hip, the other coming down on your ass in sharp smacks that make you moan into the pillow.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, his voice rough. "When you were watching me all week?"
"Yes," you gasp. "God, yes."
"You should have said something sooner." Another smack. "Could have been doing this the whole time."
His rhythm falters, becoming erratic, and you know he's close. You push back against him, meeting his thrusts, and he groans your name like a prayer.
"Where?" he manages.
"Inside," you gasp. "I want to feel you."
That's all it takes. Tony thrusts deep one last time, and you feel him pulse inside you as he comes, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks. He collapses over you, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. Then Tony carefully pulls out and rolls to the side, immediately pulling you against his chest.
"So," he says, once he's caught his breath. "That was fun."
You laugh, the sound muffled against his shoulder. "Understatement."
"We should definitely do that again. Like, regularly. I'm thinking Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe Saturdays if we're feeling ambitious."
"You're ridiculous."
"And you love it." He kisses the top of your head. "But seriously, sweetheart. Don't ever feel weird about telling me what you want. I'm your husband. I want to know these things. I want to make you happy. In all the ways."
You tilt your head up to look at him. "Even when it's something silly like having a thing for your butt?"
"Especially then. Do you know how good it feels to know my wife finds me attractive? Like, really attractive? Enough to get flustered and tongue-tied?" He grins. "It's a massive ego boost. And my ego can always use boosting."
"Your ego is fine."
"My ego is excellent, thank you very much. But it's even better when you're feeding it." His hand traces lazy patterns on your back. "Besides, turnabout is fair play. You think I don't stare at you? I've nearly walked into walls watching you move around the penthouse."
"You have not."
"I absolutely have. Ask JARVIS. He's had to redirect me multiple times."
"This is true, Mrs. Stark," JARVIS chimes in, and you both jump. "Sir has collided with three doorframes, two walls, and one rather expensive vase while observing you."
"JARVIS, we talked about privacy mode," Tony says.
"Privacy mode was disengaged twelve seconds ago when you began discussing household architecture, sir. I assumed the intimate portion of the afternoon had concluded."
"You know what they say about assuming," Tony mutters.
You're laughing now, the kind of full-body laughter that makes your sides hurt. Tony joins in, and soon you're both giggling like teenagers, tangled together in the sheets.
"We're ridiculous," you say.
"We're perfect," Tony corrects. He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "And I love you. Butt obsession and all."
"I love you too. Even though you're never going to let me live this down."
"Absolutely not. This is going in the wedding vows renewal. 'For better or worse, for richer or poorer, and for admiring Tony's exceptional ass.'"
You swat his chest, but you're smiling. Because this is your life now—married to a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist who makes you laugh and makes you feel desired and isn't afraid to be ridiculous with you.
"Hey," Tony says softly, his fingers tilting your chin up so you're looking at him. "Thank you for telling me. For trusting me with that."
"It's just a butt thing, Tony."
"It's not, though. It's you being vulnerable. Sharing something you were nervous about. That matters." His thumb brushes across your cheek. "I want you to always feel like you can tell me anything. No matter how silly you think it is."
Your heart swells. This man - this brilliant, complicated, wonderful man is yours.
"Okay," you whisper. "I promise."
"Good." He kisses you, soft and sweet. "Now, how about we order in for dinner? I'm thinking Thai. And then maybe round two? I have some other ideas I'd like to explore."
"Oh really?"
"Mm-hmm. See, I've been thinking about your legs in those heels you wore last week, and I have some theories I'd like to test..."
You laugh, pulling him closer. "You're insatiable."
"Only for you, honey. Only for you."
And as JARVIS dims the lights and Tony's hands start wandering again, you think that maybe, just maybe, being married to Tony Stark is the best decision you've ever made.
Hi! I don’t know if you’re taking requests but if you are can you make one where the reader is in a relationship with Tony Stark and they’re a super soldier like Bucky and instead of Bucky being the one that killed Tony Starks parents it was actually the reader that did and Tony is sad and angry and starts fighting everyone there and says hurtful things to the reader like “I hate you” “I wish I never met you” “we’re over” things like that. And the reader is trying to apologize over and over but he won’t listen. Basically just a BUNCH of angst. (this all takes place during the scene in civil war). Please and thank you!🙏🏽
When the Truth Breaks Everything
Pairing: Tony Stark x Girlfriend F!Reader
Warning/Rating: 16+/Mature; heavy angst, relationship breakup, betrayal, emotional cruelty, violence, strong language, references to murder, mind control/Hydra trauma, public emotional breakdown, psychological devastation, themes of trust violations
Word Count: 2.8 K
The Leipzig-Halle Airport was already a warzone when everything fell apart.
You stood among the scattered Avengers, your enhanced senses picking up every labored breath, every whispered strategy, every crack of doubt in voices that had once been so certain. Team Cap on one side. Team Iron Man on the other. And you - you were supposed to be on Tony’s side. You were always on Tony’s side.
Your boyfriend. Your partner. The man you loved more than your own life.
The man whose parents you had murdered.
"Stand down, all of you!" Steve's voice cut through the tension, shield raised. "This doesn't have to end in a fight!"
But Tony wasn't listening. You could see it in the rigid set of his shoulders inside the Iron Man suit, the way his repulsors hummed with barely contained energy. He'd been different since Siberia came up, since Zemo's name started circulating, since -
Your blood ran cold.
No. No, please, not now. Not like this.
"Tony," you called out, your voice steadier than you felt. "Tony, wait!"
"I've got something you all need to see," a voice crackled through the comms. It wasn't one of yours. The screens on nearby equipment flickered to life - hacked, you realized with growing horror. Zemo. It had to be Zemo.
And then the footage began to play.
You recognized it immediately. December 16th, 1991. A road in the woods. The car crash that wasn't an accident. You'd seen this video once before, years ago, when Hydra had shown it to you after they'd finally broken through the programming - when they'd forced you to watch what they'd made you do.
"No," you whispered, but the word was lost in the sudden silence as everyone turned to look at the screens.
The Winter Soldier program. But not Bucky Barnes.
You.
The footage was grainy but unmistakable. Your face - younger, blank, dead-eyed - as you pulled Howard Stark from the wreckage. As you killed him with your bare hands. As you staged the scene. As you walked away without a flicker of humanity in your expression.
The timestamp. The Hydra insignia in the corner. The file name: WINTER PROGRAM - ASSET 2.
Time stopped.
You couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but watch Tony's helmet retract, watch his face appear, watch the exact moment he processed what he was seeing.
"Tony…" you started, taking a step forward.
His eyes found yours across the tarmac. Brown eyes that had looked at you with such warmth, such love, such trust just this morning when you'd kissed him goodbye. Now they were wide with shock, with dawning comprehension, with something that looked like his soul was being ripped out of his chest.
"Tell me that's not you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me that's not—tell me I'm seeing things. Tell me this is fake."
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"I can explain."
"TELL ME THAT'S NOT YOU!" The scream tore out of him, raw and agonized, and you flinched like he'd struck you. Around you, the other Avengers stood frozen, witnesses to the most intimate devastation. "Tell me you didn't - tell me you didn't kill my parents. Tell me you didn't murder them and then… and then -"
His voice broke. Actually broke. Tony Stark, who always had a quip, always had a comeback, couldn't finish his sentence.
"I was under Hydra's control," you said desperately, taking another step toward him. Your own voice was shaking, tears already streaming down your face. "Tony, I wasn't myself. They programmed me, they made me - I didn't have a choice, I didn't even remember until -"
"Until when?" His voice had gone cold now. Deadly quiet. Somehow that was worse than the screaming. "Until when did you remember?"
You couldn't answer. Couldn't force the words out.
"How long have you known?" Each word was precisely enunciated, sharp as a blade. "How long have you been lying to me? How long have you been sleeping in my bed, letting me tell you I love you, letting me plan a future with you, knowing that you murdered my parents?"
"Six months," you whispered. "I remembered six months ago."
The sound he made was inhuman. Wounded. Like you'd physically reached into his chest and crushed his heart in your fist.
"Six months." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Only pain. "Six months you've been lying to my face. Six months of 'I love you, Tony' and 'everything's going to be okay, Tony' and the whole time - the whole goddamn time -"
"I DO love you!" You were sobbing now, openly, desperately. "Tony, I love you more than anything, I was trying to find the right way to tell you, I was trying to -"
"The right way?" His voice rose again, cracking with fury. "The RIGHT WAY? There is no right way to tell someone you murdered their parents! There's no right time to mention, 'Oh, by the way, that car crash that destroyed your childhood? That was me. That hole in your life that never healed? I put it there.'"
"I'm not that person anymore!" You were begging now, you could hear it in your own voice. "Tony, please, I'm not - Hydra made me into a weapon, but I broke free, I'm not -"
"You're not what? A murderer?" He took a step toward you, and you could see the tears on his face now too, cutting tracks through the grime and sweat. "Because the video I just watched says otherwise. My parents' blood on your hands says otherwise."
"Tony."
"Did you ever actually love me?" The question stopped you cold. His voice had gone quiet again, but this time it was filled with such profound hurt that it felt like a physical blow. "Or was that part of it too? Get close to the son, make sure he never suspects, play the long game?"
"How can you even ask me that?" Your voice broke on the words. "You know me, you know I love you."
"I don't know anything!" He was shouting again, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I don't know you at all! I thought I did. I thought - God, I was going to propose. Did you know that? I had a ring picked out. I was planning this whole thing, and the entire time you were - you were -"
He couldn't finish. He turned away, his shoulders heaving.
"Tony, please," you begged, trying to close the distance between you. "Please let me explain, please just listen."
"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. He spun back to face you, and the look in his eyes made you stop dead. "Don't come near me. Don't touch me. Don't - I can't -"
"Stark," Steve started, taking a cautious step forward. "Maybe we should all just -"
"YOU KNEW!" Tony rounded on him, and Steve actually stepped back. "Did you know about this, Rogers? Did you know what she did?"
"No," Steve said firmly. "Tony, I swear, I had no idea."
"I don't believe you!" Tony's voice was ragged now, desperate. "I don't believe any of you! You all knew about Bucky, you all protected him, why not her too? Why not protect another one of Hydra's pet assassins?"
"That's not fair," Natasha said quietly. "Tony, she's not -"
"NOT FAIR?" He laughed again, that horrible broken sound. "You want to talk about fair? Is it fair that I fell in love with the person who killed my parents? Is it fair that I trusted her, that I told her everything, that I let her into every part of my life? Is it fair that the best thing that ever happened to me is also the worst?"
"Tony, I'm sorry," you sobbed. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, if I could take it back I would, if I could change it I would, please, Tony, please."
"Sorry doesn't bring them back!" He was screaming now, his voice raw. "Sorry doesn't give me back my father! Sorry doesn't - my mom - she was - do you have any idea what you took from me?"
"I know," you whispered. "I know, and I hate myself for it, I hate what they made me do, I would do anything to undo it."
"But you can't." His voice had gone flat. Empty. Somehow that was the most terrifying sound yet. "You can't undo it. They're dead. They've been dead for years. And I've been in love with their killer."
"I'm not a killer," you said desperately. "Not anymore. I'm not -"
"Yes, you are." Each word was deliberate. Final. "You killed them. You. Not Hydra. Not the programming. You. Your hands. Your face is the last thing my father saw before he died."
"That's not fair!" You were shouting now too, anger mixing with the grief and guilt. "I didn't have a choice! They controlled me, they made me."
"I don't care!" The words exploded out of him. "I don't care if you were controlled! I don't care if you didn't have a choice! They're still dead! And you still did it! And I still - I still -"
His voice broke completely. He pressed his hands to his face, and his whole body shook.
"I hate you," he said, and the words were muffled but clear. "God help me, I hate you so much right now."
The words hit you like bullets. Like your own fists had once hit his father. You actually staggered back.
"Tony…"
"I wish I'd never met you." He lowered his hands, and his face was a mask of anguish. "I wish you'd never walked into my life. I wish I'd never fallen in love with you. I wish - I wish you'd stayed whoever you were before, stayed away from me, because this… this is -"
"Please don't do this," you begged. "Please, Tony, I love you, I love you so much!"
"WE'RE OVER!" The words echoed across the tarmac. Several of the Avengers flinched. Wanda had her hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes. Sam looked away. Even Rhodey, Tony's best friend, looked devastated.
"No," you whispered. "No, Tony, please -"
"We're over," he repeated, and this time his voice was dead. Hollow. "We're done. Finished. I never want to see you again. I never want to hear your voice again. I never want -"
He stopped. Swallowed hard.
"I loved you," he said quietly. "I loved you more than I've ever loved anyone. And you destroyed me. You destroyed everything."
"I can fix this," you said desperately, even though you knew it was a lie. "Tony, please, let me fix this, let me make it right."
"You can't." He shook his head. "There's no fixing this. There's no making this right. My parents are dead, and you killed them, and I - I can't."
The suit's helmet snapped back into place, hiding his face.
"Stay away from me," his voice came through the speakers, mechanical and cold. "Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't come to the tower. Don't - just stay away. If I ever see you again, I don't know what I'll do."
"Tony, please -" You tried to move toward him, but he raised a repulsor, and you froze.
"I mean it," he said. "Stay. Away."
And then he was moving, and the rage that had been directed at you found a new target. He went for Steve first, repulsor blast sending the super soldier flying. Then Sam, then Wanda, then anyone who got in his way.
"Tony, stop!" Rhodey shouted, trying to grab his friend. "This isn't -"
But Tony wasn't listening. He was fighting like a man possessed, like he could punch his way through the pain, like he could blast away the betrayal. Every hit he landed was an outlet for the devastation he couldn't process. Every explosion was a scream he couldn't voice.
You tried to help, tried to stop him, but the moment you got close, he turned on you with such fury that you actually feared for your life.
"I SAID STAY AWAY FROM ME!"
The repulsor blast caught you in the chest, sending you crashing into a nearby vehicle. Your enhanced body absorbed most of the impact, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony in your chest.
"Tony!" Steve was shouting. "Tony, stand down!"
But Tony was beyond reason. He was fighting everyone, friend and foe alike, and you could see it in every movement - he was breaking. Coming apart at the seams. The man you loved was shattering right in front of you, and you were the one who'd swung the hammer.
"Please," you sobbed, but no one was listening. "Please, somebody stop him, he's going to hurt himself."
"He's hurting everyone," Natasha said grimly, deflecting a repulsor blast. "We need to contain him."
"Don't hurt him!" The words tore out of you. "Please, don't hurt him, he's just - he's in pain, he's - "
"We know," Clint said, not unkindly. "But we can't let him keep doing this."
It took all of them working together to finally bring Tony down. Steve's shield. Wanda's magic. Natasha's tactics. Even then, he fought like a wild animal, screaming his rage and pain until his voice gave out.
When he finally stopped, when he finally collapsed to his knees in the wreckage, you tried one more time.
"Tony," you whispered, crawling toward him. "Tony, I'm so sorry, I'm so - "
His head snapped up, and the look he gave you was pure venom.
"I told you to stay away from me."
"I love you," you said, the words breaking. "I love you, and I'm sorry, and I know I can't fix this, but please, please don't."
"You want to know the worst part?" His voice was hoarse, wrecked. "The worst part is that I still love you. Even now, even knowing what you did, some stupid part of me still loves you. And I hate myself for it almost as much as I hate you."
The words were a knife to the heart.
"So do us both a favor," he continued, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Disappear. Leave. Go somewhere I'll never have to see you again. Because if you stay, if you keep trying to apologize, if you keep reminding me that the person I love most in this world is the person who destroyed it - I don't think I'll survive it."
"Tony."
"Go." The word was final. "Just go."
You wanted to argue. Wanted to fight. Wanted to drop to your knees and beg until he listened, until he understood, until he forgave you.
But you could see it in his eyes. There was no forgiveness here. No understanding. No path back to what you'd had.
You'd killed his parents. And in doing so, you'd killed everything you'd built together.
So you stood. Slowly. Painfully. Your body ached from the fight, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your chest, the feeling that your heart was being ripped out with every step you took away from him.
"I love you," you said one last time. "I'll always love you. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
He didn't respond. Didn't even look at you. Just knelt there in the wreckage, surrounded by the scattered remains of the Avengers, looking more broken than you'd ever seen him.
You turned and walked away. Each step felt impossible. Each breath felt like drowning. Behind you, you could hear someone trying to comfort Tony, but his voice was just a murmur under the roaring in your ears.
You'd known this day might come. From the moment you'd remembered what you'd done, you'd known that the truth could destroy everything. You'd just hoped - foolishly, desperately - that love might be enough to survive it.
But some things were too broken to fix. Some betrayals were too deep to forgive. Some wounds never healed.
You'd killed Tony Stark's parents. And in doing so, you'd killed the only future you'd ever wanted.
The last thing you heard before you disappeared into the chaos of the airport was Tony's voice, broken and raw, saying words you'd never forget:
"I wish I'd never loved you."
And the worst part was that you wished the same thing. Because loving him, and losing him like this, was a pain worse than anything Hydra had ever done to you.
At least when they'd programmed you, you hadn't been able to feel anything.
Three weeks later, Tony would find the letter you'd left in his workshop. Pages and pages of explanations, apologies, memories of your time together. He'd read the first line - "I know you'll never forgive me, but I need you to know the truth" - and then he'd burned it without reading the rest.
Some truths were too painful to bear.
Some loves were too broken to save.
