#iron man bingo 3000

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo square: Stony Soulmate Tattoos

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Relationship: Tony Stark / Steve Rogers Tags: Soulmates, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Whump, AU No Powers, Mob Boss Steve Words: 8.002

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate's arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

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As far as kidnappings go, this one is almost civilized. Apart from the fact that they greet him by pulling a bag over his head and knock him unconscious before he can say a single word.

Tony wakes up in a mostly clean warehouse, though, instead of some cell in a ratty basement where he is sure to catch pneumonia and die before Stark Industries would have a chance to pay ransom, even if they were in the habit of doing so. His hands and feet are bound with rope that sits tight but not enough to hinder his blood circulation. It feels like a professional job, fancy knot and all.

Most importantly, he is not hurt beyond the distant throbbing of where they hit his temple earlier.

Blinking fully awake, Tony finds himself facing a man. He is rather short and stocky. A mop of dirty blond hair sticks up over the mask covering his face.

“Good evening,” Tony says amiably.

The man narrows his eyes at Tony but does not lash out as he half-expected. Somehow, he does not think that is a good sign. It feels as if they are waiting for something.

“Do you think we could deal with this unfortunate business quickly? I’ve got –” A slap cuts Tony off, the sound of flesh on flesh ringing loudly in the otherwise empty warehouse.

It was not hard enough to split his lip. Tony is not sure it will even bruise. It was a warning, nothing more. More so, this is all still so terribly polite that he considers heeding it.

Before he can decide on a course of action, the man steps forward and puts his hands on Tony’s jacket – or rather inside it. He goes for the inside pocket and gets out the USB drive Tony has taken to carrying everywhere as if he has known exactly what to go for. On the drive are Tony’s personal projects and some stuff he does not exactly want to fall into the hands of his board members. All of them have constant dollar signs in their eyes but Tony thinks there are limits to what they should make their money with.

Truth be told, his conscience got more or less only reborn when they refused all of his attempts at steering the company in new directions. Green energy, communication, medical technology. Tony is good at what he does. He can revolutionize more than just the weapons market. That would come with risks, though, and the board does not want to take any as long as Tony is making them enough money without them.

Tony glares at the man, who holds the drive up in the air, looking at it with some disdain as if he does not think that little thing is worth all the trouble of snatching Tony Stark off the street. He obviously does not know the kind of gold mine he is holding. The data on it is saved elsewhere too, of course, but getting the drive is much easier than breaking into Tony’s home and getting the information from there. This feels less and less like a random kidnapping.  

Tony’s mind immediately runs through the handful of people who know about the existence of the USB drive. Pepper and Obie do. Some of the board members should at least suspect that he is not going to stop making plans even if they rejected them. A few people down in R&D might know, not anything specific, though.

In front of him, the man speaks into an earpiece. “Got it.”

So there are more of them lurking somewhere. At least two where present when they picked him up, but Tony does not think that will be all. Getting to him, even if he is rather lax with his own security, needs more than two brains.

“If all you wanted was the USB drive, you could have asked, you know?” Tony speaks up in as nonchalant a tone as he dares. Sometimes, it is better to show some fear, but Tony has never quite managed to let go of his pride long enough for that. “There was no need to drag me all through town to your stunningly clean lair.”

The man’s mouth twitches, but Tony is sure it is not from amusement.

“Don’t they teach you posh people when to shut up?” the man growls, but makes no further move.

“Conversation furthers the horizon,” Tony quips, watching the man closely without being too obvious about it. “Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

The man takes a step forward until he towers over Tony. The hand holding the drive is balled into a fist. Tony knows how this story goes. They tell him to be quiet and follow their rules, he keeps provoking them until they make a mistake. Sometimes they do not make mistakes, but Tony has made it out of every kidnapping alive up until now.

“Don’t.” A woman steps up. Bright red hair, moving in her combat boots as if she is doing ballet. This one is dangerous.

“Why not?” the man asks. He whips up his hands but instead of them breaking Tony’s skin with a hit, he produces a mass of dirty cloth out of thin air and forces it into Tony’s mouth, effectively gagging him.

The woman glares. Even though it is not directed at Tony, he feels the primal urge to flee or at least duck. The man does not even flinch. Perhaps she looks tougher than she is, although Tony’s gut tells him it is the other way around.

Before they can continue their argument, two more men enter the room. They are both tall, but where one is blonde the other is dark. The dark one’s glare is almost as potent as the woman’s and definitely meant for Tony. His eyes are unforgiving, making Tony feel like this might be personal after all. All of their masks reveal just enough of their faces to make them fearsome, definitely human but less approachable for it.

When the men come closer, something metallic glints between them, but Tony cannot get a good look. It could be a gun but just as well a strangely coloured glove.

Without a word, the short guy hands over the USB drive to the tall blond, who studies it briefly then pockets it with a sigh. Just a moment ago, it seemed like they were only after the drive. Now, though, the air is filled with a new tension, harder somehow.

They communicate silently and it feels like an argument. For once, Tony thinks better of disturbing the silence. He would probably even do so if he were not currently gagged. The blond, who has to be the leader, considering that they are all waiting for his verdict, nods tersely. His shoulders are painfully straight, almost as if he does not want to be here.

“All right,” he says. His voice sounds like it could be melodic if it were not infused with disdain. When he turns his head and looks at Tony, his eyes are cold, making Tony shudder. “Let’s do this.”

Ice spreads through Tony at this and it has nothing to do with the sense of impending violence filling the air. He knows these words, knows them by heart. During his childhood, he used to recite them to himself as if they were a prayer. He has never imagined hearing them in a situation like this.

The words alone would not mean anything, of course. He has heard them a thousand times. They are accompanied by a burning sensation crawling up his arm, however, touching a place he has kept covered up since he was eight years old and woke up to these exact words in a sprawling script across his forearm. The first words his soulmate would ever say to him. It is just his miserable luck that he would hear them during a kidnapping.

Tony’s focus zeroes in on the man who has spoken them, oblivious to the fact that he has just now declared his soulmate fair game to his companions. He is still looking at Tony but no recognition flickers to life in his eyes.

Tony strains against the rope keeping him mostly immobile and then against the cloth in his mouth. He does not know what he would say, even if he had full control over his tongue, but he feels like he has to do something. He yells something unintelligible. It does not have any effect.

Before he can do anything else, a dark shape steps in front of him, obscuring his view of the gang leader, and the first punch hits him square in the stomach, dispersing all rational thought.

The first hit is never the worst. It feels like it, certainly, because no matter how unavoidable a fight appears, that first step from a simple argument into a violent, physical altercation will always have something unreal to it, something impossible to brace for.

This time, Tony did not know he had to brace for something. Despite the kidnapping and the harshness in these people’s words and movements, their encounter has almost felt like a straight up business transaction. Someone wants Tony’s personal files, so they are getting them. This does not feel like part of a deal, but not like they are just roughing him up for the fun of it either.

All other thoughts leave him when the fist hits him again, hard enough to throw him out of the chair. Distantly, he feverishly tries to concentrate on possible reasons for why they are doing this so he does not have to think about his burning forearm and the fact that the gang boss who has just ordered Tony’s beating is his soulmate.

Tony hits the ground with a crack. Years of practice have him guarding his head with his arms, even though that leaves the rest of his body unprotected. He rolls up into as tight a ball as possible and tries not to count the blows. His brain being what it is, he cannot help collecting information anyway.

Despite the flurry of blows and kicks, Tony is sure that only two of them are actually working on him, although they do not hold back and do enough damage on their own.

Some of Tony’s ribs crack with a dry sound. It is not so much the pain than the knowledge of what is happening to him that has whimpers escape his throat. When he instinctively reaches downward, the next blow lands in his face. The taste of copper and iron explodes on his tongue and blood clogs his nose, making him unable to breathe. A kick hits his ribcage and pushes the rest of the air out of his lungs.

After that, everything blurs, pain and the ringing in his ears and the proof that fate hates him. Hours might pass in which Tony is undone. The worst part is that, even caught in agony, Tony cannot stop wanting to know why.

Several long minutes after Tony is certain that he cannot take any more, he hears the leader say, “Enough.”

It is impossible to say whether anyone argues, and Tony does not even notice the exact moment the blows stop coming. All he can focus on beyond the impossible state of his body is his soulmate’s voice. Even like this, it causes an instinctive longing. If this were not one of the worst nights of his life, Tony might laugh.

“Are you feeling better now?” Tony hears he leader ask once his senses begin returning to him. There is a dry kind of humour in his tone that belongs anywhere but here, washing over Tony’s broken body.

“No,” comes the answer. Tony does not know that voice so it has to be the dark-haired man, the one with a grudge.

“We could cut off his arm,” the short man supplies with unholy glee. He barely sounds winded. “To make it fair.”

Terror has Tony flinching back from them. He tries to curl up around his arms, to protect them as best as he can, but stills when the pain is too much to bear. They cannot take his arms from him. He needs them so he can keep working. He has given so much of himself away already to satisfy the sharks constantly surrounding him, he cannot lose his arms too.

Distantly, the voice of the leaders filters through the rushing panic in Tony’s mind. “I said enough.”

The pathetic truth is, if Tony could, he would thank the gang leader for his mercy. He would push himself onto his knees and bow his head before him. He would –

“Let’s get rid of him.”

Steps are moving closer, but Tony stays where he is, pressed against the floor. When he blinks, his entire vision is stained red. If he is lying in a puddle if his own blood, it would explain the wetness on his cheek.

Hands reach for his arms and legs. He feels the sharp coldness of metal against his skin and then the ropes keeping him bound are cut. Tony’s relief at the sudden loss of pressure is short-lived, because then they are pulling at his limbs, stretching him to pick him up like a sack of flour.

No, Tony wants to scream. It comes out as nothing more than a muffled whimper as a new wave of agony rips through him. His head is dragged over the ground for several feet until the hoist him higher with an abrupt movement.

Tony is sure he loses his consciousness for several seconds because the next thing he feels is cold air against his skin, biting against bruises that are not yet fully formed. He is lying on the ground again, which is rougher now, like broken asphalt. Groaning, he tries to swallow but finds the rug still in his mouth.

It takes him an eternity to lift his hand to pull the gag out of his mouth, and then he still tastes more blood and ends up coughing when he tries to spit it out. After that, he greedily pushes fresh air into his lungs, no matter that this intensifies the pain in his ribs – or rather his pain everywhere. Tony feels like one giant wound, a plaything of fate, now abandoned by it.

His soulmate, he remembers then, and that pain is almost more acute than the physical one. Sentimentality has never had a place in their family but Tony has never stopped hoping he might find that one person who is best for him in all the world. Howard and Maria had not been soulmates but Jarvis and Ana had. Tony has always known whose life he would rather have.

