I… I just… don’t need any sunglasses. I apologize
Stephen: Tony, I told you to stop doing that with the knives.
Tony, with knives taped to his knuckles: But Wolverine has-
Stephen: I said stop.
Stephen: Also can’t you just add knives to your suit?
Tony: ……I did not think of that!!!
Stephen: Clearly. 😑
Tony: So let me-
Dark! Stephen: if you sneeze and I say “bless you”, the only thing you should say is “thank you”.
Stephen: I don’t need to hear “how did you get in my house?”, “Why is my window broken?”, “I’m calling the police”.
Stephen: Nobody’s got time for that.
Tony: [Slaps Stephen’s face]
Peter: Mr. Stark, I think you gotta ask him a question first.
Tony: Oh, yeah!
Tony: What colour is my underwear? [Slaps Stephen’s face].
some bottom/slutty tony recs?
Summary: Tony’s always wanted to wake up with his lover’s dick in his ass. Stephen finally agrees to it.
Summary: Tony uses his new nanotech suit recreationally. Stephen watches and helps a little.
Summary: Tony smiled. “Knew you’d heard of me.” He took a long draw of his drink. “So what do you think? Want to be my something new for the night?”
“If you think you can keep up with me.”
“Cocky. I like that in a man.”
“Really? The version I heard is that you like it in you.”
Tony arched a brow. “Planning to join that list?”
Stephen gave him a long, considering look before sliding a hand over Tony’s free one. “Mister Stark … you’re going to beg me to join it.“
Summary: “You know, when most people say they want to spice things up in the bedroom, they don’t usually mean this.”
Tony shifted where he sat on the bed, suddenly very aware about how naked he was as Stephen stopped what he was doing to stare at him. All three of them.
Summary: It’s an orgy fic, I’m not sure what else to say
Summary: Stephen had always protested against a suit of his own - I’m a sorcerer, not Iron Man 2.0! I will not go around and repulsor my way through life! - but even he couldn’t find a halfway logical sounding way to refuse a purely protective version that could be worn under his robes.
(Tony makes Stephen a nanite suit of his own. Stephen says thank you in his own, special way.)
Summary: Wherein Stephen joins the Avengers, Tony joins him in playful banter, and the Cloak joins the two of them whenever it can find a way. Rhodes just enjoys teasing his teammates and observing from the sidelines as they catch feelings.
Or, the Cloak is far more mischievous than either of its two favorite humans, and it decides they belong together—“they” meaning all three of them.
This is written mostly in Stephen and Tony’s POVs—thus, the title.
Summary: Rich and pretty, Stephen has all the reasons in the world to show up to Tony’s gala. However, it turns into an even better occasion than he expected.
Summary: Going to do oneshots for Kinktober this year for the first time! These are going to be all MCU ones, I’ll list the ships in the tags as I go along (and in the note at the beginning of the fic), as well as all of the kinks I will be writing about. (Please mind the tags in case of triggers) Feel free to comment/rate and let me know what you guys think. *I will be using a variety of ships, so hopefully everyone can find something they like here. I’ll try to update as often as I can, chapters will likely be of varying lengths. Enjoy the collection everyone!
Summary: San Junipero is a simulated reality where the deceased can live in after they have passed and the elderly can visit for a certain amount of hours a week. All inhabitants are able to exist there in their younger bodies and in any decade of their choosing. Their consciousness is “uploaded” into this world where they can function freely in ways their bodies perhaps may not allow them to in the physical world.
For Stephen, this was his only chance of living any life at all. A chance to fall in love. For Tony, it was supposed to have just been a passing amusement before the end. He wasn’t supposed to have fallen in love.
(Couldn’t get rid of San Junipero episode of Black Mirror out my head but as IronStrange… and if you think I’ll take Iron Man away from Tony, you’re dead wrong.)
Summary: 31 Days of slutty ironstrange for Kinktober.
I saw this and was like "lemme bless salty on her birthday" Lol
Idk if you've seen this before....
I HAVEN’T SEEN THIS BEFORE
THIS IS MY FAVORITE BIRTHDAY PRESENT THANK YOU
Tony, crying: my boyfriend doesn’t love me anymore
Stephen: Tony, all I said was that you can’t adopt another child you met at the science fair with parental issues
Tony, sniffling: it’s the same thing
Every other hero in phase 4: *excited for new adventures
Stephen, a widower, single parent, too tired for everything: pls let me just die
Stephen: The silence when your toddler falls over is terrifying because they’re either completely fine or they’re filling their lungs with enough air to mimic an air-raid siren
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU ARE AWESOME ♥️
Thanks, I had a great birthday!
For the writing asks: 3, 5, 10? 😊
3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?
I answered this here.
5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?
Right now? From the Top, probably.
10. What’s your favorite genre to write for?
For original works, fantasy. I love worldbuiding and coming up with new worlds or interesting magical and cultural elements. For fanfiction, it’s really whatever pops into my head.
HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY!!!
