I Hate Tony Stark: Chapter Four
pairing: Tony Stark x Soulmate!Reader
triggers: foul language, childhood trauma, poverty.
author's note: another chapter in the bag :)
Chapter Four: Many Familiar Faces
The walk back to the motel room felt agonizingly long, even if it only took a maximum of ten minutes all together. As you entered the lobby again for the third time that night, she had less of an expression of confusion, and more one of shock. It could be assumed that this was because not everyone got to see Iron Man land right outside the doors of their workplace. Her eyes said a million things that you preferred not to answer, so you swiftly made your way up the flights of stairs after hanging up the raincoat and hat.
He had let you go without so much as a word, in fact, he left you before you left him. You thought it would be hard to walk away as his eyes bore holes in your back, but this difficulty faded as he reentered his suit and flew away into the night sky.
It took a few moments after watching him fly off to put your thoughts in an order you could understand for later deduction. You always liked to imagine your brain to be an office building with neat manilla folders and grey cubicles. Although the entire filing cabinet you labeled as “Soulmate” just expanded and will be needing an additional area for storage. Very little things required more than a single manilla folder. In fact, you can list on one hand what subjects have a metal cabinet to itself. Relationships (because they’re complicated), Soulmate (because the whole situation is complicated), Family (this wouldn’t require a section to itself, but you keep avoiding reorganization), and The Future (which isn’t complicated, but you aren’t entirely sure what you want to do in the end game so there’s a lot of suggestions).
And so, after reorganizing a little bit in the middle of a cool New York night, you went back to the comforts of your temporary room. After everything you can’t help but feel a little dirty. You have gone up and down those stairs one too many times (even if you weren’t present for every instance). Additionally, being on the streets with socks on aren’t exactly the most sanitary precautions. There’s the option of taking a shower, but between being physically and emotionally exhausted, you choose to sleep. Besides, you don’t have work tomorrow so you can spend that time thinking about what to do now that the largest weight on your shoulders is not going to bother you anymore.
Sleeping under the covers felt like it would be putting you at high risk for bedbugs, so you chose to sleep on top of the bed instead. As a blanket you took the towel you used for your shower earlier along with an extra that was lying around. Your arm was used as a pillow after determining that the backpack would be too bumpy.
Sure, you could go back to your studio and be somewhat more comfortable there, but it would be a waste of money to buy the room and not use it. Besides, now you have a new supply of complementary soap, shampoo, and conditioner for the apartment when you get back.
Now if your next-door motel residents could just be a little quieter with their activities, that would be swell. But hell, this was a two-star motel for a reason.
Getting up wasn’t so bad, sure you have slept in better ways and places, but the beautiful thing about being groggy is that your mind has yet to calibrate for the previous events. The entire exchange didn’t register in your brain when you were packing up your stuff, nor when you ransacked the entire room for freebies. It still hadn’t surfaced even as you left the motel ten to eleven (because you need to get your money’s worth). In fact, it wasn’t until you were halfway through the bus ride back did it hit you like a ton of brick. The sheer force of the information was enough for you to give a verbal “OH MY GOD” to all the people on the bus. Naturally you didn’t intend to be caught so off guard, but with-it being New York, nobody paid you any attention. Not that you were worried about onlookers right now, you had other things to attend to.
Everything from that point on was a blur. Because of this, you got off at the wrong stop and had to backtrack to your apartment. Somehow when you did get there you took the elevator to your floor and managed to fish out your keys. Before you could however your neighbor across the hall managed to catch you.
“Dere yuh are! I was wonderin’ if yuh had gotten kidnapped,” said a gruff voice from behind you.
David is one of those old guys who have a rough exterior but a soft interior. He is bald with wrinkles to show he has frowned for most of his life. Although you can’t see them at this moment, he has several tattoos on his body, the most notable being the sleeve on his left arm. From how he explains it, he used to be on the bad side of New York since he was a kid up until his mid-20s but turned his life around after spending some time behind bars. Once he got out, he joined a biker gang and went to work. He had retired from being a mechanic at the age of 64 and has been enjoying retirement ever since. Never had kids, never had been married. Sometimes you think he talks to you because he wants to see if he was missing out on the whole no-kids thing.
“Yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you. Just decided to spend my special day elsewhere,” you replied, head still in the clouds.
“Ah, yuh got married?” He inquired, trying to catch a glimpse at your hands from where he was standing in his doorway. “Who’s dah lucky fella?”