Now, though, life has taken another cruel turn. Tony is not sure he can take it.

With a slow but impatient movement, he rips the brace from his left forearm, staring at the words he knows better than anything else in the world. Words that, tonight, have turned from grey to black, meaning that there is no mistake. He has met his soulmate and his soulmate has turned him into a wreck.

Let’s do this.

Tony has not needed this proof. The burning was enough. The feeling of a hook sinking into his intestines, pulling him apart, was enough. Perhaps Howard was right and Tony is really going to ruin everything he touches, and everything that touches him will ruin him more.

Defiance rises in his stomach, almost indistinguishable from fury. Staring at the words on his forearm, Tony yells, “Are you fucking kidding me?” It ends up as more of a whisper, but it tears at his throat as if he had screamed.

To his surprise, he hears footsteps closing in from behind him. Immediate fear takes hold of him even while he tries to crawl away. He does not come far, the pain makes it hard to properly coordinate his limbs.

The gang leader crouches down in front of him. Out of all of them, he is the one Tony wants to see the least. In fact, he would rather take another beating than face his shame head on.

“What did you just say?”

For the first time, he sounds angry. Inside the warehouse, he had been tense and resigned, but now it looks like he feels the first sliver of the disappointed rage that is nesting in Tony’s bones too, the sense of betrayal. Because this cannot be true, that the best thing in the world should be reduced to this.

A thousand different things sit on Tony’s tongue, ranging from curses over accusations to pleas. Instead, he blinks the blood out of his eyes and focuses on the man in front of him as best as he can.

“Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me,” he repeats his words, spits them out as if they do not mean anything, as if they are not tearing him apart anew.

“That’s not possible,” the gang leader says.

Tony opens his mouth to laugh, but there is somehow still more blood trickling down the back of his throat, so he ends up having another coughing fit.

Possible is such a pedestrian word. It has never played much of a role in Tony’s life. Everything is impossible until it is done for the first time. That said, he wishes that this were a lie too.

Impatiently, the blonde pulls Tony’s arm towards him, staring intensely at the black words curling condemningly over bruised skin. It is hard to say in the dim light and with just one eye working as it should, but Tony thinks the man has gone white as a sheet.

Not saying anything, he holds his own arm next to Tony’s and rips up his sleeve, revealing words that Tony knew would be there.

 Are you fucking kidding me?

Still silent, the gang leader raises his head slowly, then stares at Tony for several long minutes. They are at an impasse. There is no good or right way forward from this. They have navigated themselves into a dead end before they even met. Well, mafia guy has done all the leading. Tony has been dragged in screaming and was kicked into place.

With a sigh that sounds like he is no stranger to impossibly fucked up situations, the gang leader pulls his mask from his head, revealing a handsome if tired face. Right after noticing the strong jaw line, Tony shuts his eyes and turns his head away. There is nothing for him to see here. Tony does not want to know the face of this man. He remembers the heaviness of his cold eyes well enough.

“Did you know?”

Incredulity spreads through Tony at the question. Still, he clenches his jaw and keeps his mouth shut. Nothing good will come of engaging in a conversation with the other man. Their story is already over. All he wants to do now is to go home, take a hot bath to soothe his bruises, and forget any of this ever happened.

A hand settles around Tony’s chin. It is gentle but he instinctively flinches away from it. The gang leader does not let him escape though. Firmly, he pulls Tony’s head back around, then leaves his hand there for a moment longer to make sure Tony stays facing him.

“What?” Tony snaps. He hates himself for noticing how handsome the man is, how easily he can imagine him smiling. “How could I have known? You obviously know who I am, so it should not surprise you that I don’t make a habit of dealing with the mob.”

Lips curling up slightly in what can only be amusement, the man replies, “We’re not the mob.”

That is so not the point, and still Tony lets himself fall into the argument willingly. He is lying on the cold ground, bleeding, with broken ribs, but talking about technicalities is better than dealing with the fact that this man is supposed to be the one person he gets his happily ever after with.

“No?” Tony drawls, feeling the split in his upper lip throb. “Yet someone paid you money to beat me up and you happily agreed. Quite thoroughly too.”

Fury, Tony knows, helps with the pain. It gives him something to cling to.

The man has the audacity to look embarrassed. At the same time, his face clouds over with the same hardness he carried when he first joined his men.

“We were told you’re dealing with weapons under the table.”

Tony stares. Tonight is a night of utter strangeness. Curiously enough, he finds this bit of information more unbelievable than finding his soulmate.

Dealing under the table? That does not even make sense. Stark Industries has countless standing contracts. They are making enough money. There is absolutely no reason why Tony would sell his weapons illegally. He would not even know to whom. It is not as if he wants there to be even more fighting in the world. On the contrary. With less war, he would perhaps get his board of directors to approve some of his personal projects.

“Oh wow, good point,” Tony drawls, unable to help himself. Fury might help with the pain but not exactly with keeping his tongue in check. “Even if that were true, you really would have done some good work today. Clearly I’m cured from my evil ways now.”

There must have been more to it. They went for the USB drive with the coldness of trained professionals. The rest of it felt personal and not like part of the job. They did not even give him a reason, did not attempt to teach him a lesson. It was just raw rage unleashed on him.

“We’ve had some reservations where it comes to weapons,” the gang leader says without explaining anything.

Looking at his soulmate, Tony finds himself believing that someone must have told these people that he is dealing with weapons and that they took it at face value. They obviously have a problem with it, but they are clearly no pacifists. Threatening to cut someone’s arm off, too, goes far beyond reasonable indignation.

Still, he finds he does not actually want to know. The faster he gets out of here, the better. He has no desire to cure them of their misconception. Few people react kindly to that and he has had enough of their hospitality.

“Who paid you?” Tony asks, concentrating on the important things.

A big part of him wants to stay ignorant, to hide his head in the sand and continue on with his life. He needs to know, though. Accusing Tony of dealing under the table makes only sense if there is some evidence to back up the claim, and if there is evidence, Stark weapons might just really be out where they do not belong. Since Tony is not selling his weapons on the black market, someone else must be doing it. Tony can turn a blind eye to a lot of things but not to causing more death and destruction for profit.

“I can’t tell you that,” the gang leader says, although he has the decency to sound apologetic about it.

“Of course, you have to be the honourable kind of mob boss.” Tony sighs, feeling annoyed. All the while, he thinks he should be glad about that fact. Otherwise, the two men inside might have just beaten him to death or permanently maimed him. Tony knows which of these options he is more afraid of.

“We’re not the mob,” the blonde repeats, “and I’m no one’s boss.”

“Is that why your mob friends waited for your signal to split their knuckles on me?”

The blonde winces slightly, but Tony takes no satisfaction from it. The only reason he is still talking to the other man at all is because he is afraid of trying to move again. Now that he is lying very still, his body has turned into one throbbing wound, sharp spikes of warning shooting through him whenever he takes too deep a breath. Any kind of movement will throw him right back into agony.

“That’s not how we normally do things.”

How reassuring. Soulmates are supposed to protect each other, and even if they had not known, there should have been more reluctance about taking another man apart.

“I feel so fucking special right now,” Tony snaps and pointedly stares into the darkness above him.

The gang leader sighs and shifts his position so he sits down next to Tony. It would serve him well if his legs would hurt from crouching too long.

Tony would like to ask what he is even still doing here. They got the USB drive and a bit of personal revenge thrown in. They are done. The burning in their forearms will fade with time, so they can just go back to their own lives – which will hopefully never touch again. This once was enough.

“My name is Steve.”

The words fall into the silence between them like stones in a well. It feels like they are echoing several times inside Tony’s mind before they fully register. The gang leader – his soulmate – has a name now. Somehow, that makes it too real.

“Don’t tell me that,” Tony says shortly, wishing he could burn the knowledge from his brain. “I’ve already seen your face. You don’t have to give your guys more reasons to kill me.”

At the same time, he thinks the name fits. Despite his occupation, there is a kindness to his face, an all-American wholesomeness that matches the name. Tony still thinks he would have rather not found out. The more his soulmate turns into an actual person rather than a masked mob leader, the harder it will be to leave this behind.

Steve looks partly amused, partly guilty. “We’re not going to kill you.”

“Tell that to my body. Did you know that I have a heart condition?” Tony is rambling, he notices that too late. The exhaustion is creeping up on him.

“What?” Steve asks quickly as if he is actually concerned. “What happened? Are you all right?”

Another laugh is stuck in Tony’s throat. This situation gets more surreal by the minute.

“Stop this,” he croaks, batting away the hand that comes up unexpectedly, pressing against Tony’s sternum as if they have somehow passed into the level of intimacy where that is all right.

“What is wrong with your heart?” Steve asks, unimpressed by Tony’s attempts to push him away.

Momentarily, Tony is glad that whoever hired them did not know about his weak heart and the pacemaker sitting right under his skin. That might mean that it is not someone out of his inner circle – or they just thought the information irrelevant.

Distantly, he notices that Steve has now both of his hands on him, propping Tony up into a sitting position. Every fibre of his body protests at the sudden movement.

“What are you doing?” he demands, breathless from the pain.

“Getting you back inside,” Steve answers as if that is a reasonable thing to say. Inside is where Tony’s latest nightmare happened. Inside is where Steve’s friends are waiting, ready to cut off his arm after all.

“Like hell you will,” Tony mutters and puts all his energy into getting out of Steve’s hold.

It does not help much. He wants to struggle more, but the world is swimming in and out of sight before him as blackness creeps into his vision.

One of his blind hits actually meets flesh but Steve barely seems to notice. He does not react, in any case, other than readjusting his grip on Tony. Before he knows what is happening, Tony is lifted into the air, feet dangling, head pressed against Steve’s shoulder. The utter embarrassment of being carried bridal style by the very man who gave the order that has Tony currently unable to walk on his own is turning his cheeks hot.

“You’re hurt,” Steve explains as they are walking back towards the warehouse.

This time, Tony does not have it in him to even try to laugh. “I wonder how that happened,” he says, acid coating the words. “Let me go,” he then demands. His authority is dampened by both his physical state and the position he is in, but he tries his best. “Either you kill me now or you leave me alone. Choose one option.”

Abruptly, Steve comes to a halt. He does not let go of Tony, which has them standing awkwardly in the dim alleyway behind the warehouse, looking at each other with all the incomprehension of strangers unsure how to deal with each other. He seems actually contrite about Tony suggesting they would kill him. Finding his soulmate has certainly addled Tony’s wits too but not so much to entirely forget the past hours. If Steve is going to pretend nothing happened, they are going to have a problem with each other.

“But we’re –” Steve says but does not come any farther.

“Nothing,” Tony snaps with as much viciousness as he can muster. “We are obviously nothing.” Almost as if to punish himself, he adds, “I always thought that soulmate business was dubious. Guess I was right.”

