Square filled for @tonystarkbingo: S2 - “How dare you?“
Summary: He’s your father’s worst enemy. But he does it so well…
Pairing: Mobster!Tony Stark x fem!Reader (his enemy’s daughter)
Warnings: angst, language, enemies to lovers trope, arranged marriage, bets, tension, cocky Tony
Divider by @firefly-graphics
Your daddy’s enemy masterlist
2022 Tony Stark Bingo masterlist
“He’s not that bad,” your friend whispers in your ear. You sip at the champagne, scrunching up your nose as she eyes the notorious lady-killer Anthony Stark. Cocky bastard. A feared mafia boss. Your father’s former worst enemy. “I bet he can fuck you really good.”
“Yeah, sure,” you quip. “He’s only too old for you, a selfish prick and my father’s sworn enemy. And I bet, he can’t even get it up.”
“If he can’t get it up,” Charlene shrugs, “he can buy me diamonds to make up for the lack of sex. Y/N, an erection isn’t all a girl dreams about. A cock brings you orgasms, but diamonds are still a girl’s best friend.”
“Well, I prefer an erection,” she chuckles at your words. “I can always ask daddy to buy me diamonds if I want some new jewelry. A good dick is a good dick. There is nothing better than a man being able to make my sweet pussy sing.”
While you giggle and laugh, Tony moves closer and closer to listen to your conversation. He sips at his drinks, all the while undressing you with his eyes.
You don’t know there is a reason for the armistice between your father’s organization and Tony’s.
He smirks darkly as you turn around to bend a little to put more of the delicious food he ordered on your plate.
“Nice ass,” he purrs more to himself than anyone in the room. “All the things I want to do with this little brat. I’ll enjoy taming her.”
“Careful, Stark,” your father warns. “She may look like a behaved lady, but my daughter has teeth and claws she would enjoy ramming in your flesh. If you don’t do this right, she will fight you with all she’s got.”
“In other words, she will give me a run for my money,” Tony chuckles. “I knew she’s the one. I’ll make this little brat you call your daughter my queen. Oh, how I will enjoy watching her bounce on my…”
“One more word about my daughter and the things you want to do in the bedroom with her and you end up six feet under. If she doesn’t want you, this won’t happen.”
“She will love me…”
“Sure,” what Tony doesn’t know is that you always had a thing for elder men. You don’t care his almost fifteen years elder than you. What bugs you is that he’s a douche, a cocky billionaire, and someone not respecting women in your opinion. “You will catch hell soon enough.”
“Fifty on Y/N,” Bucky snickers as Tony makes his way toward you and Charlene.
“Hundred on Tony,” Steve whips his head toward Bucky. “I bet he will have her in not an hour.”
“Hundred-and-fifty on Y/N punching his nose and breaking his jaw,” Natasha slams the money into Steve’s hand. “She will not let his cock get near her.”
“It’s the way we make business,” shrugging Clint watches Tony prepare himself for his move. “We make a deal and seal it with a wedding, blood, and lots of fucking…”
“Yeah, in your case it was your cousin,” the redhead flashes Clint a dirty grin. “We all know you married your second cousin…”
“Anyways, back to the bet. I’ll raise you to two hundred on Tony having her mewl his name under half an hour, including creaming her pussy and making her moan his name,” everyone snaps their heads toward Tony who cockily stands in front of the group of people. “If she begs me for my cock, you’ll triple my win.”
“You can’t bet on your cocky ass,” Bucky complains. “That’s against the rules.”
“I make the rules here,” placing two-hundred bucks in Steve’s hands Tony huffs. “I got cameras in all of my room. You’ll get a good show, lady, gentlemen. If you’d excuse me now. I got a brat to tame…”
“Hello darling,” you roll your eyes as Tony Stark just followed you inside his office. “What do we have here? A little bird looking for trouble?”
“I was looking for the toilette,” Tony knows you are lying, but decides to play along. “Can you help me out, Mr. Stark?”
“Well, this is my office, kitten,” he locks the door, taking the chance to escape him away from you. “What are you looking for here? My business plans. Booze? Condoms?”
“I need to pee,” you huff as Tony strolls toward you to look you up and down. He takes his time to drink your outfit in. “What are you doing?”
“How about I make you squirt?” the cocky mobster smirks as you visibly shudder the moment he runs his fingertips over your exposed arms. “I can help you with that.”
“No. Thanks,” you lick your lips. He’s so close you can smell his cologne and it makes you feel dizzy as his closeness shouldn’t turn you on. “You’re the enemy.”
“Was,” he corrects. “Your daddy and I came to an agreement. We need peace and to join forces against a much stronger opponent. In return for my money and guns, I get something really sweet and precious.” His eyes drop to your lips, and you fear your father brought you to Tony’s party for more than the food and free drinks. “Don’t you want to be a good girl?”
“Fuck. This won’t be happening,” you grunt. Your soaked panties would like to disagree, but that’s a different story. “Old men just don’t turn me on.”
“Darling,” he cups the back of your neck to force you to look up at him, “we both know guys your age won’t do it for you, Y/N.”
“OH, but you believe you can do me better?” Tony chuckles darkly. He knows all too well that you are not into younger men. You need someone to tame the brat in you and give you the feeling he’ll keep you safe at the same time. You want someone helping you with your daddy issues - or make them worse. “Self-confidence looks good on you, Mr. Stark.”
“You on top of me would look even better on me,” damn that man, he makes your knees buckle. “How about we lead this somewhere more private? I got this nice bedroom waiting for you…”
“How dare you?” slapping his face harshly you glare at the cocky mobster. “I’m not one of your flings. I have standards. If you want to be more than a bad taste in my mouth…act like a gentleman…”
"Bad Girl," he breathes in your face. "This screams for punishment..."
Synopsis: In the underground world of New York, the most powerful leaders are known as the four horsemen. Tony Stark, as Conquest; Steve Rogers as Famine; Bucky Barnes as Pestilence; & Thor Odinson as War. Upon first glance, they have New York under their thumb, ruling with iron fists as the council of the Horsemen. But those who look closer into their lives know that the people who hold the true power are obvious: their wives.
A/N: Welcome Aboard this train! I thought of this in the middle of the night and I’m so excited to engage with you guys and see where this goes! Here’s the link to add yourself to the tag list, and below you’ll find a brief breakdown of the characters!