The two of you don’t talk too much, just when one or the other gets lonely. So as far as he knows, you could be married. He doesn’t broach the relationship topic too much, taking you to be a loner (which he isn’t wrong).
You chuckled absentmindedly, “Ah, yeah, no. Just my birthday.”
He hums in acknowledgement and asks, “Was it alright, or what?”
How does on respond to that when it was absolutely not “alright”? The same way you respond to everyone when you don’t want people to pry into your life.
“Yeah, same old same old.”
Just then you felt a very sharp burst of electricity, like you had accidentally touched a person who had been rolling around on a carpet. This feeling was rather familiar, but you haven’t had it since you were barely 16 years old. Then again, he hadn’t met you until last night. The only thing he needed was a clear picture of your face, which his suit no doubt provided. If you have to guess, he is digging up information about you at this very moment and just now he has found out and said your name. This possibly may be your biggest nightmare. One screw up on your part of assuming you were never going to do a body swap again and look where that has gotten you.
“Well yuh missed quite a stir. Yuh with me? Shit was blowin' up and people were everywhere. Right?” He explained as if the entirety of New York wasn’t there to witness the same events on the screen.
You responded to him with a slight twitch, trying not to show the effects of the light shock as you started to walk into the studio, “I’ll try not to miss it next time, sounds eventful.”
Just as you locked the door behind you, you threw your backpack in no particular direction and pressed your back to the door as you slid down it. You buried your head into your hands as you curled up on the cold plastic tile floor.
That pull from last night is now an aching in your heart, like a nasty bruise that appears with no cause of origin. It reminded you of a string that is strained and has become weaker, its threads taring one by one. This isn’t a pain that is unbearable, but it is certainly stronger than what it felt like last night. No doubt this is connected to the conversation you had with him, but you’ve never heard of symptoms like this. If you had managed to somehow break the bond, then your heart should be in an astonishingly high amount of pain, yet it is not. Perhaps this is the sweet spot, a feeling that doesn’t go away, but one you can survive. Afterall, if there was a soul break you’d most likely have black ooze coming out of every hole in your body and be dead in the near future, just like your mother. Instead, you feel lonelier than normal with a touch of painful annoyance. If this is the price to pay, so be it. Fate or not, you cannot love that man—for both your sake, and your parent’s.
Lifting your head up you find your vision to be blurry, not realizing that you had been crying. How odd, why are you crying? You felt your tears and looked at one on your finger to make sure it wasn’t black. Upon quick inspection you find there was no color other than the crystal-clear liquid that leaks out of your eyelids.
You got up off the ground as you came to the realization that you haven’t eaten anything today. Now that you think of it, you haven’t had a true meal since yesterday afternoon (because ice cream does not count as a meal).
The kitchenette is just to the right of the entrance, so you trudge across the murky yellow tiles and over to the off-white fridge. Opening it you find a half-eaten jar of pickles, the end pieces of some white bread you bought discounted the other day, a small stack of American cheese slices, and a singular hot dog. Giving up on the fridge you go over to the cabinet that is almost ready to fall off the wall and find a nearly empty container of peanut butter along with some packets of honey you’ve snatched from Popeyes. You already know your ramen supply is out and with the given choices, you make the decision not to make a disgusting concoction and instead head over to the grocery store. It’s been over a week since your latest grocery run, and even the last time could barely be called proper shopping. In an attempt to save money you’ve been restraining your diet. Not the healthiest, sure, but necessary to keep the heat on. As of late your consumption has consisted of ramen, pasta, soup, and beans with rice. You’ll be excluding soup from your diet soon since it’s May, and the weather is finally warming up.
The thought of going back out into society was a little draining, but that might just be hunger talking. Without further consideration you grabbed your wallet and keys that you left on the floor by the door and headed out.
Making your way to the store isn’t so bad, it happens to be within walking distance—well, most of everything is within walking distance. The only thing that put you off was the feeling of being watched. But on a positive note the area isn’t too crowded, so you won’t be bothered by too many crying children and instead be around the elderly whom of which enjoy shopping in the middle of the day.
Your list isn’t very long, so short in fact that you didn’t even need to keep a list. This proved to be a mistake when by the end of your shopping trip you had concluded that something was missing. No matter, you’ll remember when you get back home.