He can deal with his disappointment later. With the crushing realization that Howard was right about so many things, that Tony will never be like Jarvis. There is no happy ending waiting for him here.

Still holding onto Tony, Steve looks down at him, face painfully earnest. “I didn’t know.”

Fury roars its ugly head in the pit of Tony’s stomach again. He wants to spit in Steve’s face, wants to scratch out his eyes. What does it matter if Steve has known? He is a gang leader, a thug. He took money to kidnap Tony, steal his private thoughts and projects, and then let his friends beat him up.

Tony sneers. “You say that as if it’s going to make anything better.”

It implies that, if Tony had not turned out Steve’s soulmate, it would have been all right what happened here tonight. Whether or not Tony is actually the one dealing with weapons. Steve is running a gang, they are kidnapping people up for money and possibly do worse. None of that is okay.

Slowly, Steve begins walking again. “Someone’s got it out for you,” he says calmly, ignoring Tony’s barb. “We can help.”

Unable to help himself, Tony snorts a laugh, even while he clenches his jaw to keep in the hysteria he feels rising inside himself.

“No, thanks,” he drawls, the disdain tasting bitter on his own tongue. “You’ve done quite enough. Also, wasn’t I just now still the bad guy? Just because your little tattoo is burning doesn’t mean I’m not selling weapons under the table.”

Looking down, he sees that Steve has covered up his arm again before he picked Tony up, probably unwilling to let his friends see the black words.

“You said you don’t,” Steve answers, sounding so earnest that Tony is not sure whether he should feel disgusted by it or in awe. “And you’re in no condition to lie.”

Just like that, Tony’s awe disperses as quickly as it has come. “Oh, darling,” he clicks his tongue, “if you believe that, don’t ever go into politics. People like us can lie even with our mouths sewn shut. It’s all we ever do.”

Steve frowns but does not stop walking. “You’re not a politician.”

It is a small mercy that Howard never had any patience for politics, or Tony would have been forced to deal with that too. Still, he smirks.

“I’m a businessman. That’s almost as bad.”

Despite the situation, despite who they are, Tony would have preferred to continue their argument to going back into the warehouse. Before he can add another barb or try to struggle out of Steve’s hold again, they are at the door – and Steve does not hesitate to go in.

As soon as the relative brightness inside is washing over them, Tony goes limp in Steve’s hold. No matter what is about to happen, he is not going to draw immediate attention to himself but will try to glean some more information from their surroundings.

What he sees are the three people from earlier, two men, one woman. They are still wearing their masks, although the stocky blonde has pushed it up far enough to eat something that looks suspiciously like soggy pizza. It smells like it too – which has Tony’s stomach roiling. Not only did someone think of picking up food before they went to beat someone up, their bloody work has also not diminished their appetite.

When Steve steps closer towards them, still carrying Tony with unexpected gentleness, they all look up. Their behaviour is not exactly deferential, but they do respect Steve, that much is obvious.

“What happened, Stevie?” the dark-haired man asks, taking a step closer. “Did the bastard die?”

There is unmistakeable glee in his voice. If his instincts had not let him go very still, Tony might have poked Steve and asked whether he would admit yet that taking him back inside was a bad idea. He is not sure what he has done to these people, but they are overly interested in his permanent demise.

“No,” Steve says. Tony feels the rumbling of his voice through the cheek his has still pressed against Steve’s shoulder. “He’s alive.”

That has the blond man perking up with interest. “Then what are you doing? Are we taking kill orders now?” He sounds a little bit too eager for Tony’s taste.

The woman, too, looks up, scrutinizing them more critically than either of the men. Tony is sure she knows that he is awake and listening to every word they say.

“We’re not going to kill anyone,” Steve says, making this sound like a normal conversation. “He didn’t do it.”

A stunned silence follows, in which Tony can feel their stares on him. Steve, however, does not let that push him off course. He lowers Tony down onto what feels like a metal table, perhaps a workbench. It is not comfortable but certainly a step up from the cracked concrete outside. He decides not to think too much about the way Steve runs his hands down Tony’s sides as if to make sure he is not going to fall off the table. Only when he is satisfied that Tony is secure, does he straighten his spine and faces his friends.

“And you know that how?” the blond asks, aggression crackling in his tone. “Did he look at you with his big innocent eyes and tell you? You know these assholes sing such pretty songs when they think you want to hear them.”

Tony dares to hope that it is a good sign that he waited for Steve to look at them before he voiced his argument. They step up closer, forming a half-circle in front of Steve. It does not look like they are going to go against Steve’s orders but Tony does not like to take any chances.

Swallowing down a groan, he pushes himself slowly into a sitting position. His movement has Steve whip around, eyeing him with concern. He neither stops nor tries to help him. Tony is unreasonably glad for that.

“One of his eyes is innocent,” Steve argues calmly, pointing at Tony’s face, which is now easily visible. “The other is already swollen shut, but I’m sure we’d find the same thing there.”

As if the mention of his eye triggers some reaction, Tony feels the pulsing pain covering most of his face. He also becomes acutely aware of the optical information he is missing while looking with just one eye.

“That’s still one eye too many he can still see with.”

While the blond man does most of the talking, Tony still feels the glare of the dark-haired one the most. Just as worrisome is the knife the woman is twirling almost absentmindedly. He does not doubt she could hit him with it before he ever noticed she is moving.

Steve’s position changes subtly. Where he was the very picture of nonchalance only moments before, he now shifts his position and his mere presence demands respect for his authority. Where he had just now been simply standing in front of Tony, he is now shielding him, declaring him off-limits with just the way he stands.

“Call Bruce,” Steve orders, causing a ripple to go through the room.

The twirling knife comes to a smooth halt in the woman’s hands, ready to be thrown. Next to her, the blond man is taking a step forward, arms half-raised to gesticulate wildly.

“We’re not going to patch the bastard up,” he yells, but could have been screaming against a wall for how little Steve reacts to it.

The most interesting is the dark-haired man, though. He somehow becomes even more still than before, his expression crumbling into something alive with betrayed fury. “Steve?” he asks, crossing his arms before him.

Only now does Tony see that the metallic glint he has seen earlier belongs to a prosthetic replacing most of the man’s left arm. That comment about cutting off Tony’s arm appears to be less random with every passing minute.

“He needs medical attention,” Steve says as if his friends have not been the one to put Tony into this position.

For several long moments, it feels like the tension is going to resolve not in their favour but in another bout of rampant violence. They are staring at each other, either communicating silently or simply waiting to see who caves first. Tony has never been good at being patient, though. Neither does he like to leave his fate up to anyone else.

“I can totally see that you’re no one’s boss around here,” Tony drawls. It takes him a few moments to realize that the words have come out of his own mouth. When all the attention shifts towards him, he can already taste blood again.

“Shut up, Stark,” the blond man hisses, taking another step forward until he is almost level with Steve, “or I’m going to kick out your teeth.”

For a fleeting moment, Tony thinks he would regret causing Steve’s men to turn against him. He does not owe Steve anything, but he is not going to deny the connection between them either. It might be frustrating to feel somewhat beholden to a man who has happily thrown him to the wolves just earlier this night, but fate is funny like that.

“That’s enough,” Steve speaks up. He does not exactly raise his voice, but it is still cutting through the tension easily, as if the pent-up wish for violence parts before his words.

The blond man glares for a second longer, then visibly steps down. The woman does not lower her knife, though, and the dark-haired man has not changed his stance at all.

“But he’s the one –” he trails off, his expression stricken, not the kind of helpless that comes from not knowing what to do but something angrier. He half-raises his prosthetic, holds it between them for a moment, then lets it fall back to his side.

Even without seeing Steve’s face, Tony notices that his entire being grows softer. “I know,” he says. These two words hold so much emotion that it has Tony’s throat constricting again. “But he says he didn’t do it and I believe him.” Before the storm of protest that is brewing in front of them can hit, Steve raises his arm. “He’s my soulmate.”

All eyes fall immediately on Steve’s arm before wandering over to where Tony is still sitting hunched over on the table. He feels like he should straighten, meet their judgement head on, but he is glad that he manages to remain somewhat upright at all.

“He’s –” the dark-haired man narrows his eyes. Before he can make his argument, the other man takes over.

“That’s awfully convenient, don’t you think?” There is still anger in his tone but it is more contained now, almost uncertain.

Steve keeps his eyes firmly on the man in the back. A whole lot more passes between them than the words that are being spoken.

“You want to have a look at my tattoo?” he asks, almost gently. “You know the words were still grey this morning.”

It reveals a lot about how close they are if Steve is so comfortable asking about his words in the open like this, has obviously shown them to at least the dark-haired man. The only people knowing about Tony’s are Jarvis and Rhodey.

Nobody says anything while the two men look at each other, waiting for the verdict. The hierarchy between them confuses Tony. He feels like an intruder, like he should cover his ears and close his eyes to give them some privacy, even though they are discussing his fate.

Then, the dark-haired man nods. His prosthetic hand, which had been clenched into a fist, uncurls slowly. With it, some of the tension lifts.

Unfortunately, the blond man decides that, now that this argument is over, he can start pushing his own again. “Just because you found your soulmate doesn’t mean we’re playing nice with criminals now.”

Despite himself, Tony has to snort, half in amusement, half in mounting frustration at them getting nowhere. He is hurting all over. All he wants is to go to bed, to get back to his old life. Navigating the board members and the press following him everywhere is still better than waiting to be judged by these people.

“Yes, because I’m clearly the criminal here.”

The blond turns on him, face a distorted grimace. “For the last time –”

“Clint.” Steve’s voice whips through the room and has them all standing straighter. Even Tony pushes his shoulders back, even though it makes breathing so much harder. Steve’s tone does not leave any more room for further arguments. “Call Bruce,” he then orders. “Nat, you find out exactly who hired us. And keep the USB drive safe. We won’t do anything more about this until we know what really happened.”

Distantly, Tony is aware that he should be worried about Steve throwing all their names out there where he can hear them. If this goes south, it reduces his chances of survival greatly. He is already not very happy to hear that his stay with Steve’s gang has apparently been extended for an unknown amount of time.

Clint stares balefully for a moment longer. “Fine,” he says with petulance, “but don’t expect me to hold his hands.”

Right in front of his eyes, Steve undergoes another transformation. From authoritative and unflinching, he grows smug and smirking. “Thank you,” he says with the kind of pleasantness that grates, “but I’ll do that myself.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tony mutters, sharing a glance with Clint that could almost be conspiratorial if they were not both acutely aware of how very much they are not allies.

Turning around, Steve grins at Tony. “You already said that. But you’re welcome to continue. It makes my tattoo tingle.”

Briefly, Tony is tempted to ask Steve to repeat his words too, just to find out whether he is telling the truth. He holds himself back, though, thinking that they have more important things to deal with – and he does not suddenly think of Steve as a friend.