These are female readers, and though they have names, it’s to keep things easier to track:
Sekhmet--Wife of Tony/Conquest
Morrigan--Wife of Thor/War
Kali--Wife of Steve/Famine
Hecate--Wife of Bucky/Pestilence
PLEASE SEND IN REQUESTS ABOUT THE WIVES SO WE CAN CONTINE THIS WORLD TOGETHER! I have juicy things I can’t wait to tell you all! But only unless you ask ;)
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Sekhi x Tony
try me
when sekhi successfully pulls off the annual ball for conquest the third year in a row, she’s proud of herself. things seem to be going smoothly until she meets a boy named peter who’s in more trouble than she thinks.
Mor x Thor
the fourth horseman
thor has done everything in his power to be seen as an actual powerhouse and threat to the mobs of new york, but the council of the horsemen are in the way. knowing they could lose everything they’ve built, mor goes to the people she knows can make things happen, and strikes a deal with the apocalypse wives.
worthy
thor proves himself worthy of the name war
Kali x Steve
power
sharon has been a pain in kali’s side since her and steve met, but she still sees the woman every other day since sharon became the head of nypd. thinking she has something against the four horsemen, sharon kidnaps their wives in an attempt to turn them on their husbands.
Hecate x Bucky
whatever it takes
cate’s ex brock can’t seem to stay...well dead. but this time, he has the arsenal to take down bucky and reestablish himself as a horseman. cate enlists the help of the wives to take care of him once and for all.
The Wives
how do you spell trouble
the wives can’t seem to stay out of mischief. the husbands are amused.
at death’s door
everything’s in mayhem when one of the untouchables becomes mortally wounded, and the wives won’t stand for it.
vengence is the name
the nypd tries one more time, but when they cross a line sharon is terrified of what it may mean in terms of retaliation.
About this: ballerina!peter and mobster!tony. Starker. Physical and emotional between established quentin beck/peter parker.
THIS IS UNFINISHED. Anyone is welcome to continue it.
-
“FRIDAY, baby? Do you have the shot?”
-
It’s a celebration, which does nothing to explain why the room gets quiet as soon as Tony enters it. Around the table are four of his best and brightest, the handful of underlings that were instrumental in helping Tony execute his vision of how to repay Adrian Toomes for encroaching upon his weapons market. For a job well done, he’d invited them up to the penthouse to have at his expensive collection of spirits.
He’d left them alone for only a half hour to make a few calls, but now upon his return they were shifty eyed and babbling about something inconsequential, a sure sign that they had hastily changed the subject.
“Alright,” Tony says, pouring himself a glass of scotch. “Out with it. I’m a paranoid bastard at best. At worst?—well. Ask Toomes.”
“It’s nothing bad, Tony,” Rogers says. If the fact that Rogers hadn’t told a lie his entire life didn’t put Tony at ease, then his clear eyes and voice did. Rogers was his number two, and they got on thick as thieves. He’s about as likely to lie to Tony as the sun is not to rise.
“Then I’m not angry,” Tony says, taking the empty seat. “But now I’m curious. Which is worse?”
“Angry,” Wilson says in that deadpan way that Tony just adores.
“Come on, don’t leave me in suspense,” Tony says, finishing his scotch with a single gulp. He pours himself another.
It’s Romanov who—doesn’t break, per say. Tony isn’t convinced that there’s anything that could break Natasha, though if they were on opposite sides, he might have a few places he’d be willing to start. She must weigh the pros and cons and decide that letting Tony in on their little secret is the best move. Whether it’s best for her, for them, or for someone else, Tony can’t say.
She shifts and pulls out a piece of paper folded in half and tosses it across the table. Barnes and Rogers groan.
“Nat, you rat,” Barnes says.
“Wow,” she says, eyes glittering. “That rhymed, Bucky. It was beautiful.”
“What the fuck is this?” Tony wonders out loud as he unfolds the paper. It turns out to be nothing extraordinary. It’s a program for the New York City Ballet. The ballet is something new by Ratmansky, with principal dancers MAXIMOFF/PARKER. “Ballet? Taking up a new hobby, Barnes?”
“I thought I’d look great in the tights,” is all Barnes says. A deflection if Tony’s ever heard one.
“Their boy toy is the lead,” Romanov admits (to fresh groaning from around the table).
Tony’s eyebrows raise. “Boy toy? All three of you?”
“We are in the process of wooing him, so to speak,” Wilson admits, taking a swig from the bottle in front of him. “Barnes and Rogers might be willing to tag team him, but I want him all for myself.”
Rogers’s eyes flash, cold steel in the overhead lights. “Watch the way you’re talking about Peter. He’s not a piece of meat to be shared.”
“This is a goddamn episode of the Bachelor,” Tony laughs. “Which one is Peter: Maximoff or Parker?”
“Parker,” all four chime together.
“I feel like a father whose kids are going out on their first date. Are you buying him flowers? Are you opening the car door for him? Are you being safe?” Tony jests. He leans back in his chair feeling the warm thrum of the scotch in his stomach, glancing from one besotted man to the next.
“All that and more,” Barnes says. Then, with more than a little bitterness: “It’s the way he deserves to be treated.”
Tony lifts his brows. Natasha slides him the deck of cards so that he can shuffle. He’ll lose, especially once he’s as drunk as he hopes to be, but there’s no amount of money he could lose to them that wouldn’t amount to pocket change in his book. Consider it their bonus. As he deals, he asks, “Trouble in paradise?”
“You could say that,” Wilson mutters. “He’s not exactly on the market.”
“Never took you for a homewrecker, Rogers. Barnes maybe—“
“Hardly a home to wreck,” Barnes admits. “Not a happy one, at least. Pete’s boyfriend is a perverted, abusive low life.”
Tony goes stiff. The buzzing in his gut transfers to his brain, raw as the sizzle of electricity. In his mind, he sees himself as a young boy sitting cross-legged by the vanity in his mother’s room watching her apply creams and powders to disguise Howard’s abuse. All the heinous crimes Tony commits, that one is not among them. He doesn’t prey on the weak. It’s the only promise to his mother that he’s never broken.
“So, take care of him,” Tony says lowly. “Do you or do you not have certain skills and the balls to use them? You could kill this boyfriend and have it look like a hundred different accidents. What’s the problem here? Do you need daddy’s permission or something? Well, here, I’m giving it.”
Rogers scowls darkly at his hand. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Wouldn’t I? Regale me, then! Because it sounds to me like I’m sitting around the table with a bunch of pussies.”
“Peter asked us not to,” Barnes says.
Tony blinks. “Is—is that it? Good God. Definitely a bunch of pussies. Kill the bastard anyway. If you can’t stomach it; if you don’t want your boy toy mad at you, give me a name and I’ll do it. It can be done before we’re four rounds into poker, for fuck’s sake.”