And some endings were just that - endings, with no hope of a new beginning.
But before i give the deets i just want to thank you for keeping the tony stark fics coming like omg ur consistency is amazing
Anyways this is kinda porn w/o plot but basically reader is a new hire at SHIELD who is very shy and kind of a nobody. Tony knows of her but they've never talked yet, but he totally stares at her whenever she's in his vicinity and she gets all flustered. One day HQ suddenly goes into lockdown (u could say there was a rouge agent or avenger) and reader and Tony happened to be in the same hallway together. Unfortunately for them they were far from the nearest safe room and its doors had already locked so Tony takes reader to a closet nearby. It's a small and stuffy storage closet, and as soon as they're alone they forget about the lockdown and the tension rises. They share a few words before Tony's mouth is suddenly on the reader and she's in shock but her shyness melts away and the two start grinding against each other right there in the closet. They basically dry hump each other into an orgasm, both fully clothed still. And they've just met. The lockdown ends, snapping them back to reality, and they giggle at their absurdity. But Tony doesn't want to go back to work, so he takes reader to his place. There, it basically turns into a fuck fest. He fucks her in the bedroom first, and they go three rounds in there and finish the last one in the shower. And it's all filthy and smutty. Spanking kink, daddy kink, hair pulling and biting kink, praise kink, spitting in each others mouth, squirting kink, and breeding kink (these all go both ways for them, and also they apply to all the rounds not just number one hehe). Tony is also such a tease during the beginning of it, and his dirty talk drives reader insane. No degradation tho. Tony is definitely surprised due to her always acting so shy at work, and he absolutely loves it. The second round is slower and reader cries out of emotion. Tony comforts her and they share one 'i love you' but that's the only time it will be said in this fic. Then it goes back to filthy fucking. Third round is up to you tbh, just make it fun 😉. Fourth round in the shower is less intense and at that point reader is almost asleep in Tony's arms. They sleep in Tony's bed comfortably and it's up to you if you want to add a short morning after scene.
Sorry that the details are like a whole essay 🥲 i'm just very passionate about my thoughts and i imagined this specific story a lot. But if there's anyone i trust to make it come to life its youuuuu!
Combustion
Pairing: Tony Stark x F!Reader
Warning/Rating: EXPLICIT (18+), adult content, one-shot focused on sexual tension and passion. Contains graphic sexual descriptions, multiple sex scenes, spanking, hair pulling, biting, praise kink, daddy kink, spitting, squirting, and breeding kink. Features Tony Stark's signature banter, witty dialogue, intense chemistry, and a brief emotional moment.
Word Count: 6.9 K
The thing about working at SHIELD headquarters was that you could go weeks without anyone really seeing you.
You'd been hired three months ago - data analysis, level three clearance, the kind of position that kept you tucked away in sub-level offices processing intelligence reports that more important people would later use to save the world. You were good at your job. Quiet, efficient, unnoticed. Exactly how you preferred it.
Except for him.
Tony Stark had a way of making you feel like every nerve ending in your body had suddenly woken up and decided to throw a parade. It didn't help that he seemed to show up at HQ more frequently these days, consulting on weapons tech or arguing with Fury about something that was probably none of your business.
The first time you'd caught him staring, you'd convinced yourself it was coincidence. You'd been walking past one of the glass-walled conference rooms, arms full of file folders, when you'd felt the weight of someone's gaze. You'd glanced up to find Tony Stark - the Tony Stark - looking directly at you through the glass, his conversation with Agent Hill apparently forgotten mid-sentence.
Your heart had stuttered. You'd looked away immediately, hurrying down the corridor with burning cheeks.
The second time, you'd been in the cafeteria, sitting alone with your sad desk salad, and you'd felt it again. That prickling awareness. You'd lifted your eyes to find him three tables away, coffee cup halfway to his lips, watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read. When your eyes met, he'd smiled and you'd nearly choked on a cherry tomato.
After that, it kept happening.
In hallways. In the parking garage. Once, memorably, in the elevator where you'd been alone with him for twelve excruciating floors, hyperaware of how his expensive cologne filled the small space, how his eyes kept sliding toward you in the mirrored walls. He'd opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then the doors had opened and you'd practically fled.
You told yourself you were imagining things. That Tony Stark couldn't possibly be interested in you - shy, awkward, nobody you. He probably looked at everyone like that. Like he was trying to figure out how they worked, what made them tick.
It didn't stop you from thinking about him at night, though. Didn't stop the fantasies that made you bite your lip in the darkness of your apartment, your hand slipping between your thighs as you imagined what it would be like if he ever actually talked to you. If those clever hands ever touched you. If that smart mouth ever…
You shook your head, forcing yourself back to reality as you navigated the corridors of SHIELD HQ. It was late afternoon, most people either in meetings or already heading home. You'd stayed late to finish a report, and now you were just trying to get to the parking level without running into anyone.
Naturally, that's when you saw him.
Tony was leaning against the wall about twenty feet ahead, looking at something on his phone, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit that probably cost more than your car. Your steps faltered. The hallway was long and empty - no way to avoid him without being obvious about it.
You clutched your bag tighter and kept walking, eyes fixed straight ahead, trying to project an aura of professional competence even as your pulse kicked into overdrive.
"Working late?"
His voice stopped you dead. Smooth, warm, with that hint of amusement that always seemed to lurk in Tony Stark's tone.
You turned slowly, finding him watching you with those dark, intelligent eyes. Up close, he was even more devastating - the perfectly groomed goatee, the way his suit jacket stretched across his shoulders, the arc reactor glowing faintly beneath his shirt.
"I… yes. Just finishing up some reports." Your voice came out steadier than you'd expected, though you could feel heat creeping up your neck.
"Dedication. I like that." He pushed off the wall, slipping his phone into his pocket. "You're in data analysis, right? Sub-level three?"
He knew where you worked. Your brain short-circuited slightly. "Yes. How did you -"
"I make it my business to know things." That smile again, the one that made your stomach flip. "Plus, I've seen you around. Hard not to notice -"
The alarm cut him off.
A sharp, blaring siren that made you both freeze. Red emergency lights began flashing along the corridor, and a computerized voice echoed through the building: "SECURITY BREACH. INITIATING LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL. ALL PERSONNEL PROCEED TO NEAREST SAFE ROOM IMMEDIATELY."
Your eyes widened. Lockdown protocols meant sealed doors, contained sections - it was designed to trap threats within specific areas of the building.
Heavy metallic thunks echoed through the hallway as emergency bulkheads began sliding into place at both ends of the corridor.
"Shit," Tony muttered, already moving. His hand wrapped around your wrist—warm, strong, sending electricity up your arm. "Come on!"
He pulled you into motion, both of you running toward the nearest safe room, but you could see the door already sliding shut, the red light above it flashing. You weren't going to make it.
"Here!" Tony yanked you sideways, toward a door you'd never really noticed before. A storage closet, marked with faded lettering. He twisted the handle and shoved it open, pulling you inside just as the final bulkhead sealed with a resounding clang that echoed through the now-empty hallway.
The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly you were plunged into dimness.
The closet was small. Very small. Barely six feet by four feet, lined with metal shelving units holding cleaning supplies, old equipment, boxes of God-knows-what. A single weak emergency light in the corner provided barely enough illumination to see by.
And Tony Stark was pressed against you in the confined space, his chest nearly touching yours, his hand still wrapped around your wrist.
You could feel the heat of him. Smell his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. Your back was against the shelving unit, and when you tried to shift to give him more room, a box jabbed into your spine.
"You okay?" His voice was lower now, intimate in the small space.
You nodded, not trusting your voice. Your heart was hammering - from the sudden lockdown, from the running, from the fact that Tony Stark was right there, so close you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to.
"Probably a drill," he said, but he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Or someone tried to access something they shouldn't have. Happens more often than you'd think."
"How long do lockdowns usually last?" You managed to ask, hyperaware of how his thumb was absently stroking the inside of your wrist. Could he feel your racing pulse?
"Depends. Could be five minutes, could be an hour." His eyes were adjusting to the dim light, and you could see him looking at you in a way he'd never been able to before when you'd always hurried away. "Guess we'll have to find a way to pass the time."
The air in the closet suddenly felt thicker. Warmer.
"I've been wanting to talk to you," Tony said quietly. "For weeks now. But you always run away before I get the chance."
Your breath caught. "I don't - I'm not running away."
"No?" One corner of his mouth quirked up. "So you just happen to need to be somewhere else every time I'm around?"
"I didn't think you'd want to talk to me," you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "I'm nobody. Just a data analyst. You're - you're you."
Something shifted in his expression. He stepped closer or maybe the closet was just that small and suddenly there was no space between you at all. His free hand came up to rest on the shelf beside your head, caging you in.
"You think I stare at nobody?" His voice had dropped to almost a whisper. "You think I show up at SHIELD more than necessary because I love bureaucracy?"
Your mouth went dry. "You've been... what?"
"Coming here hoping to run into you. Trying to figure out how to approach you without scaring you off." His eyes dropped to your lips, then back up. "Driving myself crazy wondering if you feel this too."
"Feel what?" But you knew. God, you knew, because you felt it too - this magnetic pull, this electricity that made your skin hypersensitive and your thoughts scatter.
"This." He leaned in, his lips barely an inch from yours. "Tell me I'm not imagining it."
You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only feel the heat of him, the way your body was responding, the wetness already gathering between your thighs just from his proximity.
"You're not imagining it," you whispered.
That was all the permission he needed.
Tony's mouth crashed against yours, and suddenly the lockdown, the closet, the entire world outside ceased to exist. There was only this - his lips moving against yours with a hunger that matched the ache you'd been carrying for months, his tongue sliding into your mouth when you gasped, the way his hand released your wrist to grip your hip instead, pulling you flush against him.
You moaned into his mouth, your shyness evaporating like mist under the intensity of his kiss. Your hands found his shoulders, his neck, threading into his hair and pulling him closer even though there was no closer to get.
He groaned and the sound went straight to your core. His hand slid from your hip to your ass, squeezing, and then he was lifting you slightly, pressing you harder against the shelving unit as his hips rolled forward.
You felt him - hard and thick against your stomach - and whimpered.
"Fuck," Tony breathed against your lips. "The sounds you make."
He kissed you again, deeper this time, filthy and demanding, and you met him with equal fervor. Your shy, professional persona had completely shattered, replaced by pure need. You rolled your hips forward, seeking friction, and felt him twitch against you.
"That's it," he murmured, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck. "Take what you need, sweetheart."
His hips rocked against yours in a slow grind that made you gasp. Even through layers of clothing the pressure was delicious. You could feel every inch of him, hard and insistent, rubbing against you in exactly the right spot.
"Tony," you whimpered, and his teeth scraped against your pulse point.
"Love hearing my name in that pretty mouth." His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you ground against each other. "Been thinking about this. About you. Wondering what you'd sound like when you let go."
You should have been embarrassed. Should have been mortified that you were dry humping Tony Stark in a storage closet at your workplace. But you couldn't bring yourself to care, not when it felt this good, not when his dirty words were making you wetter by the second.
"Harder," you breathed, surprising yourself with your boldness.
Tony pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with lust and something like delighted surprise. "Yeah? You want it harder, baby?"
You nodded, biting your lip, and his answering smile was absolutely sinful.
"Fuck, you're perfect." He adjusted his grip, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other remained on your hip, and then he was grinding against you with more force, more purpose. The ridge of his cock dragged against your clit through your clothes with each thrust, and you couldn't hold back your moans.
"That's it. Don't hold back." His lips found your ear. "Want to hear every sound. Want to know exactly how good I'm making you feel."
"So good," you gasped, your hips moving frantically now, chasing the pleasure building in your core. "Tony, I'm - oh God!"
"You close, sweetheart? Gonna come for me just like this?" His voice was rough, strained. "Fuck, I can feel how hot you are even through your clothes. Bet you're soaked, aren't you?"
You whimpered, nodding, beyond words now. The pressure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding on as he ground against you relentlessly.
"Come on, baby. Let go. Come for me." His teeth caught your earlobe, and that was it - that was all it took.
Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, pleasure exploding through your body in waves that made you cry out. Tony's mouth covered yours, swallowing your moans as you shook apart in his arms, your hips still moving, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure.
"Fuck, yes, that's so good," Tony groaned against your lips, and then his rhythm stuttered. His grip on you tightened almost painfully as he pressed hard against you, his whole body going rigid. You felt him pulse against you, heard the broken sound he made as he came in his pants like a teenager.
For a long moment, you just breathed together, foreheads pressed together, hearts racing in tandem.
"Holy shit," Tony finally said, his voice rough and wondering. "That was…"
"Yeah," you agreed breathlessly.
He pulled back enough to look at you, and even in the dim emergency lighting, you could see the satisfaction in his eyes. "So. Shy girl from data analysis. Who knew you had that in you?"
You felt heat flood your cheeks, your shyness trying to reassert itself, but Tony's thumb stroked your jaw gently.
"Don't you dare get embarrassed now. That was the hottest thing I've experienced in -" He paused. "Actually, I don't think I've ever come that hard with my clothes on."
Before you could respond, the alarm cut off. The emergency lights stopped flashing, replaced by normal lighting, and a calm voice announced: "Lockdown lifted. Threat contained. All personnel may resume normal activities."
Reality crashed back in. You were in a storage closet at SHIELD headquarters. You'd just had an orgasm while grinding against Tony Stark. You could feel the dampness in your underwear, the slight ache in your thighs from how tightly you'd been wrapped around him.
Tony seemed to read your thoughts. "Hey. Look at me."
You met his eyes.
"No regrets," he said firmly. "That was fucking incredible, and I'm not done with you. Not even close."
Your breath caught. "What?"
"I don't want to go back to work." His smile was pure mischief. "I don't want to pretend that didn't just happen and go back to stealing glances at you in hallways. I want to take you home. I want to peel these clothes off you and make you come on my tongue, my fingers, my cock. I want to hear all those pretty sounds you make without having to keep quiet. I want -" He paused, his eyes searching yours. "Tell me you want that too."
Your mind was spinning. This was insane. You barely knew him. You'd just met, really, despite months of stolen glances. This wasn't like you at all.
But God, you wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted to see where this combustible chemistry led.
"Yes," you whispered. "I want that."
Tony's smile was brilliant. "Thank fuck. Come on."
He took your hand and opened the closet door, checking the hallway. It was still empty, most personnel probably still in safe rooms or dealing with the aftermath of the lockdown. He pulled you toward the parking garage, moving with purpose.
"What about… shouldn't we check in? Make sure everything's okay?" You asked, even as you followed him willingly.
"JARVIS, status on the lockdown?" Tony said to the air.
"Rogue SHIELD agent attempting to access classified files, sir. Apprehended by Agent Romanoff. No casualties, minimal damage. Your presence is not required."
You blinked. "Is that -"
"My AI. He's everywhere." Tony grinned at you as you reached his car - a sleek Audi that probably cost more than you'd make in five years. "Perks of being me. Now get in."
The drive to his penthouse was a blur of city lights and building tension. Tony's hand rested on your thigh the entire time, his thumb drawing maddening circles that kept you on edge. Every time you glanced at him, he was either watching the road with a slight smile or looking at you with undisguised hunger.
"You're thinking too much," he said as he pulled into his private garage. "I can practically hear the gears turning."
"I just… this is crazy. We don't even know each other."
Tony turned off the car and shifted to face you. "Okay. What do you want to know?"
"I - what?"
"Ask me anything. We'll do the getting-to-know-you thing. I'm an open book." His smile was softer now. "Well, mostly open. Some pages are classified."
Despite yourself, you laughed. "Okay. Um. Favorite color?"
"Red. Like the suit. Your turn - favorite food?"
"Thai. Pad see ew specifically."
"Good choice. There's an amazing place in Queens I'll take you to." He said it so casually, like he was already planning future dates. "Biggest fear?"
"Becoming irrelevant," you answered honestly, surprising yourself. "Fading into the background so much that I disappear entirely."
Something flickered in Tony's eyes - understanding, maybe. "You could never be irrelevant. Trust me, I've been watching you for months. You light up every room you're in, even if you don't realize it."
Your heart squeezed. "Your turn."
"Biggest fear? Letting people down. Failing when it matters most." His hand squeezed your thigh. "But right now, the only thing I'm afraid of is that you'll change your mind about coming upstairs with me."
"I won't," you said softly. "I want this. I want you."
"Thank God." He was out of the car in seconds, coming around to open your door and pull you out. "Because I'm about two seconds away from losing my mind if I don't get my hands on you properly."
The elevator ride to his penthouse was torture. Tony stood behind you, his hands on your hips, his lips brushing your neck as the floors ticked by. You could see your reflection in the mirrored walls - your flushed cheeks, your dilated pupils, the way you leaned back into him helplessly.
"Look at you," he murmured against your ear. "So fucking beautiful. Been driving me crazy, you know that? Walking around SHIELD in those professional little outfits, all buttoned up and proper. Made me want to mess you up. Make you fall apart."
"Tony," you breathed, and his hands tightened on your hips.
"Love the way you say my name. Can't wait to hear you scream it."
The elevator doors opened directly into his penthouse, and you barely had time to register the floor-to-ceiling windows, the modern furniture, the sheer wealth on display before Tony was spinning you around and kissing you again.
This kiss was different from the frantic desperation in the closet. This was slower, deeper, more thorough. Like he was savoring you, learning you. His hands cupped your face, tilting your head to exactly the angle he wanted, and you melted into him.