“Now,” Tony decides out loud, “would be a good time to wake up.”

He does not exactly think he is dreaming. He has the occasional weird dream, but he is too much in pain for this to not be real. Also, he is not in the habit of flirting with people who could order him dead with a single nod, asleep or not.

“You won’t say that tomorrow,” Steve says, returning to Tony’s side as if he wants to make true on what he said to Clint and hold Tony’s hands. “Everything will hurt more.”

Tony knows. This is not the first time he has gotten a beating. That does not mean he wants to be reminded of it.

“You’re not as encouraging as you hope,” he replies, realizing too late that he should not be joking. Soulmate or not, Tony is still in danger.

“We’ll get there,” Steve says cheerfully.

Before Tony can find something appropriate to answer, the woman – Nat – appears at their side. She has removed her mask and revealed a face that is all the more stunning for the control she has over it.  No matter how practiced Tony is at reading people, he cannot say at all what she is thinking.

“Here,” she lets two pieces of rope fall onto the table next to Tony.

“What’s that?” Steve asks, eyeing her with some amusement. “He’s not exactly in any condition to run.”

Tony thinks of protesting but he is still needing a lot of energy simply to keep sitting. Also, it might not be the worst thing if Steve underestimates him a bit, even though Natasha does not seem to be as easily fooled.

“You know who he is and what he can do,” she explains simply, no discernible judgement in her tone. She is just recounting facts. “Even if he’s not the one selling under the table, he can still do unholy things with his hands. I’d rather not find out first-hand.”

She really is smart. Despite the newspaper stories about Tony’s accomplishments as a child, and his race through school and then MIT, people often think he is just a nice face and playboy who inherited his father’s company, making his only achievement that he has not yet managed to crash Stark Industries. People like to forget that he is the head of the R&D department, that his name is not for nothing on their products.

Tony cannot say whether she has done her research or is just that good at assessing people. In any case, Steve appears to believe her without doubt. He picks up the rope, throwing an apologetic glance at Tony.

“I’m not going to pull it too tight.”

Tony shrugs as if it does not matter to him and holds out his hands. It is demeaning, to be bound like a dog, offering up his own head for the slaughter. He does not have the energy to fight, though. And while he wants to leave, he also needs to find out what they know about who sold him out. He cannot go back to his old life ignoring what has happened here tonight.

The rope is tugged almost gently around his wrists, although Steve does not hesitate to make a proper knot. Once Natasha is satisfied with Steve’s work, she turns around and vanishes without another comment. When they are alone, Steve reaches out again, caressing Tony’s left forearm and the words sitting there innocently.

“I’ll get you an aspirin,” Steve promises. He still sounds like he expects everything to be all right.

Tony stares at him. Then his mouth opens without him knowing what he is going to say. “I wish I’d never met you.”

Inexplicably, it feels wrong to say that. Steve’s eyes turn sad for a moment, but he does not seem to believe it any more than Tony does. Despite the unfortunate circumstances of their meeting, this still feels like a beginning rather than a dead end.

“I know,” Steve replies quietly. “But I’m glad we did.” His lips curl up, making him look much more carefree than before.

“Don’t say it,” Tony warns but knows he will be ignored.

With a smirk, Steve says, “Let’s do this.”

With equal parts dismay and excitement, Tony realizes that Steve has been right. Saying the words again does make the tattoo tingle. Perhaps they will have to do some further study in whether or not that effect will fade over time.

#iron man bingo 3000 #stony #fanfiction #soulmates #soulmate tattoos #no powers #kidnapping #mob boss steve #tony stark #whump #ao3 #my writing

[bruciewayne]

kiss me if i’m wrong

stevetony, fluff, kissing, that’s literally it, 709 (also on ao3)

for ‘dungeons and dragons’ on @iron-man-bingo

--

“Kiss me if I’m wrong--”

Steve rolls over to kiss him, smiling.

“That’s not-- I didn’t even finish!” Tony complains, but he can’t stop the smile spreading across his face.

“You know I’ll always let you finish,” Steve says, pitching his voice low and trailing a hand down Tony’s side, stopping at his waist.

“Asshole.”

“Yours is still my favourite, dear,” Steve says with as much seriousness he can muster. It doesn't end up to be much, for as true the statement is, he’s relaxed and lethargic, it’s early and they don’t have any plans for the rest of the day, he’s getting a day just to be with his husband and he hasn’t had that in a while, so he’s going to make the most of it.

“Better be,” Tony grumbles. He wiggles around so he’s lying on top of Steve, leaning on his elbows so he can properly talk to him with their legs tangled together.

“Hi,” Steve says, with what he knows is a dopey smile on his face. He wraps his arms around Tony, partly for balance, partly just to hold him.

“Hello, I want to play a game,” Tony says, getting straight to the point.

“A fun game?” Steve asks as he trails a hand lower and tilts his head to kiss the side of Tony’s neck in question.

Tony attempts to scowl, biting his lip so he doesn’t make a sound at the hand skating his ass or the lips on his neck, “I can’t believe I ever thought you were innocent.”

 Steve just hums. “Let me play a game,” Tony presses. He refuses to whine at the loss when he stops kissing him.

“Okay, baby,” Steve agrees easily, looking up at him.

“Kiss me if I’m wrong--” Tony starts again. Steve kisses him again. “Dick.”

“Kiss me if I’m wrong, but you had D&D in the 40s.”

Steve laughs, catching on to Tony’s game straight away, and kisses him, chaste and quick. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could just ask,” Steve murmurs. He still doesn’t really know what D&D is.

“Maybe, but this is more fun,” Tony replies, grinning.

“You had Monopoly.”

Steve leans back in but stops short just a hair’s breadth, “Yep,” he says, breath ghosting over Tony’s lips.

“Snakes and Ladders?”

“Nope,” Steve says, happily letting Tony lead the kiss this time. Tony pulls away just before Steve can slip his tongue past his lips, holding him back gently with his hair when he tries to follow him.

“Tease,” Steve breathes out, raking a hand through Tony’s soft, curly hair.

Tony hums in response and kisses just under his ear in compensation, “What about microwaves?”

This time he uses tongue, taking and taking, until when they pull apart and Tony’s a little breathless. “Would’a come in handy,” Steve says casually, shrugging as best he can without disrupting Tony.

“Rubik’s cubes?” Tony knew for certain that they hadn’t been around in the 40s, because he has vague memories of Jarvis explaining it to him and giving him one when they were brand new and novel. He’s confirmed by Steve’s slow and lingering kiss, longer than the rest. He knows where this is going, and he’ll gladly go there but he likes this game, the teasing and the slowness.

As soon as they break apart Steve goes to kiss him again and again, impatience clear in his wondering hands and the press of his tongue, ready to take over. Not today. Tony pulls away, and keeps him back with a firm grip on his hair. 

“Handcuffs?” He asks, voice low and the entire air shifts, Tony’s got Steve boxed in with his arms, he’s in charge and in control. Steve could very easily flip them and this could go another way, but it’s not going to, Tony realises as something in his expression changes, acceptance.

Steve grins, gaze darkening, as he surges up, as best as he can, to kiss Tony deep and demanding until he stops him again and shifts up and away to sit up, straddling his chest. 

Taking both of Steve’s wrists and pressing them into the mattress above his head, he says, leaning over him, “These stay here.” 

“Sir, yes Sir.”

--

iron man bingo masterpost

#steve rogers x tony stark #steve x tony #stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #iron man bingo 3000 #iron man bingo 2019 #ironmanbingo3000 #imb

[joyful-soul-collector]

No problem, kid

Prompt: Fainting

@canonismybitch​ asked: CONGRATULATIONS ON 400 FOLLOWERS!!! Could I request Fainting for IronDad? (I'm a sucker for Peter whump ngl) also, pretty please could you add me to your tag list?

Thank you so much for requesting this, it was so fun to write! And as you already know by now, yes, you have been added to the tag list ;] 

Irondad Tag List: @phahbiyah​ @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars​ @clevermuffinalmondpeach​ @stuck-in-a-fictional-universe​ @canonismybitch​ @freckledmountain​ @hold-our-destiny​ + @badthingshappenbingo​

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!

TWs: Fainting obviously, some negative self-talk, and while no one has an eating disorder in this fic, I do describe his hunger a lot so if you're triggered by that you may want to be careful

Read on Ao3

Peter hated gym. You’d think that after getting superstrength it’d be more fun, but it was honestly no better than before. At least, not since the “no food outside the cafeteria” rule had been implemented. Apparently a lot of kids thought it was funny to hide food in cupboards so it would mold and rot in there, and the school banned eating any food outside the cafeteria. 

This wasn’t a big deal for anyone except for Peter. His enhanced metabolism burned so fast that Tony had compared it to Captain America’s, and Peter had to eat every hour to keep up with it. Hourlies, he called them. Normally you’d never see Peter without a snack in his hand, usually a special protein bar made specifically for his needs, but now Peter’s hands and belly were often empty. 

Especially in gym class. Gym was his last class of the day, which meant by now his lunch had been hours ago and his stomach was screaming with hunger. He’d tried to sneak food in the locker room but he was caught almost every time as apparently the lockers were the place the most rotten food had been found, so the teachers kept an extra close eye out. 

So here he was, running back and forth across the gym, his stomach rumbling so loud Ned could hear it beside him. 

“Jesus Peter,” Ned muttered as his belly gave a particularly loud growl. “Are you like, okay?”

“No, I’m fucking starving,” Peter said, rubbing his middle as it spasmed painfully. “God I hate this. It’s only been a week and I feel like I’m going insane.”

“This can’t be good for you Peter, you should really tell someone,” Ned said worriedly. “I really don’t like seeing you going hungry like this.” Peter gave a small chuckle as they started running again. 

“I tried, they didn’t listen to me. But I’m alright, I’m Spider-Man, a little hunger can’t stop me,” he said. But when his stomach rumbled so loud Peter saw a couple people glance at him, Ned raised his eyebrows. 

“Forgive me if I don’t believe that was ‘a little hunger’,” he said. Peter’s face went red and he looked away, quiet. Well, quiet except for his belly. 

They ran in relative silence for a few minutes, until somehow, Peter actually started to feel worse. Something he didn’t actually know was possible. 

His head started pounding and his vision began swimming lazily as a wave of nausea overtook him. Peter stumbled, and was buffeted to the side by several runners behind him, almost falling over until Ned caught him by the elbows. 

“Peter? Peter are you okay!?” he asked, the look of worry distorted in Peter’s eyes. 

“I-I think I’m gonna pass out,” Peter mumbled. Peter fell against the wall and slid into a sitting position, clutching his face in his hands as the world swam around him. 

“Shit, shit, I knew this was gonna happen,” Ned said. “Okay, let’s get you to the nurse.”