“It’s not like we don’t have the stomach for it,” Wilson says. He’s the newest of their crew, but Tony appreciates his fearlessness, the open, unabashed expression he gives Tony when calling him out on perceived bullshit. “It’s about respect, man. We respect Peter’s wishes, and he trusts us because of it.”
The form of respect Tony is most acquainted with is fear. This softness he sees in his men right now translates to nothing short of weakness. Tony has never lived in a fairytale: the world is hard, and it makes hard people.
The rest, it kills.
“It’s complicated,” Rogers says to soothe Tony’s hackles. “If you knew the kid, you’d understand I think.”
“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Barnes mutters. There’s movement underneath the table: one person kicking another, everyone jolting to get their legs out of the way. Barnes looks like he’s sucked on a lemon, or taken a shot of Nat’s imported whiskey. “Now he’s gonna go see Pete for himself and none of us will have a chance.”
-
As it is, Tony doesn’t have to lift a finger to meet Peter because Peter comes to him.
-
Tony knows the benefit of giving his men a nice long leash.
He doesn’t have to. With them living in the Tower, it’s within his rights to keep surveillance on all of them; except he knows that distrust breeds distrust. Wilson, Romanov, Rogers, and Barnes have earned his trust. For that reason alone, he removed the wiretaps and cameras in their rooms upon their arrivals.
But it’s still his home, and he watches it. Closely. Tony has just poured his third glass of scotch when FRIDAY alerts him that there’s an unauthorized presence in the Tower.
“Unescorted?” Tony asks. His blood thrums—this is the most exciting thing to happen all day.
“Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes are the ones who granted him entrance using Mr. Roger’s passcode, and they appear to be returning to Mr. Rogers apartment, judging by the floor number selected in the private elevator.”
Tony rolls his eyes, relaxing back in his chair. “A fuck, baby?”
Tony has asked them not to entertain guests at the Tower without his authorization, but Tony was young once. He knew the thrill of breaking rules, how good forbidden, casual sex could feel. He wouldn’t put it past Rogers and Barnes to have grown bored, considering they’ve been dicking each other down since they were teens. Just thinking about twenty years of monogamy has his cock shriveling. If they’re just bringing home someone to bend between them and spitroast, Tony’s not going to bother abandoning his scotch.
“Judging by the young man’s level of inebriation, I would hope not.”
Groaning, Tony sets his scotch aside. He gives it a mournful glance while he steps into a pair of jeans and straps up. “I’m coming back for you, baby,” he whispers. “Wait for me. Take no other lover. Fuck, I hate wasting my humor on an empty room.”
“I’m here, boss,” FRI offers.
Tony rolls his eyes.
-
When he knocks on Steve’s (Steve and Bucky’s apartment, considering how much time Bucky spends there) at fifteen minutes ‘til midnight on a Thursday, he would usually expect a bleary-eyed blonde to crack the door open, a dark apartment the backdrop behind him. Instead, the door opens and light floods out into the hallway. Steve is dressed in his pajamas, that is to say that he’s wearing only a pair of pajama pants that cling to his hipbones for dear fucking life.
“FRI said there’s someone in my building and they’re drunker than I am. Don’t you know that’s a crime?” Tony asks, leaning against the doorframe. The cock of his hip emphasizes where his gun rests, but Steve’s eyes don’t even flicker to it.
Nonplussed, Steve just steps aside to give Tony room to enter.
Slumped on the sofa, bundled underneath a large blanket is a young man. Handsome, his face is a testament to masculinity: cut jaw, straight nose, flat brows and thin lips. The only hint of estrogen is the clear, smooth skin that looks like he’s never grown facial hair in his life. Right away, Tony places his bets that he knows who this kid is.
Peter Parker is resplendent, large brown eyes that blink sluggishly, dragging all over Tony’s figure like his eyes can’t decide where to rest. Sitting up, the blanket falls away and reveals his naked chest which Tony eyes with appreciation. He has the optimal figure for a ballerino, obvious strength that is lean and not bulky.
One of the thin lips is split, bruise blooming like the most tender flower beside his mouth. The wound opens when the kid’s mouth falls open.
“Ohmygod,” he slurs, elbows shaking from lack of strength. He collapses back onto the comfortable couch. “Tony Stark is here.”
Were he not so sobered by the kid’s appearance, the bruises and blood and the red-rimmed eyes and raw mouth, he might be charmed. Bucky appears dressed no more than Steve and Tony, a glass of water in his hand. He helps Peter sit up and coaxes him to drink from the glass. Every other sip, Peter gets distracted, gaping from naked chest to naked chest. At one point, he falls asleep propped up on Bucky’s shoulder.
“He’s not drunk,” Tony says, standing back with Steve while they watch Bucky try to coax the kid into consciousness. “Drugged?”
Steve hums. A muscle in his jaw jumps from how he’s grinding it. “It’s not the first time. Beck and Peter have different tastes in the bedroom. Peter has mentioned before that sometimes after their date nights, he wakes up sore.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. And you haven’t killed this guy, yet?”
Steve looks downright tortured. He does it well; Tony’s always thought of him as a bit of a melodramatic. “Peter would never see us again if we did. We have to decide between being around to support and protect him or not being around at all.”
“If Beck was dead,” Tony says coldly. “There’d be nothing to protect him from.”
“James,” Peter groans, losing and finding purpose again during the middle of the word. “Tony Stark is here!”
“In the flesh, kid,” Tony says, stepping forward. Peter’s eyes trace down Tony’s chest, tracing the matting of scars over his sternum before dipping over his abs (nowhere near as pronounced as Barnes or Rogers’s, but Tony does alright). The kid licks his lips. He can’t help but preen a little, winking at Bucky who is rolling his eyes. “
The curiosity has been planted like a seed deep inside Tony’s mind. It sprouts, soaking up thoughts until it’s the only thing he can think about, Peter Parker, principal dancer, owner of three of his best-men’s hearts.
It leads Tony here, to the best seats money can’t even buy at the Lincoln Center in Manhattan, dressed in his best tuxedo, dark eyes focused on the curtain that glows gold. His heart pounds when it withdraws on a dark, empty stage, though he hardly knows why.
By the end, he has a better idea.
There’s no hiding a single sharp line or sensual curve in the outfits they wear onstage, the pale tights and leotards. There is nothing soft about him save for his curls, but still he leaps and lands silent on his canvas-clad feet. The dance is obviously based around Maximoff’s character with Peter there as her supporting love interest, but even when the red-head bewitches the audience with her fouettés, Tony can’t take his eyes off of Peter’s figure, bowed at the edge of the stage and watching her with the sweetest supplication. When it is time for his own variation, he leaps and bows with a boneless grace that does more than take Tony’s breath away. It makes him hard. It makes him think about those long, strong legs wrapped around his waist while he gives the boy his cock. It makes him think about peeling those tights off and wrapping them around the dainty, pale wrists. It’s a good thing no one can see his erection behind the wall of his box seat when they all stand to give their ovation.