When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard.
"Bedroom," he said roughly. "Now. Before I fuck you against this window where all of Manhattan can see."
The image that conjured made you whimper, and Tony's eyes darkened.
"Oh, you like that idea? Noted for later." He took your hand and led you through the penthouse to a massive bedroom dominated by a king-size bed with charcoal gray sheets. The city glittered beyond the windows, but you barely noticed.
Tony turned to face you, and suddenly the air felt charged again. Heavy with anticipation.
"Last chance to back out," he said quietly. "Once I start, I'm not going to want to stop."
"Good," you said, finding your courage. "Because I don't want you to stop."
His smile was predatory. "Come here."
You crossed to him, and his hands immediately went to your blouse, fingers working the buttons with surprising dexterity. "I've been fantasizing about undressing you. Taking my time. Discovering every inch of you." Each button revealed more skin, and his knuckles brushed against you deliberately, making you shiver. "But right now? Right now I need you naked. Need to see all of you."
Your blouse fell to the floor. Your bra followed seconds later, and then Tony's hands were on your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you gasped.
"Fuck, you're perfect." He dipped his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, and your knees nearly buckled. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak before his teeth scraped gently, and you couldn't hold back your moan.
"That's it. Let me hear you." His hands moved to your slacks, unfastening them and pushing them down your hips along with your underwear. "Step out."
You obeyed, and then you were completely naked while he was still fully dressed. It should have made you self-conscious, but the way Tony was looking at you - like you were the most incredible thing he'd ever seen - made you feel powerful instead.
"Lie down on the bed," he commanded softly. "On your back. Legs spread."
Heat flooded through you at his tone - authoritative but not cruel, dominant but respectful. You climbed onto the bed, your heart racing, and did as he asked.
Tony stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes roaming over every inch of your exposed body. Slowly, deliberately, he loosened his tie and pulled it off. Then his jacket. His fingers worked the buttons of his shirt, revealing the arc reactor and the defined muscles of his chest and abs.
"Do you have any idea how many times I've jerked off thinking about this?" He asked conversationally as he unbuckled his belt. "About having you spread out for me like this? About tasting you, fucking you, making you come over and over until you can't remember your own name?"
"Tony," you whimpered, your thighs falling open wider involuntarily.
"That's my girl." His pants hit the floor, and then his boxer briefs, and oh God, he was magnificent. His cock was thick and hard, curving slightly toward his stomach, the tip already glistening with precum. "Touch yourself. Show me how wet you are."
Your hand slid down your body, between your thighs, and you both groaned when your fingers slid through your folds. You were soaked, swollen and sensitive, and when you circled your clit, pleasure sparked through you.
"Fuck, that's hot." Tony wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking slowly as he watched you. "But I think we can do better than your fingers, don't you?"
He climbed onto the bed, settling between your thighs, and the first touch of his tongue against your pussy made you cry out.
"Oh fuck, you taste incredible," Tony groaned against you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as his tongue explored every fold, every sensitive spot. He licked from your entrance to your clit in long, slow strokes that had you writhing.
"Tony, please!"
"Please what, baby? Tell me what you need." His lips closed around your clit and sucked, and you nearly came off the bed.
"More! Please, more, I need -"
Two fingers pushed inside you, and the stretch was perfect. Tony curled them, finding that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids, and worked it mercilessly while his tongue continued its assault on your clit.
"You're so tight," he murmured between licks. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock. Gonna fill you so good, baby. Gonna make you come so hard you see God."
His dirty talk combined with the skilled work of his mouth and fingers was too much. Your orgasm built rapidly, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until…
"Tony! Oh God, Tony, I'm -"
"Come for me," he commanded, and you shattered.
Your back arched off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Tony didn't let up, working you through it, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive and pushing at his head.
He pulled back with a satisfied grin, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. "Fucking beautiful. But we're just getting started."
He crawled up your body, settling his weight on you, and the feel of his bare skin against yours was intoxicating. His cock pressed against your thigh, hot and hard, and you reached down to wrap your hand around it.
Tony hissed. "Careful, sweetheart. I'm already close just from tasting you."
"I want you inside me," you said boldly. "Please, Tony. Need to feel you."
"Fuck." He reached over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom, but you stopped him.
"I'm on birth control. And I'm clean. I want -" You bit your lip, suddenly shy again despite everything. "I want to feel you. All of you."
Tony's eyes darkened to almost black. "You sure?"
"Yes. Please."
"Christ, you're going to kill me." He tossed the condom aside and positioned himself at your entrance. "You want all of me, baby? Want me to fill this pretty pussy up?"
"Yes!" You gasped as he pushed inside, just the tip at first, stretching you.
"So fucking tight," Tony groaned. He pushed deeper, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. "Taking me so well. Such a good girl."
The praise made you clench around him, and he noticed immediately.
"Oh, you like that? Like being my good girl?" He was fully seated now, and the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. "You are, you know. So perfect for me. Knew you would be."
He started to move, slow and deep at first, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.
"Harder," you pleaded. "Please, Tony, harder."
"Fuck, yes." His pace increased, his hips snapping against yours with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with your moans and his grunts. "This what you need? Need me to fuck you hard?"
"Yes! God, yes!"
Tony's hand slid into your hair, gripping and tugging your head back to expose your throat. His teeth scraped against your pulse point before biting down, and the sharp pleasure-pain made you cry out.
"Mine," he growled against your skin. "Say it. Say you're mine."
"Yours! I'm yours, Tony!"
His other hand came down on your ass in a sharp smack that made you gasp and clench around him.
"Fuck, you like that too?" Another spank, harder this time. "Such a dirty girl under all that shyness. Love it. Love discovering all the things that make you fall apart."
He shifted angles, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, and you could feel another orgasm building already.
"Touch yourself," Tony commanded. "Play with your clit. Want to feel you come on my cock."
Your hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. The added stimulation combined with Tony's relentless thrusts was too much.
"That's it, baby. Can feel you getting tighter. You gonna come for me? Gonna squeeze my cock while you come?"
"Yes! Tony, I'm so close."
"Look at me." His hand in your hair tightened, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Want to see your face when you come. Want to watch you fall apart for me."
The intensity in his gaze, the feeling of him inside you, the pressure on your clit - it all combined into a perfect storm. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, and you screamed his name as pleasure consumed you.
"Fuck, yes, that's so good," Tony groaned, his rhythm faltering. "Gonna come, baby. Gonna fill you up. You want that? Want my cum inside you?"
"Yes! Please, Tony, want it so bad!"
"Open your mouth."
You obeyed without thinking, and Tony leaned down and spit directly into your open mouth before kissing you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours. The filthy act sent another shock of pleasure through you, and you moaned into his mouth.
Tony's hips stuttered, and then he was coming with a broken groan, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his release. The feeling of his warmth flooding you triggered another small orgasm, and you clenched around him, milking every last drop.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slicked and satisfied. After a moment, he rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were draped across his chest.
"Holy shit," he said eloquently.
You laughed breathlessly. "Yeah."
His hand stroked up and down your spine lazily. "So. Shy girl from data analysis. You've been holding out on me."
"I didn't know I had that in me," you admitted. "I've never - I mean, I've had sex before, but not like that. Never like that."
Tony tilted your chin up so you were looking at him. "Good. Because I plan on doing that a lot more. That okay with you?"
"Very okay," you said softly.
He kissed you, slow and sweet this time, and you could feel him already starting to harden again against your thigh.
"Give me like ten minutes," he murmured against your lips. "Then I'm going to fuck you again. Slower this time. Want to take my time with you."
"Okay," you whispered, and settled against his chest, listening to the arc reactor's gentle hum and the steady beat of his heart.
True to his word, about ten minutes later, Tony's hands started wandering again. This time, his touch was softer, more exploratory. He mapped every curve, every dip, every sensitive spot, learning your body like it was a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"Roll over," he murmured. "On your stomach."
You obeyed, and felt him straddle your thighs. His hands massaged your shoulders, your back, working out tension you didn't even know you were carrying. It was intimate and sweet, and when his lips followed the path of his hands, pressing kisses down your spine, you felt something shift in your chest.
"You're so beautiful," Tony said quietly. "Inside and out. I meant what I said earlier - you light up every room. I noticed you the first day you started at SHIELD. Couldn't take my eyes off you."
Tears pricked at your eyes unexpectedly. No one had ever made you feel this seen, this valued.
"Turn over, sweetheart. Want to see your face."
You rolled onto your back, and Tony settled between your thighs again. This time, when he pushed inside you, it was slow and deliberate. He braced himself on his forearms, his face inches from yours, and the eye contact was almost overwhelming.
"That's it," he murmured as he began to move. "Just like that. So perfect."
This was different from the first round. Less frantic, more intimate. Each thrust was measured, purposeful, designed to make you feel every inch of him. His hips rolled in a rhythm that had you gasping, but it was the way he was looking at you - like you were precious, like you mattered - that made your chest tight.
"Tony," you whispered, and he kissed you softly.
"I've got you, baby. Just feel. Just be here with me."
One of his hands found yours, threading your fingers together and pinning your hand beside your head. The other cupped your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone as he continued those slow, deep thrusts.
It was too much. The physical pleasure combined with the emotional intensity, the way he was making you feel cherished and desired and seen. Tears started sliding down your temples, and Tony noticed immediately.
"Hey, hey." He slowed, concern flickering across his face. "You okay? Do you want to stop?"
"No!" You tightened your legs around him. "Don't stop. Please don't stop. It's just—it's so much. I feel so much."
Understanding dawned in his eyes. "I know, sweetheart. I feel it too."
He kissed away your tears, his movements never stopping, just maintaining that slow, devastating rhythm that was unraveling you from the inside out.
"You're incredible," he murmured against your lips. "So brave. So beautiful. So fucking perfect."
"Tony, I—" The words caught in your throat, too big, too soon, too intense.
But he seemed to understand anyway. His hand tightened on yours. "I know. I know, baby. I feel it too."
"I love you," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.
Tony's rhythm faltered for just a second, and then he was kissing you deeply, pouring everything he couldn't say into the kiss.
"I love you too," he breathed against your lips. "Fuck, I love you too."
The confession broke something open inside you. Your orgasm built slowly this time, a gradual crescendo rather than a sudden explosion. Tony seemed to sense it, adjusting his angle slightly, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with each thrust.
"Come with me," he said softly. "Want to feel you. Want us to fall together."
His hand released yours to slide between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing gentle circles. That was all it took. Your orgasm washed over you in waves, gentler than before but somehow more profound, and you felt Tony follow seconds later, his groan muffled against your neck as he filled you again.
You held each other as you came down, neither of you speaking, just breathing together in the aftermath.
Finally, Tony rolled to the side, pulling you against his chest. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, mixing with your own arousal, and the filthy reality of it made you clench.
"Don't worry," Tony said, amusement in his voice. "We'll clean up. Eventually."
You laughed softly. "Eventually?"
"Well, I'm not done with you yet." His hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing. "Still got at least one more round in me. Maybe two."
"Tony," you protested weakly, even as heat pooled in your belly again.
"What? You think I'm going to let you go after that? After you said—" He paused, something vulnerable flickering across his face. "Did you mean it?"
You propped yourself up on your elbow to look at him. "Yes. I know it's crazy. We barely know each other. But yes, I meant it."
"Good." He pulled you down for a kiss. "Because I meant it too. And I'm going to spend the rest of the night proving it to you."
He was true to his word. After a brief rest, his hands started wandering again, and you found yourself responding eagerly despite your exhaustion.
"On your hands and knees," Tony said, his voice taking on that commanding edge again that made you shiver.
You positioned yourself as requested, and felt Tony's hands on your hips, positioning you exactly how he wanted you.
"Fuck, this view," he groaned. "Gonna wreck you, baby. Gonna make you scream."
He pushed inside in one smooth thrust, and the new angle made you cry out. He felt even deeper like this, hitting spots that made your toes curl.
"That's it. Take it. Take all of me." His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he set a punishing pace. "Such a good girl. Taking my cock so well."
One hand slid up your spine to fist in your hair, pulling your head back. The sharp tug sent pleasure-pain radiating through you, and you moaned.
"You like it rough, don't you, baby? Like when I use you?" His other hand came down on your ass in a sharp smack. "Answer me."
"Yes! God, yes, I love it!"
"Love what? Say it."
"Love when you use me! Love when you fuck me hard! Love your cock!"
"Fuck yes." Another spank, harder this time, and you could feel yourself getting wetter, your arousal dripping down your thighs. "So fucking perfect. My perfect girl. Mine to fuck. Mine to fill. Mine to breed."
The word sent a shock through you. "Tony!"
"You want that? Want me to breed this pretty pussy? Fill you up until you're dripping? Until you're carrying my baby?"
It should have terrified you. Instead, it made you clench around him, made you push back to meet his thrusts.
"Oh fuck, you do want it." Tony's rhythm became almost frantic. "Gonna give it to you, baby. Gonna pump you so full of my cum. Gonna breed you properly."
"Please!" You were babbling now, lost to the pleasure and the filthy fantasy. "Please, Tony, want it, want you to breed me!"
His hand released your hair to reach around and find your clit, rubbing hard and fast. "Come for me. Come on my cock while I breed you. Want to feel you milk me dry."
The combination of his words, his fingers on your clit, and the relentless pounding was too much. Your third orgasm of the night hit you like a freight train, and you screamed his name as you came.
"Fuck, yes, that's it!" Tony groaned, and then he was coming too, his hips pressed flush against your ass as he emptied himself inside you. "Take it all. Every drop. So good, baby, so fucking good."
You collapsed forward onto the bed, and Tony followed, covering your back with his body, both of you trembling and gasping.
"Holy shit," you managed after a moment.
Tony laughed breathlessly. "Yeah. That was… fuck."
He pulled out carefully, and you could feel the evidence of your activities leaking out of you. Tony's fingers followed the trail, pushing it back inside, and you whimpered at the oversensitivity.
"Love seeing my cum dripping out of you," he murmured. "Love knowing I marked you inside and out."
"Tony," you protested weakly. "I can't - I need a break."
"I know, sweetheart. Come on. Shower time."
He helped you up, supporting you when your legs wobbled, and led you to the bathroom. The shower was massive, with multiple shower heads and enough room for several people. Tony turned on the water, adjusting the temperature before pulling you inside.
The hot water felt incredible on your sore muscles. Tony grabbed some expensive-looking body wash and began soaping you up, his hands gentle now, caring for you.
"You okay?" He asked softly. "I wasn't too rough?"
"No. It was perfect. You were perfect." You leaned into his touch. "I've never felt like this before."
"Good." He tilted your face up to kiss you under the spray. "Because I plan on making you feel like this as often as possible."
His hands slid down your body, and despite your exhaustion, you felt heat stirring again. Tony seemed to notice, because his smile turned wicked.
"One more?" He asked. "Nice and slow? I'll do all the work."
You nodded, and he lifted you easily, pressing your back against the tile wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he positioned himself at your entrance.
This time, when he pushed inside, it was gentle. Tender. His thrusts were slow and shallow, more about the intimacy than the friction. You rested your head on his shoulder, letting him support your weight, letting him take care of you.
"So good," Tony murmured. "So perfect. Love how you feel around me. Could stay inside you forever."
You were too tired for another intense orgasm, but the gentle pleasure was building nonetheless. Tony seemed content to just move inside you, holding you close, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips.
"Come on, baby," he coaxed. "One more. Give me one more and then we'll sleep. I've got you."
His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your oversensitive clit and rubbing gentle circles. The pleasure built slowly, a warm glow rather than a burning fire, and when you finally came, it was soft and sweet, making you sigh rather than scream.
Tony followed moments later, his release more of a gentle pulse than an explosion, and he held you through it, murmuring praise and endearments.
He carefully lowered you back to your feet, keeping an arm around you to make sure you didn't fall. You were practically asleep standing up, exhausted in the best possible way.
Tony finished washing you both quickly, then dried you off with a fluffy towel and led you back to the bedroom. The sheets had been changed and Tony pulled back the covers and helped you in.
You were asleep almost before your head hit the pillow, barely aware of Tony sliding in behind you and pulling you against his chest.
You woke to sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the feeling of Tony's lips on your shoulder.
"Morning, beautiful," he murmured against your skin.
You turned in his arms, finding him already awake and watching you with soft eyes. "Morning."
"How do you feel?"
You took inventory. Sore, definitely. Muscles you didn't know you had were aching. But also satisfied, content, happy in a way you couldn't remember being before.
"Good," you said honestly. "Really good."
"Good." He kissed you softly. "Because I meant everything I said last night. I love you. I want this. Want you. Want to see where this goes."
Your heart swelled. "I want that too."
"Yeah?" His smile was brilliant. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go. You're stuck with me now."
"I think I can live with that," you said, and kissed him again.
Outside, the city was waking up. Inside, wrapped in Tony Stark's arms, you felt like you'd finally found where you belonged.
And when Tony's hand started sliding down your body again, you didn't protest. After all, you had nowhere else to be.
Warning/Rating: Teen (13+); romantic and magical elements, brief violence (battle aftermath), emotional vulnerability, mild language, supernatural themes, kissing/intimate physical contact (non-explicit), themes of acceptance and defying logic, no graphic content
Word Count: 785 K
The workshop smelled like motor oil when you found him - slumped against his workbench, arc reactor flickering like a dying star.