Peter nodded, and stood up. 

But suddenly, the world was black, and the biting hunger was gone. 

~~~

“Kid. Kid, wake up, c’mon Pete, let’s get you back to the tower,” said a voice, slowly pulling Peter back to consciousness. 

“Mmm?” Peter opened his eyes to find a slightly blurry, concerned face looking down at him. Tony. “Oh. Hey, Tony.”

The frown in Tony’s brow deepened and he made a noise of sympathy. 

“Jeez, you really are sick, aren’t you? Why did you go to school like this?” Peter raised his eyebrows. 

“They told you I was sick?” he mumbled, sitting up and massaging his stomach as the deep ache returned. 

“What else would they have told me?” Tony asked. Peter sighed and shook his head. 

“Let’s just go. I’ll explain when we get in the car,” he muttered. Peter pushed himself up with shaking arms and Tony gently put his hand under one of his elbows to help him up. 

“You’re shaking,” Tony said, concern now filling his voice. 

“I know,” Peter said grimly. “I just wanna get out of here.” Tony opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it and quickly started the process of signing Peter out of school. Peter sat at one of the chairs in the main office, hugging his backpack to his aching tummy, willing it not to growl in the quiet room. 

Eventually they were able to leave, and they made their way as quickly as they could to the car Tony had parked out front. Tony took his backpack and put it in the trunk while Peter eased himself into the passenger seat. He pressed his fingers deep into his belly as it cramped with hunger. 

“I know, I know,” he muttered to his stomach, hearing the trunk slam behind him. “We’ll eat in a little bit. Not long now.” Tony sat in the driver's seat a second later, and looked at Peter with concern. 

“Alright kid. Out with it, what’s going on?” he said, putting on hand comfortingly on Peter’s knee. Peter opened his mouth, but his stomach interrupted him with a loud growl. 

It was so loud Peter could feel the empty rumbles against his palms, and he closed his eyes in embarrassment and misery, curling in on himself and wishing he would sink into the earth forever. 

“Jesus… kid was that your stomach?” he heard Tony say, the sympathy in his voice making Peter’s ears turn red. 

“I-I haven’t eaten anything since lunch,” Peter muttered. “That’s why I passed out.” He suddenly felt his eyes start to sting. God this was such a stupid thing to cry about. He’s just hungry, this isn’t the end of the world, so why does he feel so awful?

“Oh, oh god Peter, okay, it’ll be alright kid, let’s just get you something to eat then, yeah?” Tony said, quickly starting up the car and driving out of the parking lot. Peter just nodded, unable to trust his voice to keep steady and trying his best not to let the tears spill from his eyes. It was another minute before Tony spoke again. 

“Why did the school tell me you were just sick? Why haven’t you eaten in so long, kid? We set up your Hourlies months ago, and with how you look right now I’d have a hard time believing you just forgot--”

“The school made a rule that we can’t eat outside the cafeteria. So the only times I’ve been able to eat are before school, at lunch, and sometimes I can sneak something between classes in the bathroom if I have enough time. They probably told you I was sick because no one else has passed out from hunger yet, so they assumed I was just the idiot who decided to go to school sick,” Peter said, massaging his tummy as it continued to spasm and gurgle. “Though I have a feeling Ned told them what happened and they just ignored him. Teachers don’t tend to listen to us. I even tried to tell a teacher I had some sort of stomach condition so I had to eat more often, but they just started pressing for details and saying they wanted to get a doctors note and permission from Aunt May and all this shit and I just… honestly I just decided to give up and deal with it. Even though I know Aunt May would give permission, I can’t get a doctor’s note, and I hate the idea of being singled out as The One Kid who’s allowed to eat in class. That’s a great way to get everyone to have a grudge against you.”

“Jeez…” Tony said. “How long has this been going on?”

“A week,” Peter muttered. 

“Kid, are you telling me you’ve been going hungry like this for a whole week? Why didn’t you tell me?” he exclaimed. 

“I don’t know, I just… after getting told no by the teacher I just didn’t bother. I haven’t been able to focus or think all week and I just… I didn’t even consider it. I’m sorry,” Peter said. Tony sighed and gave him a small pat on the shoulder. 

“It’s alright, nothing to be sorry for, this isn’t your fault,” he said, turning into the parking lot of a McDonalds. “A couple Big Macs you’re thinkin’ kid?” he asked. Peter’s belly answered with a deep grumble, and Tony nodded. “Four then. With fries and a milkshake.” 

Peter nodded shyly, and Tony gave him an encouraging smile as he got out of the car and hurried to the building to order Peter’s food. 

Peter took a deep breath, curling in on himself and hugging his stomach, clenching his teeth as more tears stung his eyes, eventually spilling out and rolling down his face. 

“Dammit, no, stop it, stop it stop it stop it, not again,” Peter muttered, wiping his eyes furiously on his sleeves. 

Peter had cried almost every day since the ban had started, and honestly couldn’t figure out why. The first time happened at lunch, and he was barely able to keep his composure before rushing to the bathroom and bursting into tears. Another time had actually been at breakfast oddly enough, Aunt May had almost had him stay home from school. The time before now had been yesterday when he got home, tears rolling silently down his face as he dragged several containers of food out of the fridge. 

“Stop it, what’s wrong with you, you’re fine, stop being so stupid Peter, god. This isn’t something you cry over, you’re just hungry, you’re not dying, so stop being a fucking idiot--” The sound of the car door opening startled him into silence, and he looked up in surprise. 

“Alright kiddo, I got your food, I don’t often like using the ‘I’m famous’ card but considering the circumstances I thought we should be fast--” he cut off as he caught sight of Peter’s face. “Oh Pete, are you crying?”

“No! No, I-I’m fine, it’s stupid, I--”

“Hey, it’s alright, it’s okay,” Tony said softly, sitting down and shutting the door. He held out the bag and Peter felt his mouth watering fervently as the smell hit his nose. His belly clenched hard and he quickly took the bag, trembling fingers wrapping around the greasy burger and opening it. 

The first bite sent Peter’s tummy into a frenzy, begging loudly for more, which he was all too happy to oblige. He started breathing heavily as he stuffed more food into his mouth, the tears spilling out of his eyes causing small whines of frustration between bites. 

And the tears only increased when Tony smoothed a hand on his back and started whispering words of comfort to him. 

“It’s okay buddy, you’re gonna be alright,” he said softly. Peter finished the burger a minute later, and he sat for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, gripping his knees and taking several slow, deep breaths. He was nowhere near satisfied, he still had three burgers, fries, and a milkshake left after all, but he finally felt well enough for the tears to ease a bit and let him speak. 

“I… I’m sorry I cried like that, I don’t know what’s wrong with me--”

“Woah, hey, no it’s okay to cry Pete, you’re alright,” Tony said, rubbing more circles into Peter’s back. 

“Yeah, I know, it’s just I don’t do that usually, but I’ve just been it doing all week and I don’t understand--”

“Peter, you haven’t been able to properly eat for a week. That really messes with you, both physically and emotionally. Your body and mind are overwhelmed and honestly, when that happens, you cry. Anyone who’s in your position would feel the same,” he said. Tony moved his hand from Peter’s back and put it under his chin, coaxing him to look up. “It’s okay, kiddo. You’re not being irrational. You just get some more food in your belly, and I’ll get us home, okay?”

Peter sniffed and nodded with a watery smile. Tony brushed a tear from Peter’s cheek and smiled back before starting the car. 

Peter finished another burger by the time they got to the tower, now feeling well enough to walk without his knees shaking. When they got to the living quarters they sat on the couch together, Peter tucked safely under Tony’s arm, munching happily on his burger and dipping his fries in his milkshake while they watched Star Wars. Peter went to sleep with his stomach heavy and full of food, and when he went back to school on Monday, the ban had been lifted for reasons nobody seemed to know. 

Peter sent Tony a thank you text that morning, crunching down happily on a granola bar in homeroom. 

No problem, kid.

#irondad #irondad fanfiction #tony stark #peter parker #bad things happen bingo #fainting #spider-man #Iron Man #marvel #MCU #marvel fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #my spidey boy #Tony freaking Stark #he's a hungry spider #yes i know I've written this trope 3000 times shaddap #Marko's Fanfiction

[avengerscompound]

Iron Man Bingo 3000 Masterlist

Fics for the @iron-man-bingo 3000 Round 2019

Euneirophrenia Square: 100 Words Fic Warning:  None Word Count: 100 Rating:  T Pairing:  Tony Stark x Pepper Potts Summary: Euneirophrenia (n)  the peace of mind that comes from having pleasant dreams.

Going home Square:  There’s only one bed Warning:  Smut (vaginal sex),  Christmas celebrations Word Count:  2834 Pairing:  Tony Stark x F!Reader Summary:  When being a member of the Avengers becomes too much for you, you quit and return home with your tail between your legs.  Tony comes to convince you that’s not where your home really is.

Vent Rats Square: Tony vs Vent Climbing!Clint Warning:  None Word Count: 429 Pairing:  GenFic Summary:  Tony tried to think of ways to deal with Clint scurrying around in the vents.

That Kid You Knew Chapter 1 Square:  One Night Stand  Warning: Drug use, Smut (F|M, oral sex, vaginal sex), mentions of unplanned pregnancy Word Count:  4021 Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  You had grown up knowing Tony Stark but as you’d gotten older you’d lost track of him.  When you see him at a party you have a drug-fueled one-night-stand with him.  10 years later he finds you again and has to come to terms with the fact he’s been a father all the time.

That Kid You Knew Chapter 2 Square:  Remix of a Fave Fic Warning: Angsty stuff, mentions of sex, drugs, and pregnancy Word Count: 2197 Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  You had grown up knowing Tony Stark but as you’d gotten older you’d lost track of him.  When you see him at a party you have a drug-fueled one-night-stand with him.  10 years later he finds you again and has to come to terms with the fact he’s been a father all the time.

That Kid You Knew Chapter 3 Square:   “Does Tony have a son?” Warning: Angsty stuff, mentions of sex, drugs, and pregnancy Word Count: 3201 Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  You had grown up knowing Tony Stark but as you’d gotten older you’d lost track of him.  When you see him at a party you have a drug-fueled one-night-stand with him.  10 years later he finds you again and has to come to terms with the fact he’s been a father all the time.

That Kid You Knew Chapter 4 Square:   Unrequited Crush? Warning: Some foreplay Word Count: 2368 Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  You had grown up knowing Tony Stark but as you’d gotten older you’d lost track of him.  When you see him at a party you have a drug-fueled one-night-stand with him.  10 years later he finds you again and has to come to terms with the fact he’s been a father all the time.

That Kid You Knew Chapter 5 Square:   Friends to Lovers Warning: Smut (M|F vaginal fingering) Word Count: 2673 Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  You had grown up knowing Tony Stark but as you’d gotten older you’d lost track of him.  When you see him at a party you have a drug-fueled one-night-stand with him.  10 years later he finds you again and has to come to terms with the fact he’s been a father all the time.