Peter bows and flushes, hand in hand with Maximoff before standing behind her sweetly while the entire place howls for her.
Tony thinks that maybe he’s starting to understand.
-
No one bothers him where he leans against the wall beside Peter’s dressing room door. Whether it is his reputation or his thunderous expression, he knows not, but he’s grateful for the lack of distractions while he eavesdrops on the conversation taking place inside the dressing room between Peter and a man Peter calls Quent.
—work harder in the gym. Have you been tracking your calories on the app we downloaded together?
Yes, Quent, Peter mumbles, barely audible through the walls.
All of them?
I said yes.
Don’t get defensive, babe. I had three different audience members come to talk to me about your figure tonight. It pisses me off too! If you’re ready to leave the industry—
You know I’m not.
Quentin sighs, the long-suffering sigh of an argument that has been often visited. I know. This is your dream. Poor baby. It must be so tough, loving a job that hurts you so much. But I’m so proud of you for pushing through, Peter, you know that, right? I just wish you were a little more grateful to me for trying to keep you on the right track. You treat me like the bad guy.
Peter doesn’t respond.
Is there anything you need before I go? How’s your back feeling? Your lifts looked a little strained towards the end.
Feels okay. I’ve got everything I need back at my apartment. I’ll go home and put my feet up.
You deserve it. Just don’t forget to use that app okay? There’s a rustle, a struggle, maybe Peter trying to pull away. But Tony’s always had an overactive imagination. Hey. Don’t be like that. I love you.
You too.
Peter. Say it right.
Tony slips away from the door before Quentin can come out. From his place around the corner, Tony still has decent vantage to put eyes on this man for himself. Average height, average weight. Fit enough—for a civilian. Tony’s hands positively ache for a gun. Though he’s carrying, he’s no fool. Now isn’t the time, nor the place.
Once he’s sure the man is gone and not returning, Tony makes his way back to the door. It’s time to meet this young talent from Queens (yeah, Tony read the brochure) for himself. But when Tony goes to lift his hand to knock, the door swings open.
Peter blinks in surprise. He’s dressed in gray leggings that look soft as cashmere, a NYDC hoodie on, sneakers on his feet. Spilling from the sneakers’ tops are black fuzzy socks, meant to keep his toes warm from the cold New York weather.
He’s limping.
And gaping. It never gets old, seeing the way his reputation precedes him. He loves the way the crowds part for him on the street, loves the way waiters and waitresses stammer and struggle to serve him, the way eyes grow wide like Tony is a god in the flesh.
Tony extends a hand. “I’m Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you; you’re a very talented dancer.”
“Hi,” Peter breathes, taking Tony’s hand. Tony grips gently, feeling like he’s liable to break bones, the kid’s so fucking delicate. And cold. But Tony knows the saying: cold hands, warm heart. He wonders what that makes him. Peter works to regain himself, saying, “Trust me, I know who you are. It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you—they didn’t tell me that anyone important was going to be in the audience.”
“They who?” Tony asks. “Your managers, or my men?”
Peter swallows, face draining of blood. As much as Tony likes these games, they aren’t as enjoyable when the worm on his hook is as pretty and polite as Peter is. He puts on his most charming (softest) smile and makes sure to ask, gesturing to the messy dressing room behind him, may I come in?
Nodding, Peter opens the door wider. They both ignore how he was clearly on his way out, a backpack in his hands. He sits it down carefully by the vanity where he applied his stage makeup and seats himself on the chair, nudging his shoes off. When he stretches the arches of his feet, he winces. Tony gives him a moment to settle, stepping around the tiny room and taking in the smells and sights. On one wall is a picture of Peter and Quentin, arms around each other, beaming.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, voice quiet. Tony glances over at him. “Are your—men in trouble?”
“No,” Tony admits. “If they were, I certainly wouldn’t be here watching ballet; I’d be...busy.”
Peter sags in relief. The way his shoulders hunch throw his collar bones into sharp prominence where they peek out from the neck of his sweatshirt. “Oh thank God. They’re so nice, Mr. Stark, and I promise they don’t tell me anything about their—your work. James still insists that he works for some guy named Potts in New Jersey. Who’s Tony Stank, he asked me when I brought you up.”
Tony lets his lips twitch. “James’s middle name is Buchanan. Some call him Bucky. Tell him I said: now we’re even.”
Peter grins and it’s radiant. Tony feels an unsteadiness in his gut, like missing a step on the stairs or hearing a gunshot go off when he’s not been the one to pull the trigger. There’s just the gentlest stirring of jealousy when Peter mouths the name, Bucky, testing the way it tastes and wrinkling his nose in laughter.
“I can’t wait to see the look on his face,” Peter says. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
Now might be the time to offer to let the kid use his given name but—Tony’s kind of into it. A few more instances of Mr. Stark rolling off that polished tongue might have Tony hardening in his tux. “Take a picture for me,” Tony suggests, sitting down on the cozy loveseat that is opposite of Peter’s vanity.
“You said—you enjoyed the show?” Peter asks, demure. The sleeves of his sweatshirt pass his wrists and most of his palms, turning his hands into adorable little sweater-paws. When he reaches up to bite at a nail, the sleeve slips down past his tiny wrist. Tony could surely wrap an entire hand around that wrist and have more to spare.
“It was incredible,” Tony admits. “I don’t usually have the attention span to sit through longer shows, but I was hooked from curtain rise to curtain fall, kid.”
Peter flushes, not so much in embarrassment as he does from the pleasure of being complimented. The flush of the drunk, though it seems Peter’s poison of choice is praise. Tony can’t help but want to spread him out on the sheets in his bedroom and say the sweetest, filthiest things to see if he can get the kid hard with just his voice. “I’m so glad. There hasn’t been as much press; new shows are always a little slow to take off. Wanda really is something special, though. She spent a season overseas and came back with so much more grace and growth—”
“Did she do well tonight?” Tony asks, unbuttoning the top button on his jacket to reveal the trim waist and vest beneath. He realizes what he’s doing just as the words are coming out of his mouth. Tony is flirting with Peter, and his flirtation is a force of nature. “I barely noticed her. Couldn’t take my eyes off of you, kid. How the hell you manage to dance that way, I can’t fathom.”