BELATED THANK YOU
7. What element of writing do you struggle with most? 13. First fandom you ever wrote for? 21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!) 34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.
7. What element of writing do you struggle with most?
I’ve talked about this a bit, but dialogue. I’m not too bad at coming up with the words, but I am always asking myself, “Is this how this character speaks?” (I could never write a character who spoke in pop culture reference because your bitch don’t know any). And sex scenes are difficult. They just take a lot of my time and energy.
13. First fandom you ever wrote for?
When I was 13 I wrote a Doctor Who fic about evil versions of the 10th and 11th having sex. It may or may not still exist somewhere in the internet. Good luck finding it.
21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)
I’ve written 30 ironstrange fics, and I’ve really enjoyed writing for them!
That said, I do feel a bit wrung out from focusing so intensely on one fandom for so long, so right now I’m diversifying a bit and writing some cherik fic.
34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.
This is like, a whole scene, but I’m gonna do it anyway.
Erik would never forget the night they met.
He knew how other people felt about telepaths. Even Raven was likely to snap at her brother if she suspected he’d gone snooping around her head. But the first time he’d felt Charles’s mind in his hadn’t felt like an invasion, hadn’t seemed unnatural. No, it was the most natural thing in the world. One moment, he had been drowning, determined to kill Shaw even if it meant tearing himself apart. The next, he was surrounded by the burning warmth and light and sensation that was Charles Xavier, and the world had new meaning. The submarine ceased to exist for him. His universe narrowed down to this one man, this person like him, with his blue eyes and his red lips and his kindness. He’d never felt anything like that.
He wondered if Charles Xavier could make him feel like that every day.
After they’d boarded the Coast Guard’s boat and headed below deck to change into dry clothes, they’d been standing alone in a small, poorly lit room as they undressed. Erik stretched awkwardly for his zipper. Charles hadn’t even asked, hadn’t said anything at all before walking over and unzipping the wetsuit himself, deft hands peeling the rubbery material off. Erik should have been annoyed, should have snapped at him to keep his clever fingers to himself.
If Erik was honest with himself, he’d known he wanted Charles even then. But he didn’t said anything, didn’t try to reach out when the telepath laid gentle, understanding hands on his scarred skin. His body was a live-wire, raw nerves laid bare to the other mutant. Any other person in the world, and he would have flinched away, would have growled and grabbed their wrist and twisted until it snapped—
But Charles didn’t have taking hands. His fingers were gentle in a way that was foreign to him. He wouldn’t touch Erik to hurt him, would never take anything that wasn’t offered. Before either of them had even realized what they were doing, Charles was brushing his fingers through Erik’s still-wet hair before drawing them down his cheek and neck, tracing the harsh jut of his collarbone before winding back up. He stopped when his hand was cupping the other man’s cheek and Erik, despite himself, leaned into the warm touch.
It took him a minute to open his eyes. When he did, Charles was staring back at him. The words from earlier rang through Erik’s ears. You’re not alone, you’re not alone, we’re not alone—
Nothing else happened between them that night. The boat was swarming with CIA agents, and there were questions to be asked, mutants to meet, Shaw to track. Then they were on the road, trying to find others of their own kind. There must have been a thousand opportunities then. When he slept, he descended into dreams of Charles’s pink lips, lithe body, and clever fingers. Looking back, he thought Charles must have avoided looking at Erik’s mind after the first time he said to, because he never seemed to know the thoughts Erik had, the desire to reach out and take him. Erik knew that he could have had the other mutant any time he wanted, but it had seemed too risky, their connection too fragile. Charles was the first person he’d cared about since his mother died. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t tell how broken Erik was, that he didn’t see how everything he touched cracked and turned to ashes in his hands. Charles may have looked into his mind once, but it was obvious that he was too idealistic to see Erik for the monster Shaw made. After that first night, he didn’t touch Charles again for months.
No, nothing else happened between them until the night after the satellite dish.
Erik wasn’t ashamed to cry when Charles brought that memory forth. He hadn’t even realized he still had any untouched good memories, that he could even feel happiness like that anymore. Two things happened then. The first was that he realized that Charles saw him, truly saw every part of Erik, the good and the bad (and he hadn’t even believed there was any good left in himself). But he didn’t leave, didn’t flinch or look away. The second was that he realized that he could feel that way again, that he could be happy with Charles. It was a revelation. Never before had he imagined a future before himself after killing Shaw. After that day, he started to think there might be one.
That night, Erik gathered all his will to knock on Charles’s door. The telepath answered immediately. He’d probably sensed Erik’s arrival long before, had stood there waiting for the minutes it took Erik to force himself into action, but he waited for the other man to make the first move. He waited until Erik was ready.
That, as much as anything, confirmed what Erik already knew.
He walked into the room and shut the door behind him. They looked at each other, long, drawn-out stares unaccompanied by words. Then Charles was in his arms, red mouth soft against Erik’s chapped lips, hands holding him like he was scared to let go, and it felt like coming home.
He always said Charles had given him a home.