Armor Square:  Poetry Warning: None Word Count: 183 Pairing: Gen Summary:  Tony always has armor on.

Pancakes Square:  pepper + morgan + pancakes Warning: None Word Count: 721 Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  Morgan wakes Tony up early and they make Pepper breakfast in bed.

Ordering In Square:   Bruce Banner/Tony Stark Warning:  None. Word Count:  755 Pairing:  Bruce Banner x Tony Stark x F!Reader Summary: Tony and Bruce often get hyper-focused while in the lab.  Rather than give them a hard time, you just make sure they’re being taken care of.

Getting Even Square: T’Challa Warning: None Word Count: 634 Pairing:  Gen (Featuring Rhodey) Summary:  Rhodey has a prank he likes to pull on people again and again.  T’Challa thinks it’s time to get back at him.

One Night In Vegas Square: Accidentally Married Warning:  Sex, drugs and alcohol mentions Word Count: 2753 Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  You wake up in a Vegas suite with Tony Stark wearing the biggest diamond ring you’ve seen in your life.  The two of you then try and piece the night together.

Happy Fathers Day, Tony Square:  Vision & Father’s day Warning:  None Pairing:  Gen Summary:  Vision wants to make Tony feel loved on Fathers Day

Tempting Square:  Blowjobs Warning:   Smut (MMF bisexual threesome, Oral sex, face fucking, throat bulging, vaginal sex, minor come play, facial) Paring:  Bruce Banner x Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  When Tony suggests that if you show up in a lab coat over lingerie to get her and Bruce to come home earlier, the next time they’re late for dinner, you do just that.

Finding the Words Square: Sam Wilson + Forgiveness Warning:  Post Endgame fic Pairing:  Gen Summary:  Sam and Rhodey have both forgiven each other for the events that led Rhodey to become paralyzed, now they just have to forgive themselves.

The Coverup Square:  Ironhawk Fake Dating Warning:  None Pairing:  Clint Barton x Tony Stark Summary:   The team try to decide who needs to be the fake couple in their new mission, Clint comes up with a novel idea.

The Boss Square:  Favorite Polyamory Ship Warning:  Smut (PWP, bi MMF Threeway, D/S, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex) Pairing:  Bruce Banner x Tony Stark x Pepper Potts Summary: Being the boss can be exhausting, but Pepper finds it also comes with a lot of great benefits.

Painful Secrets Square:  Secret Relationship Warning:  Sexual situations, a little foreplay, angst Pairing:  Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  After you wake up with Tony in your bed, the nature of your secret relationship is questioned.

Jinxing It Square:  Ironhusbands Soulmates Warning:  None Pairing:  James Rhodes x Tony Stark Summary:   Rhodey is Tony’s soulmate, but he doesn’t like using the word.

“Make Me...” Square:  “Make me...” Warning:  Smut (M|F, PWP, light powerplay, rough sex, vaginal sex) Pairing:  Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  You taunt Tony into taking control, but you won’t give it up easily.

Patience Square:  Post Battle Sex Warning:  Smut (Bi MMF Threesome, light d/s, edging, vibrator use, oral sex, tit fucking, double penetration - vaginal and anal) Pairing:  Clint Barton x Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  While Tony and Clint debrief after a battle, you get yourself nice and ready for them.

The Mechanic Square:  Role Play Warning:  Smut (M|F, oral sex, vaginal sex, outdoor sex) Pairing:  Tony Stark x Reader Summary:   When your car won’t start you ask Tony to fix it.  When he’s done you find out that he doesn’t take credit.

Chosen Square:  Found Family Trope Warning:  None Pairing:  Gen Summary:  Tony Stark didn’t really know what it was like to have a family that loved him unconditionally until he realized that you can make that out of anyone.

Pit Stop Square:  Coffee Shop AU Warning:  None Pairing:  Bruce Banner x Tony Stark x Reader Summary:  A busy day with activities for the kids means that you, Bruce and Tony are all spread out through the city.  There is always time for coffee though.

#ironmanbingo3000 #iron man bingo 3000 masterlist #tony stark #iron man #fanfic #fanfiction #masterlist

[rebelmeg]

I posted 7,361 times in 2021

112 posts created (2%)

7249 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 64.7 posts.

I added 7,362 tags in 2021

#mcu - 2276 posts

#tony stark - 1150 posts

#art - 937 posts

#bucky barnes - 671 posts

#iron man - 498 posts

#rdj - 406 posts

#faws - 398 posts

#winter soldier - 361 posts

#mcu tv - 340 posts

#pepper potts - 325 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#it's especially effective when tony grins at all the ashes in the air and ends up in a cuddle pile with pepper and rhodey and peter because

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

For the @buckybarnesbingo Flash Bingo, the prompt “Alpine” from Card 3.

And if you can’t read the text...

I wasn’t doing great.

Mentally, physically, emotionally...

And then one day outta nowhere, there’s this little scrap of white fluff that just walks right in front of me and sits on the toe of my boot.

And I smiled for the first time I could remember.

He stayed with me, even on the days I couldn’t remember who we were. He stayed.

And now I smile every day.  Because of the way he’s always underfoot, and how he looks at me like he’s judging me, and he cries when I leave.  I’m still here because of Alpine.

63 notes • Posted 2021-02-18 05:25:07 GMT

#4

*Slams down some salt and angst*  No, I will never be over this.  Just in case you were, y’know, wondering.

ANYWAY, I made this sadness for my @buckybarnesbingo flash square “Memories”

64 notes • Posted 2021-02-15 23:13:46 GMT

#3

Ok, so it’s not in a frame YET, but I have every intention of framing this and hanging it on my wall.

For the @tonystarkbingo

Title: Iron Man + Avengers A Collaborator: rebelmeg Card Number: 4034 Square Filled: T5 - Framed Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: cross stitch Summary: Cross stitch of tiny Iron Man flying around an arc reactor blue Avengers A

68 notes • Posted 2021-02-04 15:55:57 GMT

#2

So this idea has been in my brain for literal years, but now I’ve FINALLY MADE IT REAL!  I have been wanting to sketch out the floor plan of what I see in my head when I imagine the communal floor of the Avengers Tower for so long, and then I realized.... that the living area I imagined covered a very tiny amount of space.

So then I went slightly crazy and gave the Avengers a movie theater, ball pit, bowling alley, greenhouse, and just couldn’t stop.  Which, considering I used MS Paint for all of this, is saying something.  The furniture or “soft” things are in purple, things like counters in gray, and wood things in brown.

Hopefully I didn’t forget anything, and hopefully if you click on it you can see it big enough to read the words.... now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta think up ridiculous ideas to go along with every single thing in there.

@tonystarkbingo

Title: Avengers Tower Communal Floor Collaborator: rebelmeg Card Number: 4034 Square Filled: Adopted -  Art Format: Blueprint Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: art (kinda), floorplan/blueprint, Avengers Tower Summary: A floorplan of the entire communal floor in the Avengers Tower

71 notes • Posted 2021-02-28 04:34:54 GMT

#1

Just don’t read that in a sad way, because in this house we know that Tony Stark faked his death and sat in the bushes during his fake funeral, trying to get Pepper to crack up by chattering at her through the earpiece she was wearing.

Anyway, I had an idea for this awhile ago, and it honestly came together exactly how I pictured it.  I did the red version first, then @newnewyorker93 had the GENIUS idea to do the numbers light blue like the reactor, and I realized I could do fun glowy things with it too!

Anyway, I made these for my @tonystarkbingo square R5 - I Love You 3000

110 notes • Posted 2021-08-13 07:24:40 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #year in review #this was fun!

[tonystarkbingo]

TSB MIV Week 8 Roundup!

Go give our wonderful participants some love.

Title: For this, I am Thankful Collaborator: corsets_and_cardigans Card Number: 4061 Link: AO3 Square Filled: A3 - free space Ship: Stony Rating: Teen Major Tags: Past Pepper/Tony, Peter is Tony’s Bio Son Summary: Newly divorced Dad Tony spends Thanksgiving with his attractive new neighbor. Word Count: 4299

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Title: Iron Tsum Collaborator: deehellcat Card Number: 4028 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: S2 - mad science Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: none Summary: During a battle with a power-hungry scientist, Tony got zapped by some handwavy energy beam and turned into a tsum tsum. This explains his very angry face. lol

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Title: Part of Your World Collaborator: iam93percentstardust Card Number: 4012 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R3 - Teenage Tony Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: Mermaid AU, Tony Needs a Hug, Howard Stark’s A+ Parenting Summary: Tony grows up without a pod. Howard doesn’t believe in pods, after all, even though nearly every other killer whale-mer out there has one. But the Stark patriarch is convinced that he’s too good to need a pod, too special, too skilled a hunter. Pods are for weaklings who can’t hunt for themselves, not for the likes of Howard Stark. Uncharitably, Tony thinks that maybe a pod might have saved Howard from the kraken. Word Count: 965

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Title: Gossamer Collaborator: RoseRose Card Number: 4022 Link: AO3 Square Filled: A3 - free space Ship: Stuckony Rating: Explicit Major Tags: PWP, crossdressing, humiliation, boot worship, BDSM Summary: Tony is indulging himself in a kink he hadn't told his partners yet when they arrive home unexpectedly. Fun is had by all. Crossdressing and humiliation kink, with accompanying boot worship. Word Count: 1379

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Title: Et tu, Phil? Collaborator: RoseRose Card Number: 4022 Link: AO3 Square Filled: A4 - Good Guys Gone Bad Ship: implied Stucky Rating: Teen Major Tags: Hurt no comfort, betrayal, HYDRA Phil Coulson, mentioned brainwashing, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes Summary: SHIELD, including Phil Coulson is Hydra. Steve has been betrayed. The only upside is that he found Bucky. Scene from a world where Phil Coulson is HYDRA. No happy endings here. Word Count: 926

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Title: Project A.R.I. Collaborator: Juulna Card Number: 4065 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S4 -  Stuckony Ship: Stuckony Rating: Not Rated Major Tags: Female Tony Stark, Established Relationship, Wow since when do I write that?, Post-Endgame, Alternate Canon, Parent Tony Stark, Bots as Children, Surprises, It’s hard to surprise supersoldiers, Arecibo Observatory & Telescope, Toni adopts Arecibo because of course she does, Inspired by Real Events, RIP Arecibo, Not Beta Read, Scientific Mistakes Likely Abound Summary: When Toni heard that Arecibo---one of her favourite scientific objects in the world---was going to be decommissioned, well she couldn't have that, now could she?? She tries to surprise her husbands, but instead ends up being the one pleasantly surprised---and very much loved. Word Count: 259

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Title: ’Tis the wind and nothing more! Collaborator: Faustess Card Number: 4059 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R4 - Supernatural (moodboard) Ship: Tony & Rhodey Rating: Teen Major Tags: Supernatural, Poltergeists, Fear, Haunted Houses, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark at MIT Summary: Some older students lure Tony to a house that's reputedly haunted... then lock him in. Word Count: 100