Now the flush hints at being flustered. He soaks in the way Peter’s face darkens, the way he hides behind one of his hands as the praise makes his posture go soft and waxy. His voice is remarkably even when he says, “Lots and lots of practice.”
“Your hard work pays off. I was captivated. I could tell that my men were the same.”
That topic sobers Peter, who sits up straighter. His pretty face twists, the question mark clear, the confusion too genuine for Tony to take it disrespectfully. On the contrary, Tony finds his forthrightness attractive when he asks, “Why did you come tonight, Mr. Stark?”
“I came to see what it was about you that has my men so enthralled,” Tony admits. With the kind of power he has comes the freedom to be honest, even painfully, brutally honest, because repercussions are either minimal or nonexistent.
“Did you figure it out?” Peter asks. Tony can’t help but feel like the kid is asking him for the both of them: what is it so special about me? Yes, this boy is fragile. That can’t be overlooked. But inside of him there’s still a spark of spirit ready to alight at any moment, grateful for any tinder that it’s given. He’s not Maria Stark. Not yet.
“Yes,” Tony says, standing. He rebuttons his jacket. “And I’d like very much to get to know you better, if you’re agreeable.”
“Me?” Peter’s head cocks, squinting up at Tony like he’s trying to see through him, to see what is really being said. “Why?”
Tony is used to letting his baser instincts guide him. He fucks who he wants, goes where he wants, says what he wants, and he owes no one alive an explanation for it. Many people have stopped asking Tony questions like why? Certainly none of Toomes’s men asked Tony why when he was torturing them forty-eight hours ago.
“Because I want to,” Tony says. He reaches down and picks up Peter’s backpack, putting it over his shoulder, the canvas bag downright gauche against his Givenchy tuxedo. “So what do you say, kid? You look dead on your feet, but would you like to be dead on your feet somewhere more private?”
Peter takes a long moment to think about it before tucking his toes into his shoes.
-
He belongs there amongst the backdrop of Tony’s penthouse. Peter glances around with all the coltish wonder of a newborn, running his fingers across the genuine leather of the sofa, leaning forward to look at the smart-glass table that Tony likes to prop his feet up on at night. Upon entering, Tony removes his tuxedo jacket and takes Peter’s hastily-removed sweatshirt. He appreciates the four inches of skin that appear when his shirt rides up, sticking to his outerwear.
He doesn’t appreciate the yellowing bruises dotting the kid’s biceps. Fingertips, he knows. His mother wore them round her neck like pearls.
“Is it okay if I take my shoes off?” Peter asks. He limped from the theater to the car, from the car to the elevator, and from the elevator to the couch where he collapsed with a sigh of relief. When Tony encourages him to, Peter nudges off his comfortable shoes and brings one foot up into his lap where he firmly presses his knuckles into the sole.
Peter asks for a drink. Tony gives him access to his wine, and the kid chooses for himself: a red, Chateau Margaux that smells of rose petals and hints at citrus and turns Peter’s cheeks pink. He doesn’t ask for a second glass, and Tony doesn’t offer it; the last thing he wants is the kid to think that Tony invited him here to take advantage of him.
“Tell me,” Tony asks, watching with rapt attention the faces Peter makes, like he’s dancing on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. “Tell me how you met my men. They aren’t exactly patrons of the arts.”
Peter’s face smoothes and he smiles. “It was Natalie, actually. She comes to shows every so often; I think her and one of the instructors know each other. Sometimes, she sponsors promising dancers.”
Romanov. Her and this instructor must truly know each other for her to be using a cover name around them. He files all this away in the darkest parts of his mind, should she ever become a problem someday. Tony has places reserved in his brain for all of his closest allies; already, he is making one for Peter too. Trust is earned but ever ephemeral.
“So Nat introduced you?”
“Yes. She sponsored me for a while, so we got to know each other pretty well. Once I mixed up my days and showed up at her condo when I wasn’t supposed to, and I met the others. Sometimes they would come to shows or send me gifts backstage.” Peter frowns. “I asked them to stop though because—Quent would just throw them all away.”
“Quentin Beck.”
“How’d you know?”
Tony just smiles and changes the subject. “You must know that the three of my men are half in love with you.”
Peter groans, pressing both his palms flat to his heated cheeks. “I had a feeling they were...interested. I hope they don’t feel that I’ve led them on, Mr. Stark. Nothing untoward happens at all when we’re together; sometimes I, I meet Steve and James for dinner, or other times Sam comes over to my apartment and we just talk, I promise. They’re so kind and it’s—it’s nice to have people to talk to.”
Peter stops talking abruptly, mouth open. He lets it fall closed with a click. When Tony prods him gently, he admits, “The attention is nice, too. It feels good, feeling wanted. Does that make me bad?”
Tony wonders what kind of miserable asshole would have Peter in his bed at night and not show the kid attention. It takes a special fuck-up to come home to a lover like Peter and not make him feel wanted. “Wanting attention? Not at all, kid. It’s the least of what you deserve.”
“You sound like them,” Peter says, smiling. “James and Steve and Sam. They’re always doing and saying nice things and telling me that I deserve them.”
“Good,” says Tony, one side of his mouth curling upwards. “I feel like a proud father; I’ve taught them well. Should you have those elevated?”
“Sorry?”
“Your feet. Elevation will keep down the swelling.” Tony places one of the expensive throw pillows on his lap and pats it invitingly. Peter stretches out without anymore prompting, toes flexing as his joints pop before curling in. The kid makes for an indecent picture, all long lines, absolutely nothing hidden by the leggings he wears.
“I asked them if I could meet you, you know,” Peter admits. He’s red from far more than the wine, now, judging by the way he has one hand pressed over his eyes to shield him from Tony’s gaze. As if it’s possible to. Peter peaks through his fingers. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Stark, but I’ve had a crush on you for ages.”
A crush. God. Tony doesn’t know what’s more hilarious, the sweet naivete of this boy or how it makes his cold heart flutter. Tony’s eyebrows raise. “Is that so? I’m not exactly crush material for the mentally stable.”
Peter hums. “When I was a kid, I had a lot of bullies. I started dancing when I was four years old, and not a lot of other boys understood. Sometimes, I used to daydream about you coming to protect me from them. To put them all in their place and then whisk me off to that house you gave a tour of on TV once, the one in Malibu.”
“Good taste,” Tony says. “You know, I used to do the same thing when I was young. I dreamed about someone coming to protect me and my mother, to take us both away somewhere where no one could ever hurt us.”
Sitting up on his elbows, Peter fixes Tony with a serious, solemn stare. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Is that what happened?”