When getting to the counter you crossed your fingers hoping you had enough money in your account to afford everything. However, this wasn’t the case. If it weren’t for the cost of rent and your low-paying position, maybe you could buy everything you needed, but today just isn’t the day and you don’t get your next check for another three.
“How much more do I owe?” You ask in the way that many people ask when they’re short. Desperate, but mostly embarrassed.
The man behind the registered looked at his little screen on the register and replied, “The remainder is $32.56.”
Yikes, you could’ve sworn you had more money in the account than what it took off. Your total was a little over 70 because you were being frugal, and this trip was going to feed you for the next two plus weeks (hopefully). Thankfully prices have been going down ever since the housing market crashed a little over a year ago, but it still isn’t enough.
After storing your card back into your wallet, you went to look for any cash you had on hand. Finding a ten-dollar bill, you decided that was all you could fork up and will need to figure out what items you’ll need to give back. You weren’t willing to use a credit card considering the current cost to take on debt.
However, as you started to hand the cashier the money, a thick hand blocked your path.
“It’s alright, I got it,” said the voice to your left with a crisp 100 being passed over to the clerk.
Looking at the masculine voice next to you, you began to refuse until you took in his appearance. The man wore a nicely ironed suit with black tinted glasses covering his eyes. His hair was slicked back which exposed his minorly receding hairline. If it weren’t for how his face was structured, you wouldn’t have been able to tell if he was pudgy or very muscular. Spoiler: he’s pudgy.
Instead of refusing his kind gesture, you were so caught up in his familiarity that the transaction was already complete by the time you came back to.
“I—wow. Okay, thank you! That was incredibly kind but unnecessary,” you thanked gratefully.
He gave a very, very small smile, “It’s alright miss, I assure you that it was very much necessary.”
You chuckled lightly, “If you insist. Thank you, again, for your generosity.”
“Your gratitude is not mine to take, but I’ll be sure to pass it along,” he said as he turned back to the cashier as his single item was rang. It was some fancy looking whiskey.
Just as you were about to walk away with your arms filled with grocery bags, you turned back around and asked, “What’s your name?”
He looked back at you and replied, “Just call me Happy.”
Put off by the weird name, you continued your way out of the store and made your trek back to the apartment. Initially there was no sensation of being watched, but it came back after walking a block. However you brushed this off because everyone is being watched, it’s a busy city after all.
Ramen, what a delicacy. Except ‘delicacy’ isn’t the word you’d use as you slurp up the familiar chicken-flavored cardboard. More fitting words would be necessity, sodium, and empty calories. But this is life, and you are grateful to that man, Happy, for allowing you to buy everything you had picked out. Thanks to him, or more so the secret sponsor that was funding his choice, a quarter of your fridge is full and half of your cupboard has food. Granted, you have many cupboards (five to be exact), but when you can barely fill one up, what’s the point of using the others? So, you sat on your bed while gazing out at the blue sky through your window as you slurped up the noodles.
That earlier sensation of being watched disappeared instantly as you entered your building and hasn’t returned since. Not that you were missing it, of course. The sensation of being watched is always unnerving so with it being gone you felt more at ease. Now, you had the rest of the day to do absolutely nothing . . . or clean. You could do that. But that sounds like it requires motivation, which is something that just isn’t coming to you right now.
New day, same pain. Getting out of bed was a bit of a struggle. This is not a foreign issue to you, but it certainly hasn’t gotten any better over the past few days. It’s been years since you’ve gotten a solid night’s sleep without needing to get up for a glass of water. Sometimes you’ll just lay in bed after having woken up and do nothing. You could always see your ceiling due to the light pollution, so occasionally you’d make out weird shapes in the paint until you pass out. Trish claims that waking up a couple of times a night consistently is a sign of depression, but you fail to see the connection. Afterall, this has been a habit of yours ever since the incident.
Getting ready for work isn’t so hard, all you need to do is pin your hair out of the way, freshen up, and get dressed in the assigned uniform. The uniform is a T-shirt with the coffee shops logo on it. With it being so local, the dress code is a little more lenient to your delight. However, with you being the manager, you’re required to wear slacks and not jeans unlike the other associates. To be honest, you’re not entirely sure why you’re a manager. The increase in pay is nice and you think you’re doing your job just fine, but the owner is always on-site so there’s really no need for other management. But hey, whatever keeps your pay the same.
