hey mut !! i was wondering if u could write my million dollar bae tony , and like what it would be if you guys were SOMEHOW on a roadtrip pls ?? ty bae ily dove !! 🦇
Highway to Heaven ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧
1.2k words Tony Stark x Readerೀ
You’re not sure how a roadtrip with Tony Stark became the most romantic thing you’ve ever experienced. The man who once said, “Why drive when you can fly private?” now has one hand on the wheel of a ridiculously sleek, custom Italian sports car and the other resting firmly on your thigh. The engine purrs like a tiger,, just like he said it would when he grinned and said, “Pack a bag, we’re disappearing for the weekend.”
The car smells faintly like him,, expensive cologne, leather, and something warm and familiar that settles in your chest. You glance over at him behind designer sunglasses, hair tousled from the wind, forearm flexing slightly as he shifts gears like a man who owns every road he drives on.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he teases, glancing your way without taking his eyes off the road. “You plotting something, or just falling deeper in love?”
You don’t even bother denying it. He looks so at ease here, so calm, with his button down half unbuttoned and his fingers tapping the wheel in rhythm to whatever slow playlist he queued up just for the two of you. There’s no Stark Tower. No Avengers. Just a long ribbon of road winding through the trees, and Tony, driving like it’s the only thing that matters.
“Maybe both,” you reply. “You’re kind of irresistible in this lighting.”
He smirks. “I knew renting out the whole scenic highway would be worth it.”
“You did what?”
“Mm, yeah. Bought up the permits, shut down traffic. It’s just us for the next fifty miles. You’re welcome.”
You stare at him, open-mouthed.
“I figured you’d appreciate not having to see another soul while I stare at you like you’re the only one on Earth,” he says smoothly, and his hand slides up your thigh just a little. Just enough to make your breath catch. “Also, I didn’t want to get cut off mid-flirt by a Prius.”
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By the time you pull up to the “cabin,” you realize Tony Stark’s definition of a cabin is as far from rustic as you can get. It’s a full-glass architectural masterpiece nestled in the mountains,, sleek, private, and clearly built for nights exactly like this. The sun is setting in slow gold through the pine trees, and Tony’s hand is on your lower back as he guides you inside.
There’s already soft jazz playing on hidden speakers. The wine fridge is full. The bedroom overlooks the forest canopy like you’re sleeping inside a dream.
“Still think roadtrips are overrated?” he asks, dropping your bag with a dramatic sigh and pulling you toward the massive couch.
You shake your head, lips brushing against his jaw. “If you keep showing me this version, I’ll never shut up about them.”
He smiles, and it’s that rare, soft smile, not the cocky one he wears in front of cameras. This one’s just for you.
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Dinner is simple, in the way that expensive things often are. You help slice up the vegetables, barefoot and wearing his shirt, while Tony pretends he’s letting you do all the work,, until he’s behind you, arms sliding around your waist, mouth at your neck.
“You know,” he murmurs, “if I wanted a view like this, I could’ve just downloaded a high-res image. But then I wouldn’t get to taste you.”
You giggle, pushing him away with a soft elbow, but he lingers, kissing the side of your face, your shoulder, your collarbone. He only lets you finish cooking because he’s too busy watching you. Eyes following every movement. Like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.
Later, you eat on the floor by the fireplace, plates balanced on your knees, his knee knocking gently into yours as he tells you stories,, some real, some not, all of them soaked in that signature Stark charm.
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The night grows quieter, slower. You curl up together under a heavy throw blanket, your head on his chest as his fingers trace lazy shapes into your arm. Outside, the forest hums in moonlight. Inside, it’s warm and quiet, like time’s paused just for you.
“You ever think about just… staying like this?” you ask softly.
He hums. “All the time.”
You lift your head to look at him. “Really?”
Tony tilts his head, thumb brushing your cheek. “You think I do all this for the aesthetic? Baby, I shut down an entire highway just to see you in golden hour. I booked a house that matches your skin in firelight. I timed the playlist so the strings would swell just as we hit the mountaintop.”
You blink.
“Okay, fine, some of that was luck,” he admits, grinning. “But you being here? That was planned.”
He kisses you then, slow, tender, the kind of kiss that says I love you without needing the words. His hand cradles your jaw. You feel it in your toes. You taste it in your chest.
Later, when the stars are bright and the world has shrunk down to this one glass cabin in the woods, he pulls you into his lap, arms tight around your waist.
“I know I joke a lot,” he says quietly. “But this? You? Us? It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to get right.”
You don’t have to say anything. You just kiss him again,, like a promise. Like the kind of forever that isn’t loud, but deep. A forever made of roadtrips and sunlit glances, wine-stained lips, and luxury cabins in the middle of nowhere.