“No. I became that someone. What happened to you?”
“I guess I gave up on the idea,” says Peter.
“Look. Maybe you don’t have your crush on me anymore, but I’m not the kind of man who can look away from innocent human suffering. My men told me about your boyfriend.” Peter sags back onto the couch and puts his face in his hands. He shakes his head from side to side, though no words come out. “This is my offer, kid. Let me take care of the problem. Let me be that knight in shining armor you wanted when you were younger.
Summary: There’s a decision to be made but making it could come at the cost of your happiness either way.
Warnings: Family Drama
Words: 1.5 words
A/N: Not edited yet, so please let me know of any spelling or continuity errors :)
Since I normally suck a describing rooms I’m going to insert picture of the closest picture that matches what it looked like in my head x will be adding more to the previous also once I get around to finally completely editing this series
Also I’m almost done with this story and if I just keep everything on track I’ll be done (finally) with this story in mid September. I love this story more than anything and that’s sometimes why I took so long with it because I really just wanted it to be perfect (that’s a shitty excuse for not posting more often i know)
MASTERLIST
I sat at my desk with all the broken furniture still scattered around the room with my head hung in my hands and Sam and Bucky sitting in front of me on anything they found that I hadn’t broken with matching sour expressions on their faces. Most likely also matching my own as well.
“Okay, so what do we do? Because there’s no way he hasn’t spilled the beans already and she is probably even more pissed off if she knows that you knew and not to mention what they could be doing to her right now” Sam said leaning forward a bit, placing his chin on his hand thoughtfully.
“Yes, Sam, Thank you for stating the obvious,” I said with a little bit of bite in my tone standing up behind my desk. I didn’t mean to be so rude, but I had no idea, and that was honestly and surprisingly a first for me.
“Hey, punk, it’s not his fault you’re in this mess. I told you to tell Y/N before the shit hit the fan and you didn’t listen,” Bucky stood up as well and if he were anyone else I would have shown him who was boss for standing up against me but it was Bucky we had grown up together and he knew all my shit. I sat back down with a huff and we sat in silence for a while before it became uncomfortable. I had to tell them the truth that I had for the first time in my life.
“I have no idea what to do.”
~~~~~~~~
“Okay, now I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me, and I’m willing to answer them - some of them mind you,” The dark-haired man in front of you said while you just sat there speechless “Cat got your tongue? Hmm okay, we’ll come back to this later. But right now-”
“You and my mom. How? When?”
“Well, I think that’s a discussion for later” He ran his hand over his goatee.
“You said you would answer my questions.”
“I actually said I’d answer some of them, that one is a bit complicated to answer at this moment” He held up his pointed finger as he corrected you. “Anything else?”
“Okay, where the hell am I? And why am I here?” You sat up a bit straighter and you felt your back pop satisfyingly
“Oh we are in a safe house where I keep most of my best fighters, can’t have them dropping like flies, you know? And the reason you are here is that here you are off blondie’s radar” You immediately understood who he meant, but that sparked a whole different question in your mind and it fell out of your mouth before you could stop it
“Is Steve okay?” Although you have no idea why I wanted to know or why I even asked.
But as soon as it crossed my lips, Tony’s, err, Dad’s? No, Tony’s face turned from smug amusement to anger.
“That’s really not your concern anymore, is it? Since you’ll never see him again, not on my watch anyway” He said and took a breath to calm himself “Not that we have that out of the way, there’s somebody I would like for you to meet. Get dressed and meet me outside, please” He got up and walked through the door into the hall.
You watched his retreating back till the door before letting out a huge sigh rubbing one of my temples and swinging my legs down to the floor, my feet touching the cold floor. I stood up and I looked around the room
and saw two doors at the opposite of the room that I guessed were the closet and a bathroom. I walked over to them and just chose a random one and pulled it open. It was a bathroom but the size of the room made my mouth drop.
I closed the door instantly not wanting to think about anymore and moved to the other door which was the closet, which was also moderately big but there were only a few items in there soon finding out it was at least enough to make two outfits, some of it was ill-fitting as well that made me realise that they just guessed what would fit me.
I dressed and found a pair of shoes and put them on as well because my feet were starting to get cold on these tiles. I took a deep breath and moved toward the door, closing the closet door as I stepped out. When I pulled the door to the room open, Tony was leaning against the wall, looking at something on his phone, waiting for me like he had said he would. I looked up as I stepped out of the room.
“Great, Let’s go to my office and talk. Sorry about the clothes I didn’t really know what you would like or what would fit. One of my assistants will go shopping for you tomorrow and find you some stuff.” He said as we walked down the hallway but I stopped thinking: tomorrow?
“Wait, what do you mean tomorrow? Can’t I just go home? I wanna see my mom and brother and Wanda.”
“No, I’m afraid not, once you’re in the Mob lifestyle you can never leave, I thought the Man with a Plan would have told you that, besides I have a very special job I want you to do,” He said while moving us further into the hall before stopping at a big wooden door “Speaking of, let’s go inside I still want to introduce you to someone.”
He opened the door and held it for me and you hesitantly step inside. Looking around you see a very modern looking office and start to think back to the one time you had been in Steve’s office, it had been the polar opposite of this room, Steve’s being warm and somewhat comforting while this room was cold and stiff.
You were so busy comparing the offices that you hadn't noticed the young man who had been sitting in one of the chairs facing the big sleek desk standing up and turning to you, his dark brown eyes looking at you questioningly, his face young, you decided he couldn’t be older than 21.
“Y/N I would like you to meet Peter, Peter, Y/N” A look of realisation flickers over Peter’s face as he apparently started to understand what is going on, while you were still confused as ever.
“As much as I like meeting new people and all, I would really like to know why I’m meeting some stranger instead of going back home to see my family, telling them that I’m okay before I do whatever this job you want me to do is”
“Yep, you are definitely your mother’s daughter” He said jokingly before turning serious again “Okay, why don’t you take a seat next to Peter here and we can get started” he guided you to the unoccupied chair with his hand on the middle of you back and you sat down suddenly feeling a bit like you’re in the principal's office in middle school all over again. Tony takes a seat behind the desk and faces both of you.
“Now Peter here has been learning the ropes of my Mob since I found him when he was only 16 and I’ve been preparing him for taking over from me one day” Tony starts, leaning forward on the desk and folding his hand together, but you cut him off
“Okay, that’s cool I guess but I really just don’t see how that involves me in any way” You look over to where Peter is sitting, he has a straight face on but you can see that he is trying a bit too hard with it.