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Title: I Went to the County Fair and All I Got Was This Alpaca Collaborators: newnewyorker93 & rebelmeg Card Numbers: 4042 & 4034 Link: AO3 Square Filled: newnewyorker93, T1 - Animal rebelmeg, S5 - Animal Ship: Pepperony Rating: Gen Major Tags: depression, Pepper cares, accidental alpaca acquisition Summary: Pepper has been doing her best to help Tony manage his depression after the Snap. A surprise encounter at the county fair gives her an idea for one more thing she can try... Word Count: 2530

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Title: Tony Stark/Iron Man Collaborator: needyoucap Card Number: 4029 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: A3 - Free Space Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: ornament Summary: Tony Stark and Iron Man gingerbread ornaments

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Title: Chibi Iron Man Collaborator: rebelmeg Card Number: 4034 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R4 - “I Love You 3000″ Ship: None Rating: Gen Major Tags: Cross stitch Summary: Cross stitch of a cute chibi Iron Man Word Count: N/A

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Title: [Podfic] Apprentice Collaborator: Juulna Card Number: 4065 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R4 - AU: Sci-fi/Futuristic Ship: None Rating: Teen Major Tags: Companions (Firefly), Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes, (10 mins), Tony Stark Bingo Mark IV, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction Summary: "To stay safe from his father, a young Tony Stark is sent away from his homeworld to train as a Companion. He catches the eye of Inara Serra, who grooms him into the man he will become." Based with permission on: Apprentice by @ladydarkphoenix-blog Podfic Length: 10 minutes

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Title: Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend Collaborator: camichats Card Number: 4049 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Chapter 1: S5-Hindsight Chapter 2: A5-Bed Sharing Chapter 3: R4- “Who, me?” Chapter 4: A1-I Love You 3000 Chapter 5: K2-Mirror Image Ship: Wanda Maximoff/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Sugar Daddy/Baby relationship, Age Difference, Sexual Content Summary: Wanda ends up as Tony Stark's sugar baby to help get her through college. Getting into that relationship was the last thing she expected and falling in love came as a surprise to both of them.  Word Count: 14,793

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Title: Call This Bliss Collaborator: iam93percentstardust Card Number: 4012 Link: AO3 Square Filled: R4 - Polyamory or Open Relationship Ship: Stuckony Rating: E Major Tags: Warlord AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Explicit Sexual Content Summary: Steven notices it first: a gradual sweetening of Tony’s scent from something warm and homey to alluring and intoxicating. It takes him a few days to realize what it means. In all the months Tony has been here in Sauoa with them, he’s never once had a heat. This isn’t unusual for omegas. Heats can be affected by anything, ranging from exercise to stress and everything in between. And Tony had certainly been stressed in the first few months after coming to the village. It’s no wonder he hasn’t had a heat before this. Word Count: 4174

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Title: You Want a Battle? Here’s a War Collaborator: deehellcat Card Number: 4028 Link: AO3 Square Filled: K4 - Expats Ship: Pre-WinterIron Rating: Gen Major Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, On the Run, Secret Identities, Alternate Universe - Hydra Won (Marvel), pre-Winteriron Summary: Two strangers running from the same threat meet and consider an alliance (on more levels than one). Word Count: 2185

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Title: I die with variety - Chapter 4 Collaborator: simi Card Number: 4066 Link: AO3 Square Filled: A4 - Obadiah Stane/Iron Monger Ship: IronHusbands Rating: Explicit Major Tags: major character death, immortality in a way but it will end at some time, explicit sexual content, deaths in various, graphic circumstances, violence, alcohol poisoning, terminal illness. Summary: The first time that Tony dies, he is four and he’s building his very first circuit board from scratch. He’s connecting the finished product to the multimeter to check the voltage, the current and resistance, when a lead slips, a shock ricochets up through his spine, and he sees black.He’s on his back, when his eyes flutter open, and he’s staring up at the ceiling. He gets up, frowning, rubbing at his eyes, and then, he sees the frayed wire on the end of the multimeter.Huh, he thinks and moves on almost immediately. Word Count: 4026

#tonystarkbingomarkiv #tsbmiv #tsb miv weekly roundup #tsb miv week 8

[elizabeth-234]

Iron Dad Bingo

Hi all! Here is a prompt @i-love-peterstark-3000​ saying: Hey can you do a Penny Parker dating male MJ (female will work too) and Tony finds out and is over protective of Penny.

I hope this works :)

You can send it prompts if you want.  I will try and do them! 

Chapter One: Gender Bend

Mr. Stark continued to look at her as the pit forming in her stomach grew larger. Penny a breath in and squared her shoulders.

His eyebrows furrowed in the way they did when he was concerned or anxious. The longer she remained silent, the more his fingers started twitching. Penny knew he would soon grab something, probably the pen on the table, and start fidgeting with it. Penny also knew it was one of the habits he picked up after he went sober. It was something he could control. A way to cope with what was happening around him.

One year after they met and after his addiction got out of control Ms. Potts and Penny watched and supported as he checked himself into rehab. The news followed them there and his face, hidden behind a hoodie and sunglasses was plastered all over their TVs. The following year was one of the most difficult and proud she had been as she watched Mr. Stark fight one of the toughest battles he could face.

He was so strong and Penny was amazed by him every day he stuck to his goals knowing the path he was taking wasn’t always straight and that he was willing to continue forward despite the setbacks along the way.

The pit grew larger when she realized she was only making it worse by drawing this out. Penny leaned forward and rested her hand against his. She took in another breath and ran through all the talking points she wanted to cover; to explain why she’d been so distracted as of late.

She looked at his face noticing the bright set of his eyes. The way they engaged with her; followed her movements to make sure she was okay.

“I’m dating someone.” She said forgetting everything else she wanted to say.

He stilled beside her and she held her breath. The silence stopped as soon as it started and Mr. Stark smiled before bringing her in for a hug.

“Don’t do that again, kid.” He said

“Do what?” She said. Her voice was muffled by his shirt but she wasn’t ready to release him yet. They pulled apart and he smoothed her hair out from her face.

“Kid, I thought you were going to tell me you were moving or that some other supervillain was out to destroy our lives.” He chuckled and then his smile fell. “Truly, it’s probably none of my business anyway, but as long as your happy and they’re treating you well I don’t care.” It was a statement but Penny nodded like he asked a question.

“I’m happy.”

She smiled and went back to work missing the way his eyes narrowed.

-

Weeks later after dinner and movie night, Penny’s phone lit up with a text. Her ride was there to take her home.

Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts stood on either side of her in the elevator. It was a small tradition she wasn’t sure when it started but they would walk each other out to the curb. They used the last bit of time to talk and say their farewells together. Penny made sure to turn around one last time and wave as she was leaving. They always stayed to wave back.

“Really, you don’t have to walk me out today. I think I’ve been here enough to not get lost.”

Mr. Stark held up his pointer finger to the ceiling.

“Friday?” He said.

“March 15th: Penny tries to climb into the lab from the outside because she is late for unknown reasons. She climbs into the men’s bathroom instead and almost gives Mr. Macavey a heart attack.”

“Hey,” She said while the other two occupants snickered. “I was only off by two floors and that’s out of ninety-three. It’s not bad margin of error.” Mr. Stark laughed again and put his arm around her shoulder. She stayed stiff in protest and muttered how Mr. Macavey was fine anyway. He pulled her closer and she melted into his side.

“He still doesn’t go into that bathroom though.”

Penny felt the burn of a blush come over her cheeks. The man had been awfully frightened when Spidergirl came barging into the room, snow crusted on her suit and webs flying onto the tile, pulling them out of the wall around the man standing at the urinal.  

The elevator opened and they stepped out to the door. The lobby at this time of day was empty besides the administrator and Mr. Stark had to stop to make small talk. He made a habit of making sure to ask how Mr. Loraine, who made amazing cookies for Penny, and his family was doing.  

Finally, they were out the door and Penny saw her. Her heart skipped a metaphorical beat but she couldn’t bring herself to care and a smile creeped across her face.

A silver and black Magpul Ronin sat on the curb. The bulky but modern front rim contrasted against the exposed piping on the bottom of the bike. Sunlight glinted off the metal creating a scene straight out of a movie.

It wasn’t the fancy bike that caught Penny’s attention. It was the rider.

MJ sat with the helmet in front of her looking at them on the top steps. She wore a leather jacket and black jeans with her regular, worn in converse. Penny was smitten by the sight and her cheeks darkened further.

MJ saluted them and the three waved back.

“Thank you for walking me down.” She said to her two guides.

“Of course, Penny.” Ms. Potts said and gave Penny a hug. She turned to Mr. Stark and noticed his eyes roaming over the vehicle.

“It’s safe, Mr. Stark. Don’t be such a worry wort.”



“Am no.” He said sticking his tongue out. “Are you sure she knows how to drive that thing?”

Penny smirked and he pulled her into a large hug. After another round of goodbyes, she was halfway down the stairs when she remembered May’s request. Penny yelled up to them.

“May wants you for dinner Saturday. She’s making her lasagna and says to bring that wine you brought last time.”

“Looking forward to it.” Mr. Stark yelled back. Penny hopped down the stairs, knowing the lasagna was both their favorites.

MJ greeted her with a large hug and another helmet. She ran her thumb over the spider sticker on her designated helmet.

“How was it?” MJ said.

Penny climbed on behind MJ and wrapped her arms around MJ’s waist. Penny’s fingers ran back and forth over the zipper her leather jacket.

“We’re almost done with the remake of the suits wings. I could fly, MJ. I could actually fly if we get this right.”

MJ squeezed her hands resting on the girl’s stomach and kicked her feet down.

The bike rumbled underneath them and Penny’s breath hitched. Her nerves gathered like spiders in her stomach as the anticipation of take-off grew.  They waved one last time and flew into the air. The feeling was similar to when she swung from webs but every time Penny would squeal. MJ was silently smiling behind her helmet visor.

Pepper smiled at the squeal she heard from the girl as they surged forward and noticed her partner’s downcast expression.

“Wipe that frown off of your face, Tony. Penny is fine.”

“Do you know the statistics of a motorcycle being in an accident. You would wear the same expression if you knew and how does a high school senior get such an expensive bike? Did you see that monstrosity?”

They began walking back to the building, hand in hand.

Once relaxed on the couches, Pepper and Tony watched the sunset from their view. Pepper rested her head against Tony’s tense shoulder and thought of a better distraction.

“I thought they were cute.” She said offhandedly.

Tony stayed silent as he poured over his Starkpad, no doubt going over every motorcycle fact and safety measure.