"Don't," Tony said before you could speak, one hand raised weakly. "Don't start with the 'I told you so.' I can see it on your face."
"I wasn't going to say that." You crossed the distance between you in three strides, medical scanner already in hand. The readings made your stomach drop. "Tony, what happened out there?"
"Ran into a witch. Well, warlock. Wizard? I don't know the proper terminology for angry men in robes who throw sparkly hands at you." He tried for his usual grin, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Turns out the Scarlet Witch isn't the only one who can sling magic around. Who knew?"
The holographic displays around the workshop stuttered and glitched. You'd never seen them do that before.
"JARVIS, what's his status?"
"I'm afraid my sensors cannot identify the nature of Sir's affliction," the AI responded, and you could have sworn you heard concern in that smooth British accent. "It does not register as any known toxin, pathogen, or radiation."
"Because it's not real," Tony insisted, but his voice had gone thin. Thready. "Magic isn't real. It's just... advanced science we don't understand yet. Clarke's Third Law and all that."
You watched the arc reactor flicker again. Watched the way his hands trembled as he tried to pull up another diagnostic screen. The hologram dissolved before he could touch it.
"Tony." You caught his face between your palms, forcing him to look at you. His skin was cold. Too cold. "Listen to me. Before you left, Strange warned us about the Obsidian Covenant. He said if any of them marked you -"
"Strange is a hack with a theatrical flair and a really unfortunate goatee."
"He said only true love's kiss could break their curse."
The workshop went very, very quiet.
Tony stared at you. Then he laughed - a broken, rattling sound that scared you more than anything else had. "Oh, that's rich. That's... no. No, come on. True love's kiss? What is this, a Disney movie? I'm a man of science. I've built suits that can survive reentry. I've held an Infinity Stone. I'm not going to be taken out by some fairy tale -"
He collapsed.
You caught him, barely, his weight dragging you both to the floor. The arc reactor was barely glowing now, and his breath came in shallow gasps.
"JARVIS, how long does he have?"
"Minutes, miss. I'm sorry."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. Tony's eyes were closed, his head heavy against your shoulder. You'd faced down terrorists with this man. Aliens. Gods. You'd patched his wounds and celebrated his victories and fallen so completely in love with him that it had become as fundamental as breathing.
And he didn't believe in magic.
"You're an idiot," you whispered against his temple. "A brilliant, stubborn, beautiful idiot."
Then you kissed him.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Tony's lips were cold under yours, unresponsive, and terror clawed up your throat -
Light exploded through the workshop.
Not the blue-white of the arc reactor, but something warmer. Golden. It poured from where your lips met his, cascading across his skin in waves of luminescence. The holographic displays blazed back to life, spinning wildly. Tools rattled on their magnetic strips. The very air hummed with power, with something ancient and undeniable.
Tony gasped against your mouth, his hand suddenly strong as it came up to cup the back of your head. The kiss deepened, and you felt the exact moment the curse shattered - like glass breaking in reverse, all the pieces flying back together and making him whole.
When you finally pulled back, his eyes were open. Clear. The arc reactor glowed steady and bright.
"Well," Tony said, his voice rough but alive, so wonderfully alive. "That's... scientifically impossible."
You laughed, the sound half-sob. "You're welcome."
He sat up slowly, staring at his hands, at the workshop still shimmering with fading golden light. Then he looked at you - really looked at you - and something in his expression cracked open.
"True love's kiss," he repeated, wonder and disbelief and something tender warring in his voice. "I've built artificial intelligence. I've created new elements. But you..." He touched your face with infinite gentleness. "You just rewrote everything I thought I knew about the universe."
"Does that bother you?"
Tony pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "Terrifies me," he admitted. "But I'm starting to think that's the point."
When he kissed you again, there was no magic - just the two of you, and the truth that had saved his life.
(💛 reunion kiss) But can you do in Tony Stark, Reader is his secret wife with their secret infant, i just want where Tony has been away for months (after their baby was born) because of the missions but also worried for his familys safety and he can't go back to their secret home because he's afraid some of his enemies will follow him and might harm his family. So after a few months he can't take it anymore and decided to retire as Iron Man and he just wants to be family man (the avengers doesn't know he has a family and only fury and other SHIELD workers only know about it). So the last day Tony being an avenger is they're having a party until Reader showed up with their baby and Tony is very happy and surprised and the avengers is surprised but happy for Tony. Make it fluff ending please with some scenes with the family and tony being tony only after his retirement. I hope you understand my request huhu tysm!!🥹
Genius, Billionaire, Dad
Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife F!Reader
Heart Game | Heart Game Masterlist
Warning/Rating: Teen (13+) Romantic elements, reunion kiss (passionate but non-explicit), themes of separation and parental commitment, emotional vulnerability, mild language (Tony's sarcasm), domestic fluff, brief mentions of past danger and enemy threats (non-graphic), No graphic content, no violence
Word Count: 1 K
The Avengers Compound had never looked so intimidating.
You stood outside the terrace doors, Maria balanced on your hip, your heart hammering against your ribs. Through the glass, You could see Tony - your husband, Maria’s father, the man who'd been gone for seventy-three days - surrounded by Earth's Mightiest Heroes. They were laughing, drinking, celebrating his retirement.
They had no idea why he was really leaving.
Maria squirmed, and you adjusted her weight, smoothing down her tiny onesie. "Daddy's Co-Pilot" in arc reactor blue - Tony had it custom-made before his last mission. Before everything changed.
"Speech! Speech!" Natasha called out, that knowing smirk playing at her lips.
You watched Tony raise his glass, flashing that trademark grin - the one that had charmed you on our first date, the one he wore like armor. "Alright, alright. So, this is it. Tony Stark, signing off from the superhero gig. I know, I know, try to contain your devastation." He paused for effect. "Turns out saving the world is great for the ego but hell on the schedule. Besides, someone's gotta focus on the important stuff… like making sure Stark Industries doesn't accidentally create Skynet."
Your chest tightened. Liar. He was leaving because of you. Because of your family. Because every mission was torture, every enemy a potential threat to Maria. Because he'd called you three weeks ago, voice breaking, saying he couldn't do it anymore.
Steve raised an eyebrow. "That's really why you're retiring? Paperwork?"
"Would I lie to you, Cap?" Tony's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
Now or never.
You pushed open the terrace doors.
Time stopped.
Tony's eyes found yours across the crowded terrace, and you watched his entire world shift. The champagne glass slipped from his fingers - you heard it shatter, distant and unimportant.
"Surprise," You said softly, your voice catching. God, you'd missed him.
The room erupted in confused murmurs, but Tony was already moving, crossing the distance in long strides that had nothing to do with the Iron Man suit and everything to do with a man who'd been drowning and finally found air.
He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you - deeply, desperately, months of separation and fear and longing poured into that single moment. You tasted champagne and relief and home. My free hand fisted in his shirt, holding him close, Maria squeezed safely between you.
"You're here," he breathed against your lips. "You're really here."
"You retired," You whispered back, tears threatening.
"Wait, wait, WAIT." Natasha's voice cut through our bubble. "Stark, is that - do you have a baby?"
Tony turned, keeping one arm wrapped firmly around you - like he was afraid you'd disappear - and gently took Maria from your arms. You watched our daughter's face light up, tiny fingers immediately reaching for his goatee, and something in your chest cracked open. This. This was what you'd been waiting for.
"Everyone, meet Maria Stark. Maria, meet the people Daddy's been ditching you for. Don't worry, that's over now." He pressed a kiss to her downy head, and you saw his shoulders finally relax. Seventy-three days of tension melting away.
"I’m sorry, I’m still processing," Bruce said, looking between Tony and the baby. "You have a child? How long -"
"Married three years, baby six months," Tony supplied, unable to stop staring at Maria’s face. Had her eyes always been that bright? "Fury knew. Had to keep them off the grid. Couldn't risk some megalomaniac using them as leverage."
"That's why you've been so distracted on missions," Steve said slowly, understanding dawning. "Tony, you should have told us."
You leaned into Tony's side, watching the Avengers process this bombshell. Steve looked stunned. Natasha was smirking like she'd suspected all along. Wanda's eyes were soft with understanding.
"And risk it? No." Tony's voice turned serious, protective, and you felt his arm tighten around you. "Every time I suited up, I knew I was painting a target. Every enemy I made, every alien invasion, every psychopath with a grudge - they all became threats to her." He looked at you, then back at Maria. "I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't be Iron Man and their husband and father. Something had to give."
Your throat tightened. Those late-night calls, his voice rough with exhaustion and longing. I can't keep doing this. I can't be away from you both.
Thor clapped him on the shoulder, surprisingly gentle. "You chose well, Stark."
"Obviously. I’m a genius, remember?"
Wanda smiled at you, then at Maria. "She's beautiful, Tony."
"Gets it from her mother. Though the superior intellect is definitely mine."
You laughed - God, it felt good to laugh with him again - and leaned into his side. "You're impossible."
"You married me anyway. Questionable judgment on your part."
Later, at the penthouse, you stood in the nursery doorway, watching Tony attempt to change Maria’s diaper. He'd designed this room with meticulous care but he'd barely spent any time in it.
"Okay, so, this tab goes... here? No, wait - JARVIS, pull up a tutorial."
"Sir, you've designed suits with 47 moving parts."
"Yeah, and none of them peed on me mid-assembly!"
You couldn't help it - laughter bubbled up, warm and bright. Maria grabbed his finger with her whole fist, and you watched Tony's face transform. Really transform, without the fear of being followed or the weight of the next mission.
"Hey, princess," he murmured. "Daddy's home now. For good."
Maria cooed, and you felt tears prick your eyes. This. This was worth every lonely night, every moment of raising her alone, every sacrifice.
Tony Stark - genius, billionaire, former superhero - fell completely, irrevocably in love all over again.
In the kitchen later, you watched him attempt pancakes (slightly burnt, but edible), groaning at his terrible dad jokes about "flipping out." When he pulled you into his arms for a slow dance, Maria giggling at them from her swing, You finally let yourself believe it.
He was really home.
No suit. No missions. No saving the world.
Just this.
And for the first time in months, you all slept through the night - Tony's arm around you, Maria in her crib nearby, finally a family under one roof.
Could you write another part of this Professor Stark story? 😭😭😭 I so wanted to see them get married and have children, see her defense and their success in everything they planned 😭😭😭 imagine how intelligent and cute their children would be 😭😭😭 them having the same blushing as his mom and always making Tony melt 😭😭😭 I know you have a lot to write and the new job, but this story has become my favorite of all 😭😭😭 take the time you need
Extended Epilogue
Pairing: Professor Tony Stark x F!Reader
Anon Request
Parts 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/Epilogue/Extended Epilogue
Warning/Rating: PG-13; emotional content (pregnancy, childbirth), mild language, romantic scenes (kissing), tender intimate moments (non-explicit), themes of family and parenthood, academic success, joy and celebration.
Word Count: 6.4 K
Two Years Later
The conference room in MIT's physics building is smaller than you'd expected for such a momentous occasion. Afternoon light streams through tall windows, illuminating the long table where five members of your dissertation committee sit with copies of your thesis spread before them. The air conditioning hums quietly, but you can still feel a bead of sweat forming at your temple.
You stand at the front of the room, your presentation displayed on the screen behind you, and take a steadying breath. Your hands want to shake, but you force them still. You've practiced this defense a hundred times - in front of Tony, in front of the mirror, in your dreams. You know this material inside and out. It's yours. You've earned this moment.
Tony sits in the back row of chairs, technically an observer since he'd recused himself from your committee to avoid any appearance of bias. But you can feel his presence like a physical thing, warm and steady and proud. You'd glanced back at him once when you first entered the room, and the look in his eyes had steadied your nerves. He believes in you. He always has.
"Dr. Smith, members of the committee," you begin, your voice stronger than you feel. "Thank you for being here today. My dissertation explores how to use quantum physics to create unbreakable codes for sending secret messages - specifically, how to make these systems work on a larger scale, which has been a major challenge until now."
You click to your first slide, and suddenly the nervousness fades. This is your research. Your passion. The work you've poured three years of your life into. The words come easily now, flowing from you with confidence and clarity.
For the next forty-five minutes, you walk them through your research - the theoretical framework, the experimental validation, the mathematical proofs, the potential applications. You field questions with growing confidence, your initial nervousness completely forgotten. This is what you've been training for. This is what you're meant to do.
The committee members ask challenging questions, pushing you to demonstrate the depth of your understanding, and you answer each one thoroughly, speaking from the knowledge you've internalized over years of research. You catch Tony's eye as you explain one particularly elegant aspect of your framework, and see him trying to suppress a grin. You'd spent countless late nights working through this exact problem, arguing over coffee and equations until you'd finally cracked it. That breakthrough had been yours together, even if only your name is on the dissertation.
Finally, after nearly two hours, Dr. Smith looks at her colleagues and nods. "I think we have what we need. If you could step outside for a few minutes while we deliberate?"
Your heart jumps into your throat. This is it. You nod, trying to appear calm, and walk out into the hallway on legs that feel suddenly unsteady.
Tony is there immediately, pulling you into his arms. "You were incredible," he murmurs against your hair. "Absolutely brilliant. I'm so proud of you."
"They're deliberating," you say, your voice muffled against his chest. "What if…"
"They're going to pass you," Tony says firmly, pulling back to look at you. "Did you see their faces? They were impressed. Hell, Martinez looked like he wanted to offer you a postdoc on the spot."
"You think so?" You search his face, needing his certainty.
"I know so." He cups your face in his hands. "You just defended groundbreaking research with confidence and expertise. You answered every question they threw at you. You were everything I knew you'd be and more."
You lean into his touch, drawing strength from him. "I couldn't have done this without you."
"Yes, you could have," Tony says softly. "But I'm honored I got to be part of your journey."
You stand there in the hallway, holding each other, until the door opens and Dr. Smith’s head appears. "We're ready for you."
Your heart is pounding as you walk back into the room. The committee members are all smiling, which has to be a good sign, right? You stand before them, hands clasped in front of you to keep them from shaking.
Dr. Smith stands, and the other committee members follow suit. "On behalf of the committee, it is my great pleasure to inform you that your dissertation has been approved unanimously."
Relief floods through you so intensely you feel dizzy. You've done it. You've actually done it.
"Furthermore," Dr. Smith continues, "we'd like to commend you on the exceptional quality of your research. Your work represents a significant contribution to the field, and we believe it has the potential to reshape how we approach quantum communication networks. Congratulations, Dr. Stark."
Dr. Stark. The title hits you like a physical thing, and suddenly you're crying, tears streaming down your face even as you smile. "Thank you," you manage. "Thank you so much."
The committee members come forward to shake your hand, offering congratulations and discussing publication opportunities. Dr. Martinez does indeed mention a postdoc position. Dr. Williams wants to discuss collaboration on a follow-up study. It's overwhelming and wonderful and surreal.
And through it all, you're aware of Tony standing in the back of the room, watching you with such pride and love that it makes your chest ache. When the committee members finally disperse and you turn to him, he's already moving toward you.
"Dr. Stark," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Has a nice ring to it."
"It does," you agree, and then you're in his arms, laughing and crying at the same time. "I did it, Tony. I actually did it."
"You did," he confirms, holding you tight. "You were magnificent. Watching you up there, defending your research with such confidence and brilliance—I've never been more proud of anyone in my entire life."
You pull back to look at him, and the expression on his face makes your breath catch. There's pride, yes, but also something deeper. Awe. Wonder. Love so profound it seems to radiate from him.
"Do you remember that first day?" he asks softly. "When you sat in the third row and asked that question about quantum mechanics?"
"I was terrified," you admit. "I thought you'd think I was stupid."
"I thought you were the most fascinating person I'd ever met," Tony says. "And I was right. Watching you grow from that shy student into this confident, brilliant researcher - it's been the privilege of my life."
"You helped me get here," you say, your hand on his chest. "You believed in me when I didn't believe in myself."
"I just saw what was already there," Tony replies. "The brilliance, the determination, the incredible mind. You did the work. You earned this."
You stand there in the empty conference room, holding each other, and you think about the journey that brought you here. From professor and student to partners in research to partners in life. Every late night in the lab, every breakthrough, every setback - you'd faced it all together.
"I love you," you whisper. "Thank you for being here. For always being here."
"Nowhere else I'd rather be," Tony says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Now come on, Dr. Stark. Let's go celebrate. I'm taking you to dinner, and then I'm taking you home and showing you exactly how proud I am."
You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in months. "That sounds perfect."
As you walk out of the building hand in hand, you can't stop smiling. Dr. Stark. You're Dr. Stark now. And the man beside you, the one who'd seen your potential from the very beginning, is going to be your husband in just a few months.
The venue is perfect - a historic estate just outside Boston with gardens that look like something from a fairy tale. It's early October, and the leaves are just beginning to turn, painting the world in shades of gold and crimson. The ceremony will be held in the garden, intimate and beautiful, with only your closest friends and family in attendance.
You stand in the bridal suite, staring at yourself in the mirror, and barely recognize the woman looking back. Your dress is simple but elegant - ivory silk that hugs your curves before flowing into a soft skirt. Your hair is swept up, with a few curls framing your face. You wear minimal makeup, just enough to enhance your natural features, and the diamond earrings Tony had given you the night before.
"You look beautiful," your maid of honor says, adjusting your veil. "Tony's going to lose his mind when he sees you."