“I’m getting to it, dear daughter” He shoots you a look that sends a few shiver down your back ”You see my organisation is run on some strict rules that has been in place long before you or even I were born and was taught to follow them by my father and I’ve been teaching them to Peter, one of which is that the Boss title be pass down to a Stark and only a Stark. Now you can see where we hit a bit of a snag there, don’t you?”
By now Tony had once again stood up from his chair and moved to the windows looking out at the garden which were filled with luscious flowers as far as the eye could see. “Since Peter isn’t family by blood, I had to make other arrangements, which fortunately involves you, dear, since you are my oldest daughter, I couldn’t very well have you marrying that Brooklyn oaf, now could I? No, but I have arranged for a marriage between you and Peter in three days so that Peter can take the Stark name and someday take his place as the Boss.”
An expression of pure shock took over your face but not for too long as immediately after it was replaced by seething anger. The type of anger you haven’t ever felt in your entire life.
~~~~~~~~
TAG LIST (Please tell me if you want to be added or removed)
Series Summary: Tony Stark. The name of the most feared mobster in all of New York. The name that parents would take to terrify their children in to doing what they were told. The name that would send the most fearless man running in terror. The name that by the time this story is over, will not even be worth a penny.
Anhedonia: The loss of interest and enjoyment in all activities that you once liked; the feeling of not caring anymore
Tony stood in the center of the corner cafe that never seemed unordinary. It had started the morning mundane, a steady flow of customers streaming in for their morning coffee, not enough for the place to be considered popular, but just enough to pay the bills. Except it wasn’t enough to pay Stane’s debts.
The once pleasant ambiance was destroyed, several chairs knocked over, scuff marks all over the floor, booths on their bellies, and as the cherry on top of a bloodbath sundae, bodies strewn haphazardly throughout the room, their owners last pleads for mercy permanently plastered on their faces.
Once, such a scene would’ve made Tony feel something, anything, but now it meant absolutely nothing to him. Another day, another guy who couldn’t pay what he owed. The same routine over, and over. Tony used to feel sympathetic to his debtors’ plights, but now it all just seemed futile. If they missed one payment, they’d miss the next. No point in giving them a second chance.
“You want us to clean this dumpster, boss?”
“As usual, Colonel. You know the drill.”
“You ever think about getting a girlfriend, boss?” Tony grimaced. Rhodey had been pestering him to get a girlfriend ever since the love of his life had died. The memory of Pepper was still so fresh in his mind that he could still feel her sometimes. Her presence would hit him out of nowhere, and it made him wonder if life was truly over after death. Luckily for him, no one else from his tainted past had ever come back to haunt him.
“You know I haven’t, Rhodes,” he quipped, throwing up the facade of the most feared mobster in New York.
“I think it’d do you some good; I hate the thought of you prattling around that big, old mansion all by yourself. At least with a girlfriend, you won’t be lonely.” Rhodey clapped Tony on the back and walked past him to hoist one of the many fallen corpses onto his shoulders. Before walking away to do his job, he stopped in front of his boss. “It’s been a decade since Pepper died. You’re not doing her any favors by being unhappy, and you know it.”
Anyone else. Had anyone else dared to rack up the courage ask him that, they would have been dead before the end of the sentence. But it was Rhodey, his best friend from childhood, the one person present for every up and down in his life. His right-hand man was his number one confidant- but only in his business. The one person that he could trust more than anything, and the one person he couldn’t trust at all- and he couldn’t care less. After all, they didn’t call him the “Iron Man” for nothing. He was cold, calculating, and ruthless. And he just couldn’t find it in himself to care.
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Angels: @rebelwriter95 @freshly-painted-duck
I Thought You Were The One: @smilexcaptainx @rainbow-onionsandwich
Steve and Bucky were shocked to find out their neighbour is Tony Stark - local mob enforcer hailing from Manhatten.
“What do you want from us?” Bucky snarled, standing protectively in front of Steve.
“Buck,” Steve clasped his partner’s shoulder. “Calm down.”
“I’d listen to your man, James,” Tony smirked at the panic look they shared. “Besides which, I’m not here to hurt you, boys. I need your help.”
“What makes you think we’d even be interested in helping you?” Bucky demanded.
“Your man always like this?” Tony asked Steve. “Anyway, my employer-”
“Thanos,” Steve muttered darkly.
“Yes, him.” Tony nodded. “He’s managed to annoy a rival mob fronted by Peter Quill.”
“Peter Quill?” Bucky frowned. “Gamora’s husband?”
“Oh, so you know Thanos’ daughter, then?”
“Adoptive,” Steve interjected. “And only a little, she was a customer, you see. Last we heard she and Peter ran away.”
“She ran away,” Tony clarified. “And Thanos claimed he killed her. Peter’s this close to starting an all-out mob war.”
“So we’ve got to find Gamora?”
“Your boy’s smart,” Tony said to Bucky. “But yes, Steve. Bucky. We need to find Gamora.”
“But why would Thanos claim he killed her?” Bucky asked.
Tony sighed. “He killed his other daughter, Nebula, after she defied him. Doing any less to Gamora for marrying a rival mob boss would be seen as weak.”
“I’m still not sure why you came to us,” Steve said, crossing his arms.
“You’re civilians,” Tony started. “No one would suspect you. But you’re also ex-army, meaning you’re both capable of handling yourself. Perfect secret agents.”
“And you want us to find Gamora to help Thanos?” Bucky said incredulously.
Tony shook his head. “To help Peter. I’m not part of Thanos’ mob - not really - I’m undercover.”
“Loyalty to the Quill mob.” Steve chuckled. “So where do we start?”
“It’s not likely she’s left America.”
“But she’ll have left New York?”
Tony nodded. “Her family came from a farm down in the South - I’m just not sure where.”
“Peggy and Sam are gonna have to run the cafe for a while,” Steve said. “We’ll have to lie - I don’t know what, yet.”
Bucky turned to Tony. “Give us a day, we’ll meet you at the train station at five o’clock tomorrow evening.”
“Very well.” Tony agreed. “Look forward to working with you, boys.”
Summary: Tony Stark wants one thing. You...and your pussy...I mean cats...
Pairing: Mobster!Tony Stark x Plussized!Reader
Warnings: cocky Tony, some dirty talk (well, Tony talks about pussy), fluff, possessive Tony, catfishing?, the reader loves cats, Tony loves pussy’s, a hint of daddy kink on both ends (it’s barely there), implied age gap, plussizes/curvy reader
A/N: thecatsite.com is an existing website for cat owners.
Divider by @firefly-graphics
“Darling, are you kidding me?” Tony dips his head to look you up and down. “You are asking me if the guy you met on a forum for cat lovers will like your dress?”