The café is within walking distance, because again, most things you need in New York are. In total it takes you almost thirty minutes to get there, which is not bad considering you don’t have a car. Although in a big city it’s not always great to have a car since with traffic it can take the same amount of time to get to point B as it would on foot. Normally the walk wouldn’t be so bad, but today you’re running late.
Squeezing by the pedestrians on the street, you hurry your way to the coffee shop. Your shift starts at nine in the morning and it’s currently 8:53. This wouldn’t be an issue if you only had a few minutes left of the walk, but you’re currently at least fifteen minutes away. Keeping at your typical pace would result in almost a 10-minute tardy punch-in, and that just won’t do. So, time to make up some for some time.
There’s a shortcut you take in between an alley that you don’t normally go through since it requires you to climb a fence, but you’re under pressure. Jerking left you jumped over a knocked over trash can and jogged over to the previously mentioned fence. Getting a grip on the metal wire you then climb over. The second part is more fun as you jump off on the other side with the short burst of adrenaline one receives when falling from a high place.
Your forehead is beginning to sweat but that isn’t something a damp paper towel can’t fix at work. Besides, sweat right now is not your largest concern. You glance down at the watch nicely situated on your left wrist, the one that is hiding his name from society. Typically you’d use a couple of scrunchies or hair ties to cover it up, but today you decided on a thick watch. In times past you thought about getting a tattoo over his name and hope that it covers it up good enough, but the risk of the artist spreading the word of who your soulmate is prevented you from doing so in the past.
‘This is not what I need to be thinking about right now,’ you reminded yourself.
The watch told you that there were only four minutes left until punch-in time, and you still have at least nine minutes to go. That means you need to make up for the five minutes difference.
Pushing your glutes to the limit you bolted to work while accidentally hitting into people on the way. However, the more you ran, the harder it was getting to focus. The ache in your heart was acting up again even though it has been slowly going away over the past hours. Nevertheless, the feeling is powerful enough to make you lose your concentration and bump into someone with a force strong enough to make you almost fall over. Thankfully whoever it is isn’t as easily swayed as they remain a standing structure while catching you. Reorienting yourself, you give a half-assed apology and go to keep making up lost time when you briefly caught a glimpse at the mans face.
So, now you’re stunned while standing in the middle of the busy street just gawking at this man. This man, whom of which, you distinctly remember being on the rooftop with you the other night after the body swap occurred. You didn’t get his name, but this is most certainly the same person.
“Hey, you good?” He asked, breaking you out of your hypnosis.
Hesitantly, you nodded. Then you turned and walked away, realizing that he doesn’t recognize you because you weren’t in your body at the initial time of meeting. The thought is surreal, meeting someone but not actually meeting someone. But pretending to be a complete stranger is for the best, for your sake.
Unfortunately you don’t make it to work on time, arriving three minutes late. On the other hand, the owner doesn’t seem to be in the building yet, which means you won’t get a headache until he checks the timestamps. To clarify, the owner isn’t a mean guy, he’s just particular about what hill he would like to die on.
“Hey! How was your birthday?” You hear Trish from behind the counter.
She must’ve been the opener for today, which means she’s been here since five. How she can remain cheerful after getting up so early is beyond you.
“It was eventful,” you lightheartedly replied.
The less she knows, the better. The less everybody knows is for the best. The sooner you forget, the quicker it all goes away. Following these three easy steps will hopefully result in successfully terminating the existence (or thought thereof) of your soulmate.
Looking around you do a quick headcount and find the café is slower than usual. Probably because of the mayhem that happened at the expo, and with it being so close, there is no doubt some debris still being cleaned up.
“Yeah? Isn’t your studio near the expo?” She offhandedly asked.
You walk towards her behind the register as you then explained how your birthday went while keeping out all the parts about your soulmate. Hopefully by explaining how uneventful your entire vacation was, she’d lay off a little. This unfortunately had the opposite effect as she then rushed you and grasped your arms, successfully pinning them to your body. She’s little taller than you, enough to loom over you and get right up in your face
“A motel? As in the same motel that Tony Stark’s soulmate was spotted at?!” She nearly yelled.
Your heart dropped. Did she know? Did everyone know? Who was the snitch? You bet it was that receptionist, what a bi—.
‘Stop it, if your face was captured then she would’ve already known it was you, calm down,’ you reasoned.
“Uh, I don’t know?” You said while trying to be as vague as possible. “Who’s his soulmate?”
Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious.
She squealed like some schoolgirl who gets to spill the latest gossip, “That’s the thing, no one knows. The news has been flying off the wall ever since yesterday about conspiracies on who she is. Apparently, Mr. Fancy Pants flew over to her in front of a motel to meet her.”
Trish took a breath of air then continued, “But whoever tipped the news couldn’t get a good picture because the area was whether too bright or too dark. And you know how it is when an area is too dark. ‘But Trish! How can it be too bright if it’s too dark?’ Thanks for asking!”
Another breath. You apparently asked the wrong question; she can go on like this for days.
“The person who took the photos said that the light was emitting from the playboy and the lady, meaning they have that glowing SIA. But it went away after she, get this, slapped his hand away! That same person said they couldn’t make out what the conversation was about, but it didn’t look good.”
You were in too much shock to make an expression of fake shock, which resulted in you making an actual face of shock. This worked in your favor as Trish continued.
She almost snorted, “I know right, who does she think she is? If you happen to be the soulmate of the literal richest person in the world, why the hell would you treat him like that? If she doesn’t want him, I’ll take him. I mean, for one he’s a superhero, two he’s ultra wealthy, and three he’s ultra wealthy. And yes, I know two and three are the same, but it’s good to highlight important points.”
You do, in fact, happen to be the soulmate of the richest person in the world. But to you, his wealth holds no value and you’re not going to bend your back for someone like him. If it weren’t for this secret that you wish to take to your grave, you’d have explained to her that he is all hers.
The doorbell above the entrance chimed signaling a new customer. Trish half-heartedly glanced up at the person before returning her stare back to you.
“We’ll continue this conversation—,” what conversation? “—after I take this guy’s order.”
Then she released her grip to help the person who sat down towards the corner of the room. You, on the other hand, are still in shock. What tore you out of your mental state was the television lighting up, broadcasting the exact headline Trish was talking about.
“WORLD-RENOWNED PLAYBOY REJECTED?”
This is turning into a literal nightmare, and you’d like to wake up now. Everything that is happening is the exact reason why you didn’t want to met him. Well, not exactly, but it’s mighty good motivation to avoid him. You don’t feel like giving him your sob story, so saying “I don’t want to be famous” is a plausible excuse.
Just then you felt someone pat your shoulder as they passed by.
“Table 16, the person who just walked in, is requesting you specifically,” Trish informed as she went to ground some coffee beans.
You pointed at yourself and clarified, “Me?”
“Uh, yeah? I didn’t know you had any regulars, but kudos to you,” she released a snicker. “Besides, he looks like a sugar daddy in the making, work it girl.”
Not many things make you blush, but that got a rise out of you, barely tinting the tops of your ears which thankfully didn’t spread to your face. However, her statement did leave you a little confused. You have one regular, but she is not a he and doesn’t even come in at this time. Nor does she sit in that corner because (according to her) it’s a little too off-putting for her tastes and it’s away from where she can people watch from the windows.
Regardless, you make your way over to the corner of the café, pen and paper already in hand. The accessories are really just for style because you’ll typically make the order yourself and people don’t generally buy so much that you can’t keep track. But it comforts the buyer knowing that you’re paying attention and wanting to get their order right.
Reaching the table, you put on a smile and look down towards the man at the 4-person table. He is wearing tinted sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low. The back of your mind says he’s vaguely familiar, but there aren’t enough shown features to confirm the stipulation.
“Hello sir, my name is (Y/N) and I’ll be your server today. How are you this morning?” You ask in the fake enthusiastic stereotypical customer service voice.
Being a waitress isn’t your job; it never has been. You’re a barista, someone who makes the drinks and occasionally warms up pastries. But with the café being an open-floor layout, not everyone wants to order from the counter and that’s fine. Besides, those who sit down and want to be served typically leave tips, while those who come up to the counter don’t. So, although you aren’t a waitress, the tips are nice to have once in a while. However, you’re about to find out that this is a tip you’d be fine missing out on.
“Not too shabby,” he said as he looked up to you. His voice was smooth as brandy and polished like a granite countertop with a hint of confidence. If it wasn’t for your instant dawning, you’d have been breathless just from the sound of his immediately recognizable voice.
Instead, you let out a small whine mixed with a drop of dread, “No . . .”
This isn’t just a sugar daddy in the making, he’s your fated sugar daddy!
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