You smile, your stomach fluttering with nerves and excitement. In less than an hour, you'll be walking down that aisle. In less than an hour, you'll be Tony's wife.
Wife. The word still feels surreal.
There's a knock at the door, and your father pokes his head in. "Ready, sweetheart?"
"Ready," you confirm, taking a deep breath.
The walk to the garden feels both endless and far too short. You can hear the string quartet playing, can see the white chairs arranged in neat rows, can see the arch at the front covered in flowers. And standing beneath that arch, looking devastating in a perfectly tailored suit, is Tony.
Your eyes meet, and the world seems to narrow to just the two of you. You see his breath catch, see his hand come up to his chest like he's been struck. Even from this distance, you can see the emotion on his face - love and wonder and something that looks almost like disbelief.
The music changes, and suddenly you're walking down the aisle on your father's arm. But you barely notice the guests turning to look at you, barely hear the murmurs of appreciation. All you can see is Tony, and the way he's looking at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.
When you reach the front, your father kisses your cheek and places your hand in Tony's. His fingers close around yours, warm and steady, and you feel yourself relax. This is right. This is exactly where you're supposed to be.
"Hi," Tony whispers, his voice rough.
"Hi," you whisper back, smiling up at him.
The officiant begins speaking, but you barely hear the words. You're too focused on Tony - on the way his thumb is stroking the back of your hand, on the slight sheen in his eyes that suggests he's fighting tears, on the smile that keeps threatening to break through his attempt at solemnity.
"They have chosen to write their own vows," the officiant says. "Tony, would you like to begin?"
Tony takes a deep breath and turns to face you fully. He's still holding your hand, and you can feel a slight tremor in his fingers. You've never seen him nervous before, and the vulnerability in his expression makes your heart clench.
"I'm supposed to be good with words," Tony begins, his voice carrying across the quiet garden. "I've published dozens of papers, given hundreds of lectures. But standing here, trying to find the words to tell you what you mean to me - I'm discovering that some things are beyond even my considerable vocabulary."
There's a ripple of laughter from the guests, and Tony smiles, some of his nervousness easing.
"When you walked into my lecture hall three years ago and sat in the third row, I had no idea my life was about to change forever," he continues. "I definitely didn't know that the shy girl who blushed every time I looked at her would become the most important person in my world."
You feel tears prickling at your eyes, and Tony's grip on your hand tightens.
"You are the most brilliant person I've ever met," he says, his voice growing stronger. "And I don't say that lightly - I've met a lot of smart people. But your mind, the way you see the world, the questions you ask and the connections you make - you constantly amaze me. Working with you, watching you grow into the incredible researcher you are now, has been one of the greatest privileges of my life."
He pauses, and you see him swallow hard.
"But it's not just your brilliance that I love," Tony continues. "It's your kindness. Your compassion. The way you see the best in people. The way you blush when I compliment you, even now. The way you laugh at my terrible jokes. The way you make me want to be better, to be worthy of the way you look at me."
A tear escapes, rolling down your cheek, and Tony reaches up to gently wipe it away.
"In physics, we talk about elegant solutions - equations that are both simple and profound, that explain complex phenomena with beautiful clarity," he says. "You are my most elegant solution. You are the answer to questions I didn't even know I was asking. You are my greatest discovery, my most important work, my favorite equation."
His voice cracks slightly on the last words, and you see his eyes glisten with unshed tears.
"I promise to love you fiercely and tenderly," Tony says. "I promise to support your dreams and celebrate your successes. I promise to make you laugh, even when you're trying to be serious. I promise to always see you - not just the brilliant researcher, but the woman who still gets nervous before presentations, who cries at sad movies, who makes the worst puns I've ever heard."
You laugh through your tears, and Tony smiles.
"I promise to be your partner in all things," he continues. "In research and in life. In the big moments and the small ones. I promise to love you when you're confident and when you're doubting yourself. When you're succeeding and when you're struggling. I promise to be your safe place, your home, your forever."
He takes a shaky breath, and you can see he's fighting to maintain his composure.
"You are my heart," Tony says simply. "My home. My everything. And I promise to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you made the right choice in saying yes to me."
The garden is silent except for the sound of sniffling from the guests. You're crying openly now, not even trying to stop the tears. Tony's vows had been everything - witty and profound, intellectual and deeply emotional. So perfectly him.
"Your turn," the officiant says gently, and you nod, trying to compose yourself enough to speak.
You look up at Tony, at this man who has changed your life in every possible way, and feel your heart overflow with love.
"I'm not as good with words as you are," you begin, your voice shaky. "But I'm going to try."
Tony squeezes your hand encouragingly.
"Three years ago, I was terrified of you," you say, and see his eyebrows rise in surprise. "Not because you were intimidating - though you were - but because of how you made me feel. You looked at me like I mattered. Like my thoughts and ideas were valuable. Like I was someone worth knowing. And I didn't know what to do with that."
You take a breath, steadying yourself.
"I'd spent so much of my life trying to be invisible," you continue. "Trying not to take up too much space, not to ask for too much, not to expect too much. And then you came along and saw me anyway. You saw past my shyness to the person underneath. You believed in me before I believed in myself."
Tony's thumb is stroking your hand again, a soothing rhythm that helps you continue.
"You taught me that I deserved to be loved fiercely," you say, your voice growing stronger. "That my intelligence wasn't something to hide or apologize for. That being shy didn't make me weak. That I could be both brilliant and vulnerable, both strong and soft. You taught me that I could take up space in the world and that was okay."
You see Tony's jaw clench with emotion, see him blink rapidly against tears.
"Loving you has been the easiest and the scariest thing I've ever done," you say. "Easy because you make it so simple to love you - you're kind and funny and brilliant and so, so good. Scary because I never knew I could feel this much. I never knew my heart could hold this much love and joy and gratitude."
A tear escapes down Tony's cheek, and you reach up to wipe it away, mirroring his earlier gesture.
"I promise to love you with everything I am," you say. "I promise to challenge you intellectually and support you emotionally. I promise to laugh at your jokes, even the bad ones. I promise to always ask questions, even when you think you have all the answers."
Tony laughs wetly, and you smile through your tears.
"I promise to be your partner in discovery," you continue. "To explore the universe with you, both the one out there and the one we're building together. I promise to grow with you, to change with you, to face whatever comes with you by my side."
You take both of his hands now, holding them tightly.
"You are my home," you say, echoing his words. "My safe place. My greatest adventure. You are the answer to every question my heart has ever asked. And I promise to spend the rest of my life showing you that choosing me was the best decision you ever made."
Your voice breaks on the last words, and suddenly Tony is pulling you close, his forehead resting against yours.
"I love you," he whispers, just for you. "So fucking much."
"I love you too," you whisper back.
The officiant clears his throat gently. "The rings?"
You exchange rings with trembling hands, sliding the bands onto each other's fingers. You stare at the ring on Tony's hand - solid and permanent, a physical symbol of the promises you've just made.
"By the power vested in me," the officiant says, smiling, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. Tony, you may kiss your bride."
Tony doesn't need to be told twice. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, pouring everything he feels into it. You kiss him back just as fiercely, vaguely aware of cheering and applause from your guests but not really caring about anything except this moment, this man, this perfect beginning.
When you finally break apart, both breathless and grinning, Tony rests his forehead against yours again.
"Hi, wife," he says, his voice full of wonder.
"Hi, husband," you reply, and you both laugh at the strangeness and rightness of the words.
You walk back down the aisle hand in hand, and you feel like you're floating. The reception is a blur of congratulations and champagne, of dancing and laughter and joy. But the moment that stands out most is later in the evening, when Tony pulls you aside into a quiet corner of the garden.
"I need a minute alone with my wife," he says, and the way he says "wife" makes you shiver.
"What's wrong?" you ask, concerned by the intensity in his expression.
"Nothing's wrong," Tony says, pulling you close. "Everything is so right it's almost scary. I just needed to tell you - away from everyone else, just you and me - that today has been the best day of my life. Watching you walk down that aisle, hearing you say those vows, putting this ring on your finger… I've never been happier."
You reach up to cup his face, feeling the slight stubble on his jaw. "Me too. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and this will all be a dream."
"Not a dream," Tony says, covering your hand with his. "This is real. You're my wife. I'm your husband. We get to spend the rest of our lives together."
"The rest of our lives," you repeat, testing the words. "That sounds perfect."
"It does," Tony agrees, and then he's kissing you again, soft and sweet and full of promise.
When you rejoin the reception, you catch sight of your reflection in one of the venue's windows - Tony in his suit, you in your wedding dress, both of you glowing with happiness. You look like you belong together. Like you've always belonged together.
And as Tony spins you around the dance floor, as your friends and family celebrate around you, as the stars begin to appear in the darkening sky, you think about the journey that brought you here. From that first lecture to late nights in the lab to this moment—every step had led you here, to this perfect beginning.
"What are you thinking about?" Tony murmurs against your ear as you sway to the music.
"Just that I can't wait to see what comes next," you say. "All the discoveries we'll make together. All the adventures we'll have. All the moments like this one."
"Me too," Tony says, pulling you closer. "Though I have a feeling the best is yet to come."
You smile against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "I think you're right."
And you're certain of it. Because with Tony, every day is a new discovery. Every moment is an adventure. And your love - your beautiful, unexpected, perfect love - is just beginning.
The hospital room is quiet except for the steady beep of monitors and the sound of Tony's voice, low and soothing, reading from a physics textbook. You would laugh at the absurdity of it - reading about quantum mechanics to your unborn child - if another contraction hadn't chosen that moment to grip you.
"Breathe," Tony says immediately, setting the book aside and taking your hand. "That's it, baby. Just breathe through it."
You squeeze his hand hard enough that you're probably hurting him, but he doesn't complain. He just keeps talking, his voice steady and calm, anchoring you through the pain.
"You're doing so well," he murmurs as the contraction eases. "So strong. I'm so proud of you."
"Easy for you to say," you pant, falling back against the pillows. "You're not the one being split in half."
"I know," Tony says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "And if I could take this pain for you, I would. In a heartbeat."
You believe him. Over the past nine months, Tony has been everything - attentive, supportive, endlessly patient with your mood swings and cravings and fears. He'd assembled the nursery furniture, painted the walls a soft yellow, read every parenting book he could find. He'd held your hair when morning sickness struck, rubbed your feet when they swelled, and told you that you were beautiful even when you felt like a whale.
"How much longer?" you ask, though you know he can't really answer that.
"Dr. Miller said you're at eight centimeters," Tony replies, checking the monitor. "So hopefully not too much longer. You're almost there."
Another contraction hits, stronger than the last, and you cry out. Tony is there immediately, letting you squeeze his hand, murmuring encouragement, being exactly what you need.
The next hour is a blur of pain and pressure and Tony's voice, constant and reassuring. And then suddenly Dr. Miller is there, checking your progress, and saying the words you've been waiting to hear.
"You're ready to push."
Terror and excitement flood through you in equal measure. This is it. After nine months of waiting and preparing and wondering, you're about to meet your daughter.
"You've got this," Tony says, his hand gripping yours. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do this."
You push when they tell you to push, breathe when they tell you to breathe. Tony never leaves your side, never stops encouraging you, never stops believing in you. And then, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, there's a new sound in the room.
A cry. High and indignant and absolutely perfect.
"It's a girl," Dr. Miller announces, though you'd known that for months. "A beautiful, healthy girl."
You're crying, tears streaming down your face as they place the tiny, squirming bundle on your chest. The baby is covered in vernix and blood, her face scrunched up and red, her tiny fists waving in the air. She's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
"Oh my God," you breathe, your hands coming up to cradle the impossibly small body. "Oh my God, Tony, look at her."
But when you glance at Tony, the expression on his face steals your breath. He's staring at your daughter with such wonder, such awe, such overwhelming love that it makes your chest ache. His hand is trembling as he reaches out to touch the baby's tiny hand, and when those miniature fingers wrap around his much larger one, you see tears spill down his cheeks.
"She's perfect," Tony whispers, his voice breaking. "She's absolutely perfect."
The nurses take the baby to clean her up and do the necessary checks, and Tony stays by your side, pressing kisses to your forehead, telling you how amazing you are, how proud he is, how much he loves you.
"You did it," he says, his voice full of emotion. "You brought our daughter into the world. You're incredible."
"We did it," you correct, squeezing his hand. "We're parents, Tony. We have a daughter."
"We have a daughter," he repeats, like he's testing the words. "Holy shit, we have a daughter."
You laugh, exhausted and exhilarated and so full of love you think you might burst. "We do. And she's perfect."
A few minutes later, the nurse brings the baby back, now clean and swaddled in a soft pink blanket. "Would Dad like to hold her?"
Tony looks terrified. "I - what if I drop her?"
"You won't drop her," the nurse says kindly, showing him how to support the baby's head. "Just relax. You've got this."
You watch as Tony carefully takes your daughter into his arms, and the sight makes you start crying all over again. He looks so big holding something so small, his large hands cradling the tiny bundle with infinite gentleness. And the expression on his face - wonder and fear and love so profound it seems to radiate from him - is something you know you'll remember for the rest of your life.
"Hi, sweetheart," Tony murmurs, his voice soft and full of emotion. "I'm your dad. I've been waiting so long to meet you."
The baby's eyes flutter open - dark blue, unfocused, but definitely open. She seems to be looking right at Tony, and he makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-sob.
"She's looking at me," he says, his voice full of wonder. "She's actually looking at me."
"She knows your voice," you say softly. "You've been reading to her for months."
Tony's finger traces the baby's tiny cheek, so gentle it's barely a touch. "She has your nose," he observes. "And your chin. But I think she might have my eyes."
"She's perfect," you say. "Absolutely perfect."
"She is," Tony agrees, and then he looks up at you with tears streaming down his face. "Thank you. Thank you for her. Thank you for this. Thank you for everything."
"Come here," you say, and Tony carefully sits on the edge of the bed, still cradling your daughter. You lean against him, and together you look down at the tiny life you've created.
"What should we name her?" Tony asks softly. You'd discussed names for months but had never quite decided.
You look at your daughter - at the delicate features, the tiny rosebud mouth, the way her little hand is curled into a fist. And suddenly, you know.
"Rose," you say. "Rose Marie Stark."
Tony tests the name, his voice soft. "Rose. I like it. It's perfect for her."
"Rose Marie Stark," he says again, looking down at your daughter. "Welcome to the world, little one. Your mom and I are going to do our best not to screw this up."
You laugh, exhausted but happy. "We're going to be terrible at this."
"Probably," Tony agrees. "But we'll figure it out together. Just like everything else."
You sit there for a long time, just the three of you, marveling at the tiny miracle in Tony's arms. Rose has fallen asleep, her breathing soft and even, completely trusting in her father's hold.
"I can't believe she's ours," Tony whispers. "I can't believe we made something this perfect."
"We did," you say, reaching out to stroke Rose’s soft cheek. "We made her together. Our little girl."
"Our little girl," Tony repeats, and the wonder in his voice makes you fall in love with him all over again.
You watch as Tony gently traces Rose’s tiny features - her button nose, her rosebud lips, the delicate curve of her ears. His hands, so large and capable, are infinitely gentle with this fragile new life. And the expression on his face - pure, unfiltered love - is something you know you'll never forget.
"You're going to be such a good dad," you say softly.
Tony looks up at you, his eyes still wet with tears. "You think so?"
"I know so," you say firmly. "You're going to teach her about physics and make terrible jokes and love her so fiercely she'll never doubt for a second that she's cherished."
"Damn right," Tony says, looking back down at Rose. "This little girl is going to know every single day how loved she is. How wanted. How absolutely perfect she is, exactly as she is."
You feel tears prick your eyes again. "She's so lucky to have you as her dad."
"We're the lucky ones," Tony says, his voice rough with emotion. "Look at her. She's perfect. She's ours. We get to watch her grow up, see who she becomes. We get to be her parents."
"We do," you agree, leaning your head on his shoulder. "We really do."
You sit in comfortable silence, both of you unable to look away from your daughter. Rose stirs slightly, making a small sound, and Tony immediately starts rocking her gently, murmuring soft reassurances.
"Natural," you observe with a smile.
"Terrified," Tony corrects, but he's smiling too. "But yeah, I guess the instincts are kicking in."
A nurse comes in to check on you, and reluctantly, Tony hands Rose back so you can try nursing. It's awkward and fumbling at first, but eventually Lily latches on, and the feeling of your daughter nursing for the first time brings fresh tears to your eyes.
"You're doing great," Tony encourages, his hand on your shoulder. "Both of you."
After Rose has eaten and been changed and swaddled again, Tony insists on holding her while you rest. You watch through heavy eyelids as he settles into the chair beside your bed, cradling your daughter against his chest.
"Sleep," Tony says softly when he notices you watching. "I've got her. I've got both of you."
"Love you," you mumble, already drifting off.
"Love you too," Tony replies. "Both of you. So much."
You fall asleep to the sound of Tony's voice, soft and low, telling Rose about the stars and the universe and all the wonders waiting for her. And you think that this - this moment, this family, this love - is the most beautiful equation you've ever solved.
The Saturday morning sun streams through the kitchen windows, painting everything in golden light. You stand at the stove, flipping pancakes, while chaos reigns around you in the most beautiful way possible.
"Daddy, Daddy, watch this!" Rose calls from where she's building an elaborate structure with blocks in the living room. At five years old, she's the perfect combination of both her parents - Tony's dark hair and sharp mind, your own delicate features and shy demeanor.