You look down your body, sighing deeply. You shouldn’t have asked your boss about your appearance. Of course, he will criticize every hair on your head. Or rather the figure-hugging dress showing off your curves…or the little rolls on your hips. Whatever you want to call it.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just, you have a great taste in anything and—” you bite your lower lip, ruining the crimson lipstick you decided to wear. “It won’t happen again.”
“Damn right,” he slowly gets up from his chair to circle you like prey. He hums, hand smoothing over your exposed back, down to your ass. Tony fights the itch to just squeeze one cheek. He just stares at your ass for a moment, biting his index finger. “You will never believe you are not beautiful and stunning in anything you wear every again, Y/N. Got it?”
He waltzes back toward his chair, immediately sitting down to hide the growing bulge in his pants. “Got it, boss,” he smirks now, eying you up and down. “So—the dress okay?”
“More than okay, darling. He’s one lucky guy,” your heart flutters at Tony’s praise. He’s giving you his most charming smile and for a moment, you feel like one of those pretty girls he’s dating. “The dress, a bomb. You look so good it almost gave my old heart a heart attack.”
“You’re not that old,” you protest. He doesn’t need to know you have a thing for elder guys, especially him. Maybe you have daddy issues, or just like talking to a man knowing what he wants instead of young guys only wanting to fuck you and move on to the next fling. “I’d never dare to call you daddy…”
“Daddy?” oh well, if only you knew that his cock twitched violently in his pants at your comment. “I wouldn’t mind, though.” Tony allows himself to glance at your chest and roam your body once again before he turns toward the laptop in front of him.
Heat creeps into your cheeks, and damn it, it’s the worst time to fall even more in love with your boss. He’s off-limits, you remind yourself before you look at him again. “I should get going. I don’t want to be late for my first date with CatLover70.”
“CatLover70, huh?” Tony whips his head toward you, smirking. “Nice name. Where did you meet him, darling? On Tinder?”
“No,” you grumble. “Please don’t laugh about me. I met him on thecatsite.com.” He smirks but doesn’t start laughing. “He likes cats too.”
“A guy liking pussy, I see,” he nods thoughtfully, still that smirk on his lips. “Must be a hell of a guy. It’s brave to admit you like pussy before you invited the girl for dinner.”
“Mr. Stark!” you scold, earning a chuckle from your boss. “CatLover70 is a gentleman, Sir. He would never do such a thing!”
“Believe me, darling. He would,” he whispers the next thing. “Every guy in a right state of mind would do so, Y/N. I would do so…”
“Hello darling,” Tony Stark gets up from his seat as the waiter guides you toward the table he reserved. “You look stunning, Y/N.”
“Mr. Stark,” you gasp as your boss pulls you a chair, waiting for you to sit down. You reluctantly sit on the chair, watching Tony as he sits back down on his chair. “What are you doing here? Did I forget something at the office? Do you need my help?”
“I want to have dinner with you, silly girl,” he chuckles while putting the napkin on his lap. “A girl like you deserves to dine at the best restaurant.”
“Where is CatLover70? Did you threaten him, Sir? I think I’ll not forgive you for hurting him,” you glare at your boss. You don’t care if he fires you tonight. He crossed a line and you’ll not back down now. “Tell me!”
“Well, darling. If you really want to know,” Tony takes a sip of his water, smirking as you glare at him. “I am CatLover70, Y/N. I saw the pictures of your furry beasts and knew you love to talk about them. It was easy for me to find out you are FuzzySocksTS.”
“What? I—what? How did you find out this is me?” you splutter, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “And why did you even want to find me online?”
“I knew as you love to wear fuzzy socks. And, TS obviously means Tony Stark,” fuck, you never thought anyone will find out you used his initials. “I have had my eyes on you since the first day you walked into my office, applying for your job. I know everything about you, your cats, and—” he leans closer to whisper the words, “I hope to get to know your pussy soon too.”
You choke on air. “Mr. Stark, Tony…I,” it’s hard to find the right words when the man you secretly crush on for years shamelessly undresses you with his eyes. “CatLover70 said he loves cats. Did you lie?”
“No, I love pussy,” the bastard chuckles as you press the glass of water to your cheek. “Cats too, darling. If you take me home, I’ll gladly greet your cats and your pussy.”
“Mr. Stark!”
“Tony to you, darling. I wanted to get to know the girl I love better before I ask her out,” he finally opens the menu, ignores you are fidgeting with your napkin. “I know this must be a surprise to you, as I do not talk about feeling very often, but I want you to become my girl.”
“Mr. Stark, how can you love me? You don’t even know me. I’m only your secretary, or rather the girl keeping you in line, getting you your coffee, and making sure you put on clothes. You depend on me, is all,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Okay, I’m already your girlfriend, I guess.”
“Good. Sounds like things are settled then,” Tony looks up from the menu, furrowing his brows. “So, when can I see your cats?”
“You can’t just pretend you are someone else, invite me for dinner, and declare you love me. This gives me the creeps, Tony,” you complain. “I’m flattered, really but—”
“It’s too much. I understand this is all a little sudden, but I wanted to do this right. I had to get to know you better. At first, I only wanted to check out if you are seeing someone but then we started to talk about cats, your job, and soon…”
“I got off on the things you wrote me,” he chuckles as you try to ignore that your heart flutters when he covers your hand on the table with his large palm. “More than once!”
“I knew you love to do dirty things to your sweet pussy,” the look on his face makes you quiver. “How about you let me do dirty things to her from now on? I apologize for tricking you too, darling. You know that I never apologize.”
“Did you tell me the truth?” you bite the inside of your cheek, chewing on it. “I mean, the things you told me about liking me and stuff.”
“I told you that I love you, Y/N. What I said about my job, my hobbies, and that I like you was true,” he softly says. “In my world, my word stands for something. I would never lie to you. If you give me the chance, I’ll prove you everything I said was the truth.”
“Everything,” you cover the hand holding yours, smirking. “What about you loving pussy?”
“Aw, my darling,” he licks his lips, eyes dropping to your chest, “I’m going to feed your pussy over and over again…”
Summary: You hate the way your guests treat the girls at your place of work. One is different, though.
Pairing: Mobster!Tony Stark x Shy!Reader
Warnings: angst, language, misogyny, crudeness, slut-shaming, mentions if sex, mentions of double penetration (no description), smut, breeding kink, daddy kink, creampie, all the dirty stuff, more to be added
A/N: This will be a collection of drabbles telling the story of Mobster!Tony x shy!Reader