Tony looks up from where he's sitting on the floor with your two-year-old son, James—Jamie, as you call him. "I'm watching, Rose-bud. Show me what you've got."
Rose carefully places the final block on her tower, and when it doesn't fall, she beams with pride. But then she catches Tony watching her, and her cheeks flush pink. Even at five, she blushes just like you do, and it never fails to make Tony's heart melt.
"It's a quantum computer," Rose explains, her voice soft and a little shy. "See? These blocks are the qubits, and this part is the cooling system, and -"
"That's brilliant, sweetheart," Tony says, his voice full of genuine admiration. "The architecture is really clever. Did you figure that out yourself?"
Rose’s blush deepens, and she nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture so reminiscent of you that Tony feels his chest tighten.
"You're so smart, Rose," he says, crawling over to examine her creation more closely. "This is really impressive work."
"Really?" Rose asks, peeking up at him through her lashes.
"Really," Tony confirms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm so proud of you."
You watch from the kitchen, your heart full to bursting. This is your favorite thing - watching Tony with your children, seeing the way he loves them so fiercely, so completely. He's exactly the father you'd known he would be.
"Dada!" Jamie demands, tugging on Tony's shirt. "Me! Me!"
"You too, buddy," Tony laughs, scooping the toddler into his arms. "You're brilliant too. Want to help Rose with her quantum computer?"
Jamie nods enthusiastically, even though he probably has no idea what a quantum computer is. Tony sets him down next to Rose, who immediately starts explaining her creation to her little brother in simplified terms.
"Pancakes are ready," you call, and there's an immediate stampede toward the kitchen table.
Breakfast is chaos. Jamie gets syrup everywhere, including in his hair. Rose eats carefully, cutting her pancakes into precise squares before eating them. Tony keeps stealing bites from your plate, making you laugh and swat at his hand.
"Mama, can we go to the park today?" Rose asks, her voice hopeful.
"I think that sounds like a great idea," you reply, wiping syrup off Jamie's face. "What do you think, Daddy?"
"Park sounds perfect," Tony agrees. "But first, who wants to help me in the lab? I've got an experiment I think you'll find interesting."
"Me! Me!" both children chorus, and you laugh.
Tony's home lab has become a family space over the years. He'd made it completely safe for the kids, with child-proof equipment and experiments designed to be both educational and fun. Watching him teach your children about science, seeing their little faces light up with understanding, never gets old.
An hour later, you stand in the doorway of the lab, watching your family. Tony is showing Rose how to use a microscope, his large hands guiding her small ones. Jamie is playing with magnets, fascinated by how they attract and repel each other.
"Look, Mama!" Rose calls, her eye pressed to the microscope. "I can see the cells! They're so tiny!"
"That's amazing, baby," you say, walking over to look. "What do you think?"
"I think it's beautiful," Rose says, her voice full of wonder. "Everything is made of such tiny pieces, but they all work together to make something big."
Tony catches your eye over Rose’s head, and the look you share is full of pride and love. Your daughter is brilliant, curious, kind. Everything you'd hoped she'd be and more.
"Just like our family," Tony says softly, ruffling Rose’s hair. "Lots of little pieces working together to make something beautiful."
Rose looks up at him and smiles, and Tony's expression goes soft in that way it always does when your children smile at him. You'd been right all those years ago - watching him be a father, seeing how much he loves your kids, makes you fall in love with him all over again every single day.
Later, at the park, you sit on a bench while Tony pushes both kids on the swings. Rose is pumping her legs, trying to go higher, while Jamie shrieks with delight every time Tony gives him a push.
"Higher, Daddy!" Rose calls. "I want to touch the sky!"
"You can do it," Tony encourages. "Use your momentum. Feel how the swing moves and work with it."
You watch as Rose follows his instructions, her little face scrunched up in concentration. When she manages to swing higher than before, her face lights up with pride.
"I did it!" she calls. "Daddy, did you see?"
"I saw," Tony confirms, his voice full of pride. "You're amazing, Rose-bud."
Rose’s cheeks flush pink again, and she ducks her head, but she's smiling. That blush - that sweet, shy blush that's so like your own - never fails to make Tony's heart skip a beat.
After the park, you go home for lunch. Jamie falls asleep almost immediately after eating, and Rose curls up on the couch with a book about space. You and Tony take the opportunity to steal a few minutes alone in the kitchen.
"They're perfect," Tony says, pulling you into his arms. "How did we make such perfect kids?"
"Good genes," you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. "And a lot of love."
"So much love," Tony agrees, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Sometimes I look at them and I can't believe they're ours. That we get to be their parents."
"I know," you say softly. "I feel the same way."
You stand there for a moment, just holding each other, listening to the quiet sounds of your home - Jamie's soft snores from his room, the rustle of pages as Rose turns them, the hum of the refrigerator.
"Do you remember when we were planning our wedding?" Tony asks. "And we talked about the future we wanted?"
"I remember," you say. "We wanted a family. A home full of love and laughter and curiosity."
"We got it," Tony says, his voice full of wonder. "We actually got everything we dreamed of."
"We did," you agree, pulling back to look at him. "And it's even better than I imagined."
Tony cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "You've given me everything. This life, these kids, this love - it's more than I ever thought I'd have."
"You've given me the same," you say, your eyes filling with tears. "You made me believe I deserved all of this. You made me brave enough to reach for it."
"You were always brave," Tony says softly. "I just helped you see it."
You kiss, soft and sweet, and you think about the journey that brought you here. From that first lecture to late nights in the lab to your wedding to the birth of your children - every step had been leading to this. To this life, this family, this love.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
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: 4.3 K
The Withdrawal
The first day, Tony doesn't notice.
You arrive at eight AM sharp - not early, not the usual seven-thirty that gave you time to prep the lab before he wandered in. You complete your assigned tasks with perfect efficiency. When five PM hits, you save your work, collect your bag, and head for the elevator.
"Leaving?" Tony glances up from his workbench, surprised. "We're in the middle of -"
"My shift ended at five." Your voice is pleasant, professional. "The diagnostics are complete and uploaded to the shared drive. Everything you need is labeled and organized."
"Yeah, but I thought we could -"
"Have a good evening, Mr. Stark."
The elevator doors close on his confused expression.
"Where's the analysis I asked for?" He's scrolling through files, that impatient energy crackling around him.
"In the folder marked 'Repulsor Analysis - March 15th.' Third subfolder, alphabetically organized." You don't look up from your current task.
"I meant the extended version. The one where you usually add those notes about potential applications and -"
"You asked for an analysis. I provided an analysis." You meet his eyes briefly, politely. "If you need additional work, please submit a detailed request and I'll add it to my queue."
"Your queue?" He says it like the word offends him. "Since when do you have a queue?"
"Since I started managing my workload more efficiently." You turn back to your screen. "Was there anything else?"
There's a long pause. You can feel him staring at you.
By the end of the first week, the lab feels different.
Tony keeps odd hours - everyone knows this. He'll work until four AM, crash for three hours, and be back at it by eight. You used to match his schedule, fueled by coffee and the simple joy of being near him, of watching his mind work.
Now you work nine to five. Sometimes nine to six if a project genuinely requires it.
But no more midnight breakthroughs. No more three AM coffee runs. No more being there when inspiration strikes and he needs someone who can keep up with his thought process.
"JARVIS, get -" Tony stops mid-sentence, looking around the empty lab. It's eleven PM. "Where is she?"
"I believe she left at five-seventeen PM, sir."
"It's Thursday. She never leaves early on Thursdays."
"She has maintained consistent working hours for the past week, sir. Nine AM to five PM, Monday through Friday."
Tony frowns at the empty space where you usually sit. "That's... fine. That's fine. Pull up the specs yourself."
But JARVIS isn't you. JARVIS doesn't intuitively know which specs he means, doesn't anticipate the next three requests, doesn't catch the small errors before they compound.
Tony works alone until two AM and accomplishes half of what he normally would.
His coffee is wrong - ordered by JARVIS to the usual specifications, but it's not quite right. Too hot. Wrong ratio. He doesn't realize until now that you'd been customizing it, adjusting for his preferences in ways he never articulated.
The lab organization is immaculate, but he can't find anything. Everything is logical, alphabetical, color-coded and completely different from the system you'd developed together, the one where he knew instinctively where everything was because you'd organized it the way his mind worked.
"Where are the calibration tools for the Mark 47?"
"Calibration tools, drawer three, section B," you reply without looking up.
"They're not there."
"Then they're in use or being cleaned. Check the maintenance log."
You used to just know. You used to have them ready before he asked.
"Never mind." He slams the drawer shut. "I'll find them myself."
"Let me know if you need assistance."
But you don't move. Don't offer to help him look. Don't do anything beyond exactly what's required.
"Hey, so I was thinking about that propulsion problem -" He rolls his chair over to your station, that familiar enthusiasm lighting his face.
"I'll schedule a meeting to discuss it." You're typing, eyes on your screen. "Does tomorrow at two work for you?"
"A meeting? I'm literally right here. We can just -"
"I have three other projects that require my attention right now. If you'd like to discuss the propulsion problem in detail, I'm happy to block out time tomorrow."
"I don't want to block out time, I want to -" He stops, frustrated. "Why are you being weird?"
"I'm not being weird. I'm being professional."
"You're being something." He studies you, and for a moment you think he might actually see it - the hurt, the anger, the careful walls you've constructed. "Did something happen?"
The fourth week, Tony stops pretending he hasn't noticed.
"You're avoiding me." He corners you by the coffee maker, arms crossed. "Don't deny it. You leave when I enter rooms. You schedule meetings instead of just talking. You're here but you're not here."
"I'm doing my job exactly as required."
"That's the problem! I don't need you to do your job 'as required.' I need -" He stops, running a hand through his hair. "I need you to be you. The person who stays late and argues with me about quantum mechanics and remembers every stupid thing I say."
"That person was unprofessional," you say quietly. "That person had inappropriate expectations and made you uncomfortable. I'm correcting that."
Something flickers across his face. "This is about - look, I thought we moved past that."
"We did. I have." You meet his eyes, and yours are calm. Empty. "I'm simply being the colleague you needed me to be all along. Brilliant in the lab. Efficient. Useful. Background noise that doesn't complicate things."
You watch him flinch at his own words thrown back at him.
"I didn't mean -"
"Yes, you did." You pour your coffee, add cream and sugar with steady hands. "You were honest. I appreciate that. It helped me understand my role here more clearly."
"Your role? Jesus, you're not a -"
"I have a meeting in five minutes. Excuse me."
You walk away, coffee in hand, and don't look back.
Tony stands alone by the coffee maker, staring after you.
It happens three weeks later, and it's not dramatic.
Tony's in the workshop at two AM - his natural habitat, the place where everything makes sense. Except nothing's making sense. The Mark 48's propulsion system is fighting him, the calculations aren't lining up, and he's been staring at the same holographic display for forty minutes without making progress.
He reaches for his coffee. It's cold. Wrong temperature, wrong taste, wrong everything.
"JARVIS, get -" He stops. Looks at the empty chair across from him. "Never mind."
He used to say your name. Used to call out and you'd be there, already pulling up the files he needed, already three steps ahead.
The lab is silent except for the hum of machinery.
Tony tries to focus. He pulls up the simulation again, runs it through. The numbers are wrong. He knows they're wrong, but he can't see where. You would see it. You'd tilt your head, do that thing where you chewed your bottom lip while thinking, and then you'd point out the error in line 247 or 1,053 or wherever the hell it was hiding.
Dr. Davidson from R&D is walking beside you, and you're laughing - actually laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright with genuine amusement. It's a sound Tony realizes he hasn't heard in weeks. Months, maybe.
When was the last time you laughed around him?
"- absolutely not," you're saying, still grinning. "The last time I let you pick the restaurant, I ended up eating something that was technically still alive."
"It was a delicacy!" Davidson protests, but he's smiling too, looking at you with obvious interest. "Come on, give me another chance. There's this new place in Tribeca -"
"Is this you asking me to dinner, Dr. Davidson?"
"Wes. And yes, that's exactly what this is."
You pretend to consider it, and Tony watches something playful cross your face - an expression he's never seen before. "Okay. But if anything on the menu moves, I'm ordering pizza."
"Deal."
Davidson touches your arm - casual, friendly, but there's intent there. Tony recognizes it because he's used it himself a thousand times.
You don't pull away.
They walk past Tony like he's not there. You glance at him briefly, nod politely - "Mr. Stark" - and continue your conversation.
Tony stands frozen in the hallway, watching you disappear around the corner.
You have a date.
You're moving on.
The thought hits him like a repulsor blast to the chest.
You're allowed to date. You're a grown woman with your own life. The fact that you're going out with Davidson - who's perfectly nice, perfectly boring, perfectly safe - is none of Tony's business.
Except he can't stop thinking about it.
He's in a meeting with Pepper, and he's supposed to be paying attention to quarterly projections, but all he can think about is you laughing in that hallway. You never laughed like that with him. You smiled, sure - small, private smiles when he said something clever. But that open, unguarded joy?
He'd never earned that.
"Tony? Tony." Pepper snaps her fingers in front of his face. "Are you listening to anything I'm saying?"
"Quarterly projections. Revenue streams. Synergy." He waves a hand vaguely. "I'm listening."
"You're not." She closes her tablet, studying him with that look that sees too much. "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing's going on."
"You've been distracted for weeks. You're behind on three projects. You snapped at Rhodey yesterday for no reason. And you look -" She pauses. "You look miserable."
"I'm not miserable. I'm busy."
"Busy doing what? Because it's not work." Pepper leans back in her chair. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that your lead engineer is suddenly working nine-to-five and dating someone from R&D?"
Tony's jaw tightens. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Wes Davidson asked her out. She said yes. It's all over the building." Pepper's voice is carefully neutral. "I thought you should know, in case -"
"In case what? In case I care?" He stands abruptly, pacing to the window. "She can date whoever she wants. It's not my business."
"Tony."
"What?" He spins to face her. "What do you want me to say, Pepper? That I'm thrilled she's finally getting a life outside of this place? Great. Fantastic. Davidson’s a lucky guy."
"Is he?"
The question hangs in the air.
Tony looks out at the city, at the lights stretching to the horizon, and feels something crack open in his chest.
"She was in love with me," he says quietly. "Did you know that?"
"I knew." He presses his palm against the glass. "She told me. Twice. And I -" He stops. "I shut her down. I was clear about it. She wasn't my type. I didn't see her that way."
"And now?"
"Now she's gone." The words taste like ash. "Not physically. She's still here, still doing her job. But she's gone. And I -"
He stops. Turns to look at Pepper.
"I miss her," he admits, and the words feel like they're being dragged out of him. "I miss the way she knew what I needed before I asked. The way she'd argue with me about stupid things at three in the morning. The way she remembered everything I said, even the throwaway comments I didn't think mattered."
"She paid attention to you," Pepper says softly. "Real attention. Not because you're Tony Stark, billionaire genius. Because you're Tony. The person."
"Yeah." He laughs, bitter. "And I told her she was delusional for thinking we made sense. I compared her to -" He can't finish the sentence. Can't repeat the cruel things he said. "I was a complete asshole."
"Yes, you were."
"Thanks, Pepper. Really helpful."
"You want helpful? Here's helpful." She stands, moving to stand beside him. "You threw away something real because it didn't come in the package you expected. You wanted the fantasy - the models, the actresses, the women who look good on your arm and in photographs. And you got it. How's that working out for you?"
Tony thinks about Sienna. About the parade of beautiful, interchangeable women who've cycled through his life. He can barely remember their names.
But he remembers you. Every conversation. Every late night. Every small moment.
"She wasn't starstruck," he says slowly, understanding dawning. "She didn't want Tony Stark, the brand. She wanted -"
"You," Pepper finishes. "The actual person. The genius who gets obsessed with problems and forgets to eat. The man who makes terrible jokes and works himself to exhaustion. She saw all of it and wanted you anyway."
"And I told her she wasn't good enough." The realization hits him like a physical blow. "I told her she was background noise. That she was delusional for thinking -"
"That she mattered to you," Pepper says quietly. "Yes."
Tony closes his eyes. He sees you in the hallway, laughing with Davidson. Sees the careful professionalism you maintain in the lab. Sees the way you look through him now, the same way he used to look through you.
He'd wanted you invisible. Now you are.
And it's killing him.
"I fucked up," he says.
"Spectacularly," Pepper agrees. "The question is: what are you going to do about it?"
It's been four days since his conversation with Pepper, and he's managed maybe six hours total. Not because he's working - he can't focus on work. The Mark 48 sits abandoned, half-finished. Three project deadlines have come and gone.
Instead, he's doing something much worse.
He's remembering.
"JARVIS, pull up lab footage from November 17th. 2:34 AM."
"Sir, you've reviewed this footage seventeen times in the past forty-eight hours."
"Then this'll be eighteen. Play it."
The holographic display flickers to life, and there you are. Younger by a few months, but essentially the same - jeans, cardigan, hair pulled back in that messy knot you always wore when you were deep in work. You're explaining something about energy dispersion patterns, your hands moving as you talk, eyes bright with excitement.
And there's Tony, barely looking at you. Nodding absently while scrolling through something on his tablet.
"- if we adjust the calibration here," you're saying, pointing to a specific line of code, "we could increase efficiency by at least 8%, maybe 10% if we -"
"Yeah, yeah, sounds good. Implement it." Past-Tony waves a hand dismissively.
You pause. Just for a second. Something flickers across your face - disappointment, maybe, or resignation - before you nod and turn back to your work.
"Stop," Tony says. "Zoom in. Her face."
The image enlarges. He can see it now, what he missed then. The way your smile faded. The small slump of your shoulders. You'd been excited to share that breakthrough with him, and he'd treated it like an email he needed to delete.
"How many times did I do that?" he asks quietly. "How many times did she try to connect with me, and I just -"
"Would you like me to compile a comprehensive list, sir?"
"That was rhetorical, JARVIS."
"My apologies, sir. Though for the record, the answer is approximately two hundred and forty-seven documented instances."
Tony's stomach turns. "Show me the first rejection. The night she told me."
He's watched this one the most. He's got it practically memorized now, but he can't stop himself.
There you are, three AM in the lab, showing him the propulsion breakthrough. He watches himself lean close to you - close enough that you'd probably felt his breath, smelled his cologne. Watches the hope bloom across your face as you turn to him.
"Tony, I need to tell you something."
He knows what comes next. He's lived it. But watching it from the outside is different. He can see what he couldn't see then - the vulnerability in your expression, the way your hands trembled slightly, the courage it took to say those words.
"I think there's something here. Between us."
Past-Tony's face shifts immediately. Closes off. Steps back.
Tony wants to reach through the hologram and punch himself.
"You're incredible," Past-Tony is saying, and present-Tony mouths the words along with him. "But I don't - I've never thought of you that way."
He watches you absorb the rejection. Watches you pull yourself together with visible effort. Watches you turn back to your work like your heart isn't breaking.
"You're not my type," Past-Tony says, and Jesus Christ, how did he say that? How did he look at you - brilliant, dedicated, real - and decide you weren't enough?
"Stop playback," Tony says roughly. He pours himself a drink. It's ten AM. He doesn't care.
His phone buzzes. It's a text from Sienna. Or maybe Sophia. One of the S-names. They all blur together.
Missing you. When can I see you again? 😘
He stares at the text. Tries to remember what she looks like. Blonde? Brunette? They went to dinner last week or was it two weeks ago? She'd talked about... something. A modeling campaign? A movie role? He'd nodded and smiled and taken her home, and it had been fine. Perfectly fine.
Empty.
He deletes the text without responding.
"JARVIS, show me the gala. The night I -" He can't finish the sentence. "You know which one."
"Sir, I would advise against -"
"Show me."
The footage shifts. The ballroom, glittering and excessive. Tony watches himself hold court, Rachel draped on his arm like an expensive accessory. He's drinking too much, laughing too loud.
Then Rhodey's voice: "Tony, come on -"
"What? I'm just saying. It was awkward as hell. She actually thought -"
Present-Tony closes his eyes, but he can't block out his own voice. Can't stop the words he knows are coming.
"She's just... not my type. She's brilliant in the lab. She's efficient. She's useful. But she's not - she doesn't have that spark. That edge. She's background noise in a nice cardigan, not someone you fantasize about."
The words land like they're fresh. Like he's saying them for the first time.
Background noise.
Not someone you fantasize about.
Except that's all he's been doing for four days straight. Fantasizing. Remembering. Obsessing.
The way you'd bite your lip when you were thinking. The small sound you'd make when you figured something out - this tiny, satisfied "hm" that he'd found oddly endearing without realizing it. The way you'd argue with him, never backing down even when he was being an ass, matching him point for point.
The way you'd looked at him. Like he mattered. Like he was more than the suit, more than the money, more than the name.
"She saw me," he says aloud. "Actually saw me. And I -"
He pulls up another file. This one's recent - from two weeks ago. You're in the lab, working with that careful professionalism you've adopted. Davidson walks in, says something that makes you laugh.
Tony's watched this clip maybe thirty times.
He's studied the way you laugh with Davidson. Open, unguarded, genuine. You never laughed like that with him. He'd gotten small smiles, quiet amusement, but never this - never joy.
Because he'd never earned it.
Davidson says something else, and you touch his arm - casual, friendly. The kind of easy physical contact you used to have with Tony, back before he ruined everything.
The footage continues. Davidson leaves. You turn back to your work, and for just a moment - maybe three seconds - your smile fades. You look tired. Sad.
Then you shake it off and keep working.
Tony replays those three seconds over and over.
"JARVIS, compile every conversation I had with her. Every interaction. I want timestamps, context, everything."
"Sir, that's over fifteen months of data -"
"Then you'd better get started."
He's spiraling. He knows he's spiraling. This is obsessive behavior, the kind of thing that would worry Rhodey and make Pepper stage an intervention.
But he can't stop.
He pulls up more footage. You bringing him coffee at three AM, the cup prepared exactly how he likes it even though he's never told you his preferences. You organizing his lab in a way that makes sense to his brain specifically. You catching errors in his code before they compound. You staying late, coming in early, matching his insane hours without complaint.
You loving him.
Because that's what it was, wasn't it? Love. Not infatuation, not hero worship. You'd loved him - the real him, the difficult and obsessive and occasionally cruel him - and he'd thrown it away because you didn't look like a magazine cover.
"Sir, you have a meeting with the board in twenty minutes."
"Cancel it."
"Sir -"
"Cancel everything. I'm busy."
He's watching footage from eight months ago. You're explaining something about arc reactor efficiency, and Past-Tony is actually listening this time, actually engaged. You're both leaning over the same hologram, so close your shoulders are touching.
Past-Tony says something and you laugh. Then you say, "You know, for a genius, you can be remarkably stupid sometimes."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. This approach is elegant, but you're overcomplicating the execution. Sometimes the simplest solution is the right one."
Past-Tony stares at you. Then grins. "Are you calling my work overcomplicated?"
"I'm calling you overcomplicated. Your work is just collateral damage."
They're flirting. Holy shit, they were flirting, and he'd been too blind to see it.
Past-Tony's grin widens. "You know, you're kind of amazing when you're insulting me."
"I'm amazing all the time. You just don't notice."
The words are light, teasing. But there's truth underneath. Truth Past-Tony completely missed.
Present-Tony watches himself turn back to the hologram, the moment passing, the connection severed.
"I'm an idiot," he says to the empty lab.
"I couldn't possibly comment, sir."
Tony laughs, but there's no humor in it. He pulls up the most recent footage - from yesterday. You're leaving at exactly five PM, bag over your shoulder, not looking back.
He'd been in the lab. He'd watched you leave. Hadn't said a word.
The footage continues. After you're gone, Past-Tony just stands there for a long moment, staring at the elevator doors. Then he turns back to his work, but his movements are off. Distracted. He abandons the project after twenty minutes and leaves.
Tony remembers that night. He'd gone to a club with Sienna. Or Sophia. Whoever. It had been loud and crowded and he'd left after an hour, claiming a headache.
He'd come back to the lab and worked until dawn, alone.
"JARVIS, is she in the building?"
"Yes, sir. She's currently in the R&D department. With Dr. Davidson."
Something ugly twists in Tony's chest. Jealousy. Regret. Loss.
"Pull up the security feed."
"Sir, that's -"
"I know what it is. Do it anyway."
The screen shifts. There you are, in one of the R&D labs, laughing at something Davidson said. You look happy. Relaxed. The way you used to look around Tony, before he destroyed it.
Davidson’s looking at you the way Tony should have been looking at you all along. Like you're fascinating. Like you're the most interesting person in the room.
Because you are.
Tony watches Davidson lean in, say something quiet. Watches you smile - that real smile, the one Tony's been craving.
"End feed," he says abruptly. He can't watch anymore.
He sits in his lab, surrounded by projects he can't finish and footage he can't stop watching, and feels something he hasn't felt in years.
Genuine fear.
Fear that he's lost you. Fear that he's too late. Fear that you'll choose Davidson - safe, kind, uncomplicated Davidson - and Tony will have to watch you be happy with someone else.
Someone who saw your value from the start.
Someone who isn't him.
"JARVIS," he says quietly. "I need to fix this."
"Yes, sir. Might I suggest starting with a sincere apology?"
"An apology isn't going to cut it." Tony stands, pacing. His mind is finally working again, finally focusing. "I need something bigger. Something that shows her I -"
He stops. Turns to look at the hologram still frozen on the screen - you, eight months ago, laughing at his sarcasm.
"Something that shows her I see her now," he finishes. "Really see her. The way she always saw me."
"A grand gesture, sir?"
"The grandest." Tony's mind is already racing, pieces falling into place. "JARVIS, I'm going to need your help. And probably Pepper's. And -" He pauses. "And I'm going to need to grovel. A lot."
"I believe that's an excellent start, sir."
Tony looks at the frozen image of you one more time. Then he gets to work.
He's going to get you back.
He has to.
Because the alternative - a life without you in it, without your laugh and your brilliance and your ability to call him on his bullshit - is unthinkable.
btw i loved the role playing fic! you’re so good at writing tony stark wit and banter!!
Nowhere Else to Be
Pairing: Tony Stark x F!Reader
Heart Game
Warning/Rating: PG-13, romantic intimacy. Contains tender kissing, sensual cuddling, intimate physical affection, and emotional vulnerability. Themes of desire and connection. No explicit sexual content.
Word Count: 859 K
The arc reactor's soft blue glow has become as familiar to you as your own heartbeat - a gentle pulse of light that traces patterns across the ceiling in the pre-dawn darkness. You've learned to sleep through it, the way you've learned to sleep through JARVIS's occasional updates and the distant hum of Tony's workshop three floors below.
But the workshop is silent now. Tony is here, warm and solid beside you, his arm draped across your waist with a possessiveness that would seem almost territorial if it weren't so tender.
"You're thinking too loud," he mumbles against your shoulder, voice rough with sleep. "I can hear the gears turning."
You smile, turning in his embrace until you're face to face. His hair is an absolute disaster - sticking up in seventeen different directions - and there's a crease on his cheek from the pillow. He's never looked more beautiful.
"Maybe I learned it from you," you whisper back.
His eyes open then, those warm brown eyes that can calculate quantum mechanics and read schematics in seconds, now soft and unfocused with sleep. A slow smile curves his lips. "Impossible. I'm never loud. I'm the picture of subtlety and restraint."
"Tony Stark, you once arrived at a Senate hearing in a -"
He kisses you before you can finish, effectively derailing your train of thought. It's a lazy kiss, unhurried and sweet, his lips moving against yours with the kind of patience Tony rarely shows the rest of the world. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone with devastating gentleness.
When he pulls back, it's only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. "That was a statement piece," he murmurs. "Completely different."
"Mmhmm." You're not really listening anymore, too focused on the way his breath mingles with yours, the way his fingers have started tracing idle patterns on your hip beneath the sheets.
The morning light is starting to filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows now, painting the room in shades of gold and amber. It catches in Tony's eyes, turns them honey-warm, and you watch something shift in his expression—that rare, unguarded look he only ever shows you.
"Hi," he says softly, like he's just now seeing you.
"Hi yourself."
He kisses you again, deeper this time but still achingly slow. There's no urgency in it, no rush to turn it into something more. Just Tony, kissing you like he has all the time in the world, like there's nowhere else he'd rather be than right here, tangled up in expensive sheets with you.
His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. You can feel the arc reactor pressing against your chest, warm through the thin fabric of his worn MIT t-shirt. Once upon a time, he'd been self-conscious about it, about you feeling it. Now he pulls you closer, like he needs the reminder that you're here, that you're real, that you choose to stay.
"You're doing it again," you murmur against his lips.
"Doing what?"
"Being sweet. It's very off-brand for you."
You feel his smile more than see it. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain." His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, pressing feather-light kisses along the curve of it. "The press would have a field day. 'Tony Stark: Secretly a Romantic. Sources say he actually enjoys cuddling.'"
"The horror," you tease, threading your fingers through his impossible hair. "Your stock would plummet."
"Devastated. Ruined." He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, and you feel him breathe you in. "Totally worth it."
Your heart does something complicated in your chest. For all his genius, all his bravado and sharp edges, Tony Stark is remarkably simple in moments like these. He just wants to be held. To be chosen. To be loved without condition or agenda.
"Tony," you say softly.
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
He goes still against you, just for a moment. Then he lifts his head, and the look in his eyes is so open, so vulnerable, it almost hurts to witness.
"Yeah?" His voice is barely above a whisper.
"Yeah."
He kisses you again, and this time you taste something like wonder in it, like gratitude. His hand cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, and he kisses you like you're precious, like you're the most important thing he's ever built, ever created, ever held.
When you finally break apart, he pulls you against his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, keeping time with the arc reactor's glow.
"Love you too," he murmurs into your hair. "In case that wasn't clear."
You smile against his chest, breathing in the scent of him - motor oil and expensive cologne and something uniquely Tony. "It was pretty clear."
"Good. Because I'm not moving from this bed for at least another hour. Maybe two. Possibly ever."
"What about saving the world?"
"The world can wait." His arms tighten around you. "I'm busy."
And for once, Tony Stark has absolutely nowhere else to be.
Heeey! I read your RDJ character stories all the time. 💗
But here’s the thing that got me hooked on an idea: usually, the main male character (Tony, Sherlock, Hank, etc.) ends up getting interested in, secretly admiring, or even adoring the reader. Then things go well, they kiss, and you know—the usual direction the storyline takes.
I was wondering if there’s a way to flip that around and have the reader get rejected by the main male character instead (maybe even more than once). Like, maybe the reader just isn’t his type, he doesn’t find the reader attractive, or he’s never viewed them from a romantic or sexual perspective. Basically, he has genuine reasons for rejecting them.
Then later, the male character realizes he made a mistake, starts missing the reader, regrets his decision, or something along those lines—you can work your magic and blend it however you want!
Can you please bless our hearts with a story/series like that? 🙏🏼🫠💗
In Focus
Parts 1-3
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: 2.8 K
Invisible
You've been in love with Tony Stark for approximately fourteen months, three weeks, and four days.
Not that you're counting.
The realization had hit you somewhere between watching him rebuild a propulsion system with nothing but spare parts and spite, and the moment he'd absently handed you his coffee mug while explaining quantum entanglement at two in the morning, trusting you'd understand every word.
You had.
That was the problem.
" - and if you're not completely incompetent, which remains to be seen, you'll have those diagnostics ready before I finish this absolutely mediocre excuse for coffee -"
"Already done," you say, not looking up from your tablet. Your fingers swipe through three screens of data, each one color-coded and cross-referenced. "Ran them twice. The arc reactor's operating at 98.7% efficiency. The .3% discrepancy is from the calibration you did last Thursday when you were drunk."
Tony stops mid-pace. You can feel his attention shift to you - really look at you - for maybe the first time today.
It lasts approximately four seconds.
"Drunk is a strong word. I prefer 'creatively uninhibited.'" He plucks the tablet from your hands, scrolling through your work with the kind of speed-reading that would seem like showing off if he wasn't actually absorbing every detail. "Huh."
"'Huh' good or 'huh you're fired'?"
"'Huh' I'm mildly impressed, which for me is basically a marriage proposal, so don't get excited." He tosses the tablet back. You catch it one-handed. "The notations are clean. I can actually follow your logic, which means you're either smarter than seventy percent of the people I've worked with, or you're just good at faking it."
"Both can be true."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "I like that. Confidence without the annoying neediness. You're like a well-programmed AI, but with better comebacks."
Like an AI. Not like a woman. Not like someone you'd ever see as -
You shove the thought down where it lives with all the other hopeless, stupid feelings you've developed for a man who looks through you like you're made of glass.
"Your faith in me is truly heartwarming," you say dryly.
"I don't do heartwarming. I do brutally honest." He's already moving again, that restless energy that never stops, never settles. "JARVIS, pull up the specs for the Mark 47. I want to compare the -"
"Repulsor array output ratios against the Mark 45 and 46 models," you finish. "Already queued. Holographic display, left screen."
Tony pauses. Looks at the screen. Looks at you.
Four seconds again. Maybe five this time.
"You're wasted on diagnostics," he says finally. "You should be—I don't know. Running a small country. Solving world hunger. Something that actually challenges you."
"I like it here."
The words come out softer than you intend. More honest.
Tony doesn't notice. He's already back to his holograms, fingers dancing through lines of code and schematics, his mind three steps ahead of the conversation.
"Of course you do. The pay's exceptional and I'm a delight to work with." He waves a hand absently. "Order dinner. Something that doesn't taste like cardboard. And coffee. The good stuff, not whatever swill Pepper keeps stocking."
"Any preference?"
"Surprise me. You're good at that."
It's not a compliment, not really. It's acknowledgment. The kind you'd give a particularly efficient appliance.
You pull out your phone, already scrolling through his favorite restaurants, the ones you've memorized over fourteen months of late nights and long hours. Thai from the place in Brooklyn he likes but never remembers the name of. Extra spicy, no peanuts, spring rolls on the side.
You know his coffee order by heart. You know he gets restless around midnight and focused around three AM. You know the exact tone of voice that means he's about to do something reckless, and the particular brand of silence that means he's thinking about Afghanistan.
You know him.
He doesn't know you at all.
The elevator chimes. You don't have to look to know who it is - the click of Louboutins on marble is distinctive.
"Tony, darling, you're not seriously still working -" The woman who steps into the lab is stunning. Tall, leggy, poured into a dress that probably costs more than your monthly rent. Red hair, red lips, the kind of effortless beauty that turns heads and stops traffic.
Tony's attention snaps to her immediately.
"Sienna. You're early." His smile shifts into something different. Something you've never seen directed at you. "I thought we said eight."
"It's eight-thirty, genius." She drapes herself against his workbench with practiced ease. "I've been texting you for an hour."
"I've been busy." But he's already moving toward her, that restless energy suddenly focused, channeled. "Give me ten minutes to clean up."
"You have five." She kisses him, quick and possessive. Her eyes flick to you briefly - the kind of glance that catalogs and dismisses in the same instant. "Is she ordering dinner? I'm starving."
She. Not even a name.
"Already done," you say, voice perfectly professional. "Thai from Brooklyn. Should be here in twenty."
"Cancel it," Tony says, shrugging into his jacket. "We're going out."
"Of course." You're already pulling up the order on your phone. "Anything else?"
"Lock up when you leave. And send those diagnostics to Pepper - she'll want them for the board meeting."
He's halfway to the elevator before he pauses, glancing back.
"Good work today," he says. "Really. You're -" He gestures vaguely. "You're invaluable. I'd be lost without you."
Invaluable. Like a tool. Like JARVIS.
"Have a good night, Tony."
The elevator doors close on his smile - the one meant for Sienna, not you.
You stand in the empty lab, surrounded by his genius and his mess, holding a tablet full of work he barely acknowledged and a phone with a canceled dinner order.
Three AM, the lab quiet except for the hum of machinery and the soft jazz Tony insists helps him think. You've been running simulations for six hours straight, and your eyes are burning, but you're close to something - a breakthrough in the repulsor efficiency that Tony's been chasing for weeks.
"Got it," you breathe, watching the numbers align. "Tony, look at this -"
He's beside you in an instant, that electric focus snapping into place. His arm brushes yours as he leans over your screen, close enough that you can smell his cologne - something expensive and warm that makes your stomach flip.
"You beautiful genius," he murmurs, but he's talking to the data, not you. His fingers fly across the holographic display, pulling your simulation apart and rebuilding it, testing it. "This is - how did you even think of this approach?"
"I remembered something you said. About three months ago, when you were working on the Mark 44. You mentioned that the energy dispersion pattern was inefficient, but you never -"
"I never followed up on it." He's grinning now, that boyish excitement that transforms his whole face. "You remembered that? From three months ago?"
"I remember everything you say."
The words come out softer than you intend. More honest.
Tony glances at you, and for a moment you're not invisible. He's actually seeing you. Your heart hammers against your ribs.
"That's..." He trails off, something flickering across his face. "That's actually kind of amazing. You're amazing. This is -" He gestures at the screen. "This is going to change everything."
The lab feels smaller suddenly. More intimate. It's just the two of you in this bubble of genius and late-night energy, and he's looking at you like you matter, like you're more than just -
"Tony," you say, and your voice barely works. "I need to tell you something."
"If it's about the Mark 47's stabilization issue, I'm already on it."
"It's not about work." You turn to face him fully, heart in your throat. This is stupid. This is so incredibly stupid. But you can't keep doing this - can't keep pretending that working beside him is enough when every cell in your body wants more. "It's about... us."
The shift is immediate. Tony's expression goes carefully neutral, and you watch him take a small step back. Just one. Just enough to reestablish distance.
"Us," he repeats, and there's a wariness in his voice that makes your stomach drop.
"I just -" God, why is this so hard? You've run calculations that would make most physicists weep, you've held your own in arguments with Tony Stark himself, but this? This is impossible. "I think there's something here. Between us. The way we work together, the way we -"
"Hey, whoa, stop." Tony holds up a hand, and his smile is gentle. Kind. The worst possible thing. "I'm going to stop you right there before this gets awkward."
Too late. It's already awkward. You can feel your face burning.
"You're incredible," he continues, and he sounds like he means it. "Seriously, you're one of the smartest people I've ever worked with. This thing you just did?" He gestures at your simulation. "That's genius-level work. You're invaluable to me -"
"But not like that," you finish, voice flat.
"But not like that," he agrees, and at least he has the decency to look uncomfortable. "Look, you're great. You really are. But I don't - I've never thought of you that way. You're my colleague. My friend, even. But romantically?" He shakes his head. "That's not... you're not..."
He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't have to.
You're not my type.
You think of Sienna. Of the parade of models and actresses and socialites who cycle through his life like expensive accessories. Tall, glamorous women who look like they stepped off magazine covers. Women who turn heads and stop traffic and fit perfectly on Tony Stark's arm.
You are none of those things.
"Right," you say, and you're proud of how steady your voice sounds. "Of course. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -"
"Don't apologize." Tony runs a hand through his hair, clearly eager to move past this. "You're amazing at what you do. I need you here, in the lab, doing exactly what you're doing. This?" He gestures between you. "This works. Let's not mess it up by making it complicated."
This works. For him, maybe. For him, it's perfect - he gets your brain, your dedication, your late nights and early mornings, all without the messy complication of actually seeing you as a woman.
"You're right," you say, already turning back to your screen. Your hands are shaking. You clasp them together, hard. "Forget I said anything."
"Already forgotten." His relief is palpable. "Now, about this simulation. We should run it against the Mark 46 specs, see if we can -"
He's already moving on. Already back to work, the awkward moment dismissed and filed away.
You stand there, staring at lines of code that suddenly mean nothing, and feel something inside you crack.
Fourteen months, three weeks, five days, and approximately four hours.
Two weeks of pretending everything is fine, that you didn't humiliate yourself, that working beside Tony Stark doesn't make your chest ache with want and shame in equal measure. Two weeks of professional distance and careful neutrality.
Two weeks of watching him leave the lab with women who look nothing like you.
It's easier when you don't hope. When you accept that you're the help - brilliant help, invaluable help, but help nonetheless. You can do this. You can compartmentalize.
Then Pepper throws a gala.
"You should come," she'd said, cornering you in the lab with that knowing smile of hers. "You work too hard. When's the last time you wore something other than jeans and got out of this tower?"
You'd tried to decline. But Pepper Potts doesn't take no for an answer, and somehow you'd found yourself in a dress you couldn't afford, standing in a ballroom full of people who belonged there in ways you never would.
Tony's across the room, surrounded by the usual crowd. There's a woman draped on his arm - tall, blonde, poured into silver sequins that catch the light with every movement. She's laughing at something he said, her hand on his chest, and he's looking at her the way you wish -
No. You're not doing this.
You turn toward the bar, ready to get a drink and find the nearest exit, when you hear your name.
" - honestly don't know what she was thinking." It's Rhodey's voice, low and uncomfortable. "Tony, come on -"
"What? I'm just saying." Tony's voice carries that edge of too many drinks and not enough filter. "It was awkward as hell. She actually thought -" He laughs, sharp and dismissive. "I mean, points for confidence, I guess, but Jesus. Read the room."
You should walk away. You should leave right now.
You don't.
"That's harsh, man." Rhodey sounds genuinely disapproving. "She's a good person. She works her ass off for you."
"And I pay her extremely well for it." Tony's words are crisp, careless. "That doesn't mean I'm obligated to pretend there's something there when there isn't. I was actually nice about it, considering."
"Nice? You're talking about her at a party."
"She's not here. And even if she was - look, I'm just being honest. She's brilliant, okay? Top-tier mind. But that's where it ends. I'm not attracted to her. At all. She's just... not my type."
The words land like physical blows. You should leave. You need to leave.
"What, because she doesn't look like a Victoria's Secret model?" Rhodey's voice is tight with anger.
"Because she doesn't look like someone I'd ever take to bed, yeah." Tony sounds almost bored now, like this conversation is tedious. "Come on, Rhodey. You've seen the women I date. There's a certain... aesthetic. A presence. Confidence, sex appeal, that thing where they walk into a room and everyone notices."
He pauses, and you can picture him gesturing with his drink. "She's brilliant in the lab. She's efficient. She's useful. But she's not - she doesn't have that spark. That edge. She's background noise in a nice cardigan, not someone you fantasize about."
Your hands are numb. Your whole body is numb.
"That's fucked up, Tony."
"That's honest." Tony's voice sharpens. "What did you want me to do? Pity-fuck her? Lead her on? I did her a favor by shutting it down. She'll get over it. Find some nice, boring guy who appreciates - whatever it is she brings to the table besides her brain."
"You're being an asshole."
"I'm being realistic. Look at Rachel." The blonde woman laughs again, right on cue. "That's what works for me. That's what I'm attracted to. Legs for days, knows how to work a room, looks incredible in everything or nothing. That's the package. I'm not going to apologize for having standards."
"Standards," Rhodey repeats, disgusted.
"Yeah. Standards. I like beautiful women. The kind you can't stop looking at. The kind who photograph well and know how to handle the spotlight. Someone who fits." Tony's voice drops, casual cruelty wrapped in matter-of-fact delivery. "She doesn't fit. She never would. And honestly? The fact that she thought she could - that she looked at me and thought we made sense - that's just... delusional."
The word echoes in your head. Delusional.
"She's a person, Tony. Not a piece of lab equipment you can just -"
"I know she's a person. A person I work with. A person who's great at her job. But that's all she is to me, and that's all she's ever going to be. I don't feel bad about that. I didn't make her fall for me - that's on her. I just made it clear that it's never going to happen."
Your vision blurs. You realize distantly that you're crying, silent tears tracking down your face, ruining the makeup you'd carefully applied.
Background noise in a nice cardigan.
Not someone you fantasize about.
Delusional.
You turn blindly, pushing through the crowd toward the exit. Someone says your name - maybe Pepper, maybe someone else - but you don't stop. You can't stop.
The elevator ride to your floor is endless. You make it to your apartment, lock the door, and slide down against it, still in your stupid dress, still wearing the heels that pinch your feet.
He wasn't kind before. He was polite. There's a difference.
This - this was the truth. This was what Tony Stark actually thought of you. Not a colleague he respected. Not even a friend. Just useful background noise who'd embarrassed herself by wanting more.
You pull out your phone with shaking hands and open your email.
Dear Ms. Potts,
I'm writing to submit my formal resignation...
You stop. Delete it. You can't quit - you need this job, and more than that, you love this job. You love the work, even if you can't love the man.
But you can stop being available. Stop staying late. Stop memorizing his coffee order and anticipating his needs and being the person who knows him better than anyone.
Stop being invisible while desperately wanting to be seen.
You're done counting the days. You're done hoping. You're done pretending that brilliance is enough when what he wants is beauty you'll never have.
I saw this and I immediately thought about Sherlock 🤧🤧🤧🤧
What Logic Cannot Solve
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x F!Reader
Heart Game
Warning/Rating: PG-13, romantic intimacy and emotional vulnerability. Contains passionate kissing, tender physical affection, themes of deep romantic longing, and emotional barriers being overcome. Mild language. No explicit sexual content.
Word Count: 651 K
The fire crackles in the hearth, casting amber shadows across the cluttered study. You've seen Sherlock Holmes solve impossible puzzles - watched him unravel conspiracies with nothing but ash residue and a bootprint - but you've never seen him like this.
Pacing. Actually pacing.
"You're going to wear a groove in the floor," you observe from the armchair, your voice gentle.
He stops mid-stride, coat swirling around him. "I've been poisoned."
Your heart lurches. "What? Sherlock -"
"Not literally." He waves a dismissive hand, then presses it to his chest. "Here. Metaphorically. Chemically. I don't -" His jaw works, that brilliant mind visibly struggling. "There's no empirical data for this."
You rise slowly, understanding dawning. "For what?"
"For you." The word comes out raw, almost accusatory. "For this… this persistent variable that refuses to be solved. You've contaminated every calculation, infiltrated every deduction. Three years, two months, and seventeen days of escalating symptoms, and I cannot -" He turns away sharply. "I cannot extract you from the equation."
The vulnerability in his voice makes your breath catch. You've loved this impossible man for so long, watching him hide behind intellect and bravado, never daring to hope he might feel the same gravitational pull.
"Maybe," you say softly, stepping closer, "I'm not meant to be extracted."
He whirls to face you, and the look in those storm-grey eyes is almost desperate. "I don't know how to do this. I can reconstruct a crime scene from a thread, but I cannot -" His hand lifts, trembling slightly, hovering near your face but not quite touching. "Words fail. Logic fails. Everything I am, everything I've built myself to be, it's insufficient."
You catch his hand, press it to your cheek. His breath hitches.
"Then don't use words," you whisper.
For a moment, Sherlock Holmes - the man who has stared down criminals and madmen without flinching - looks terrified. Then something shifts. His thumb brushes your cheekbone with devastating gentleness.
"I've been alone so long," he murmurs, "I forgot what it felt like to be seen. But you… you look at me and somehow find something worth -"
You don't let him finish. You close the distance between you, rising on your toes to press your lips to his.
He freezes for a heartbeat. Then he melts.
His arms come around you like he's drowning and you're air itself, pulling you against him with surprising strength. The kiss is tentative at first but then it deepens into something that feels like recognition. Like a lock finally finding its key.
You feel it the moment something breaks open inside him. The tension he's carried for years, the isolation he's worn like armor, the fear that he's too strange, too damaged, too much to be loved - it cracks and falls away. His hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, and the kiss becomes tender, reverent, almost wondering.
When you finally part, he's breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.
"Oh," he says, voice rough with emotion. "Oh, that's - that's what I've been missing."
You laugh softly, tears pricking your eyes. "Took you long enough to figure it out."
"I'm a fool." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are bright, unguarded in a way you've never seen. "A brilliant fool who nearly lost the only thing that matters because I was too afraid to -"
You kiss him again, softer this time. Healing. When you break apart, he's smiling - actually smiling, that rare, genuine expression that transforms his entire face.
"The symptoms are worsening," he murmurs against your lips. "Accelerated heartbeat. Inability to focus on anything but you. A complete dissolution of rational thought."
"Sounds serious, Mr. Holmes."
"Terminal, I suspect." His thumb traces your lower lip. "I may never recover."
"Good," you whisper. "I don't want you to."
And when he kisses you again, it feels like magic - the kind that doesn't need explaining, only believing.
Warning/Rating: PG-13, romantic tension and intimacy. Contains passionate and escalating kissing, sensual physical affection, mild language, themes of desire and attraction, and suggestive undertones. No explicit sexual content.
Word Count: 677 K
The city sprawls beneath the windows of Hank's office, a constellation of lights that blur into insignificance the moment you meet his eyes across the mahogany desk.
"You should've left an hour ago," he says, loosening his tie with one hand, that dangerous smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The kind of smile that's won over countless juries and probably countless women.
"So should you." You don't look away. You've learned that with Hank Palmer, looking away is the same as losing.
He rounds the desk slowly, deliberately, his expensive shoes silent on the carpet. "But here we are."
"Here we are," you echo, and the air between you feels charged, electric, like the moment before lightning strikes.
Hank stops just close enough that you can smell his cologne - something dark and woody that probably costs more than your rent. His eyes, those sharp, assessing eyes that miss nothing in a courtroom, trace your face like he's memorizing evidence.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that low register that makes your pulse quicken.
"I don't think I will."
His smile widens, triumphant, and then his mouth is on yours.
The first kiss is surprisingly gentle - a question more than a statement. His lips are soft, warm, tasting faintly of the bourbon he'd been nursing. Your hands find his chest, feeling the expensive cotton of his shirt, the solid warmth of him beneath it. He kisses you again, deeper this time, his hand cupping your jaw with a tenderness that contradicts his reputation.
Then again. And again.
Each kiss is different - some slow and exploring, others urgent and demanding. He kisses you like he argues cases: with complete commitment, devastating precision, and absolute confidence in the outcome. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer, and you go willingly, your fingers sliding up to his shoulders.
"God," he breathes against your mouth, and kisses you once more, harder now, with an intensity that makes your knees weak.
He breaks away only to trail his lips along your jaw, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there each one sending sparks down your spine. His stubble rasps deliciously against your skin. You tilt your head back, giving him access, and feel his satisfied hum against your throat.
"You're dangerous," you manage to whisper.
"Look who's talking." His mouth finds that spot just below your ear, and you gasp. He smiles against your skin before pressing another kiss there, then another to your temple, soft and almost reverent.
Your hands thread through his hair, and he makes a sound low in his throat that does absolutely nothing to slow your racing heart. He kisses your cheekbone, your other temple, the bridge of your nose, like he's mapping every inch of your face and committing it to memory.
When his lips return to yours, the kiss is consuming, all-encompassing. His hands frame your face now, holding you like something precious, and you kiss him back with equal fervor, equal need. The city lights paint you both in amber and shadow.
He walks you backward until your back meets the cool glass of the window, and the contrast makes you shiver - or maybe that's just him. His mouth moves to your neck, pressing a trail of kisses down the column of your throat, each one deliberate, purposeful. Your pulse hammers beneath his lips.
"Hank…"
He kisses your collarbone, then your shoulder where your blouse has slipped, his hands steady at your waist. "I've got you," he murmurs against your skin, and somehow you know he means it in more ways than one.
When he finally pulls back to look at you, his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, his carefully maintained composure thoroughly undone. His thumb traces your kiss-swollen bottom lip.
"Stay," he says simply.
And with the city glittering behind you and Hank Palmer looking at you like you're the only thing that matters, you find yourself nodding.
"Okay," you whisper. "Okay."
He smiles - genuine this time, without the courtroom charm - and kisses you again.