“Uh-huh,” He said and she began to count to ten in her head.  Five seconds in he stopped scrolling and as she hit count number seven he set his device down and looked at her.

“Cute?” His expression was blank besides the barest tightening around his eyes. Pepper always knew how to read those eyes.

“That’s MJ. You’ve met her before at the decathlon competition last year.”

He continued to look at her and Pepper sighed realizing he wasn’t going to connect the dots on his own.

“They’re dating, Tony”

“Oh.” He said and leaned back against the back of the couch.

Pepper picked an invisible piece of lint off his shirt and smoothed out an equally invisible wrinkle. She waited for him to process Penny was beginning to date and to say what was on his mind.

“Did you see that motorcycle? I don’t like it. I know plenty of people who ride them, hell, I’ve ridden them. You know the people that ride those types of things. They’re trouble magnets.”

“Oh? And who did you try and attack with your ride? Were you a trouble magnet?” She said scooting closer.

“I am Tony Stark.” He said and sighed at the kiss she placed on his cheek. Pepper smiled at the distraction she could provide.

“Don’t I know it.”

-

Penny leaned over the table, working the wrench into the last socket. She could feel the eyes on the back of her head and with one last twist pulled the wrench free. She turned around to find Mr. Stark staring into the center of the wall above her head. The screen was dark in front of him.

“Mr. Stark?”

His eyes flew to hers. He smiled weakly but went back to staring.

“What’s up, kid?”



“I feel like I should be asking you that question.” She walked over and sat down across from him. “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, he asked if she was hungry. She nodded because, yes, she was always hungry and, yes, she knew he would work out a way to tell her what was wrong. Food always helped them both think through something.

They walked up to the living space and shuffled around the kitchen. Each navigated according to their tasks to make the pancakes together.

Penny grabbed the flour and other dry ingredients while Mr. Stark went to the fridge and set up the bowls. Penny handed him the proper measurements while Mr. Stark poured it into the bowl and whisked. When the griddle was hot Penny placed a small dolloped onto the heated space before turning them over.

With stacks of fluffy breakfast on their plates they tucked in. Penny ate much faster than Mr. Stark but he made sure her plate was full. His last pancake was sorely misshapen from his pushing it around the plate. Penny stared at the syrup drenched disk and smiled when he passed the plate over to her.

Mr. Stark got up while she was finished and sat back down with a file.

“What’s that?”

Instead of answering, he slid it over to her. Penny pulled it closer and opened the cover page. There was a picture on top of multiple pages of text including school records, report cards, and even a bill for braces dated years ago.

Her stomach tightened. Penny blinked up at him noticing his hands were fidgeting again.  

“Why do you have this?” She tried to keep her voice even despite the gathering tightness in her muscles.

“I’m just looking out for you, Penny. Do you know she was reported for shoplifting?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Or she-”

“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated.

Penny took a deep breath. She looked at MJ’s school photo from this past year before closing the file.

“I can’t believe you would do that. Why would you do that?”

“I want to make sure you’re safe. I’m concerned about you.”

“That’s not fair.” She raised her voice and stood up. “Of course, I’m safe with her.”

“Listen, It’s not about her specifically.”



“No. You don’t have the right. I trusted you, Mr. Stark. Do you know how nervous I was to tell you? How afraid I was you would get mad?”

“I would never get mad for that. It’s not you I don’t trust.” He said and turned around. “But it doesn’t negate the fact that you’re Spidergirl. You’re my kid and I need to protect you.”

“Spidergirl doesn’t need protecting and I sure don’t either.” Her hands clenched at her sides as she stood up. The chair screeched out behind her. “You’re not my dad!” She yelled and covered her mouth. Penny’s face blushed and she could feel the itching in the back of her throat. The pricks at the corner of her eyes.

Mr. Stark looked down at the file and back at her. His face remained impassive but his fingers tapped against the table.

“You’re right.” He said.

Penny’s hands trembled against her sides. A hurricane raged within her. She’d just yelled at him. Denied the closest thing she’d had to a father. But he’d betrayed her trust. He’d invaded their privacy. MJ’s privacy.

“I’m going home. I need to think.”

“Let me get you a car.”


“No, I’m walking.” She said and walked out the door. Penny rubbed her sleeve against her eyes and ignored the little voice in her head telling her to go back.

-

“He’s worried about you.” MJ wrapped her arms around Penny as she buried her face in the other girl’s shoulder.

“It doesn’t give him a right and he invaded your privacy.”

“That’s basically what he does for a living right? I’m pissed about it but it shows how much he cares, I guess.”

Penny nodded and a sob escaped her.

“I yelled at him.” She cried and MJ rocked her back and forth. “I said he wasn’t my dad when he has been one since I met him. I can’t believe I said that.”

“It’s okay. It will be okay”

Penny burrowed her head into MJ’s neck and breathed in the fresh scent of linen and the salt of tears.

-

“Last round of questions are as follows.”


The announcer called out as Tony watched from the audience. Penny was sitting with a large smile of victory up there winning. He couldn’t have been prouder when she buzzed in first, again, for the next question.

Someone moved toward him in his periphery. He spotted the girl navigating the short aisle to him. Tony’s back stiffened and although he had already apologized to Penny he had resolved not to apologize to the girl. After all, he was only doing what he thought was best.

She sat down and he snorted to himself. She was wearing a badass leather jacket that despite himself Tony thought was awesome.

They listened without speaking as Penny knocked it out of the park. The audience stood up and clapped for the team. Tony clapped harder when he heard the girl beside him yelling Penny’s name.

Penny glanced over at them from her chair on stage. Tony’s arms were raised above his head and the normally stoic MJ was yelling. She blushed under the lights and promptly produced a pleased smile. She left to gather with her team in the back and another team came on stage.

Tony was aware of the girl staring at him but he continued to keep his attention onstage. Pepper’s voice in the back of his mind chided him for being immature but he ignored it.

He turned to look at her as the clapping subsided.

They faced each other and he spotted her shirt.  There was this weird raccoon cartoon on it but what caught his attention was above it. In bold words it said ‘eat the rich’ and Tony’s eyes flew to hers. She only lifted her eyebrow.

“You better not hurt her like that again, Stark.” She said, leaning forward over the divide the armrest provided. He began to answer but she cut him off.  “Save it for someone who cares.” She stood up, making to walk with her back straight out of the aisle.

“Wait.” He said while someone shushed him. MJ turned around, arms crossed in front of her.

“I’m sorry. I crossed a boundary in your relationship and your own personal privacy. Not that it matters but I deleted everything I found. I was worried about her, Penny that is. She’s like my… Well, I care, and um, you see…” Tony’s arms flared in front of him trying to make up for his inarticulate response. How was it this teenage girl was flustering him?

“I get it but it doesn’t make it right. You’ve hurt many people in your life and I don’t want Penny to be one of them again.”

He swallowed and he started tapping his fingers against the armrest. The all too familiar itching pulsed in his hands and Tony wondered if he’d done the right thing after all.

“I know.”

MJ nodded and began walking down the aisle. She stopped and turned her head so Tony could see her mouth.

“She feels the same way about you, Stark.” She said and hurried out.

Penny emerged from the back and walked over. Tony watched as they greeted each other. Even the girl blushed and hesitantly smiled when Penny threw her arms around her. He returned the wave Penny gave him over the girl’s back.

They talked for a brief moment and then the girl left after a glance in his direction. Penny walked over and Tony gave her a hug. She held on tight and he wondered again how lucky he was she came into his life. How lucky he was she stayed in his messy and chaotic life.

“Did you see MJ?” She said looking down and playing with the bottom of her sweatshirt. Her shoulders were hunched over and Tony was reminded how young she was.

“I did.”

“And you talked?”

“Well, she did most of the talking but it was very illuminating to say the least.”

Penny’s eyes flew to his and he chuckled.

“No, need to worry, kid.” He said steering them to the car. “She is quite formidable.”



Penny laughed.

“Let’s get ice cream” She said and Tony couldn’t imagine a better day.

-

She tugged the pockets of the dress for the third time as MJ stood beside her. Their arms were linked and MJ tightened her hold so Penny couldn’t fidget anymore.

“Stop.” She said and winked at Penny.

Penny blushed and they walked up the stairs to get to the elevator.

Mr. Stark had apologized, and being the drama queen, he was made a show of burning the file. Penny had apologized as well and their talk afterward, though difficult, helped strengthen their relationship even more.

His worry about her became almost endearing, she told him with an annoyed voice. She would never say it out loud but his worry for her made the soft part of her heart feel all fuzzy and warm.  

Tonight, as an extended part of the apology Mr. Stark had invited her and MJ to dinner. Penny looked over at MJ and leaned forward to give her a chaste kiss. MJ smiled at her as they drew apart and Penny’s heart squeezed.

They both took in a breath before Friday let them in.

Mr. Stark was there with a smile. He hugged Penny and turned to MJ, letting her decide if she wanted a hug. MJ stuck out her hand and the two shook hands. Pepper called from the kitchen and Penny watched from the doorway as Mr. Stark and MJ debated the ethics of some new economic policy on the way to the kitchen.

They all gathered around the table, loud and unapologetic, and Penny had never been smiled before tucking into the food.

Note: This is MJ's motorcycle

Also, the shirt she is wearing has a picture of Tom Nook

Thank you all for reading.

Taglist: @whatisthou​ 

#Female Peter parker #Penny Parker #Penny Parker / Michelle Jones #Irondad #Irondadbingo #protective tony stark #pepper potts #pepperony #avengers fanfiction #gender bend #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman AU #Marvel fanfiction #AO3 #tumblr prompt #my writing #Chapter one #f/f fic #peter parker / michelle jones

[innitmarvelous2]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tony Stark/Pepper Potts Characters: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Happy Hogan, Original Child Character(s), Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) Additional Tags: Fluff, Tiny bit o angst, Family, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Teenage Morgan, Morgan crosses over into my universe, Crossover, Humor, This story has some Avengers Endgame compliance, But is NOT 100 percent compliant, Read the story to see what I mean, Reunions, Love, Grief, Mourning, Father-Daughter Relationship, Siblings, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Pepperony Bingo 2020 Series: Part 10 of Greatest Reward, Part 1 of Pepperony Bingo 2020 Summary:

When their teenaged daughter crosses over from another universe, Tony and Pepper will learn they are meant to be soulmates in every universe, whatever comes their way.

Or Morgan Stark finally gets to experience her Dad's love again for the first time since she was a little girl.

I am writing this to fill the Morgan Stark prompt on my Pepperony bingo card!

@pepperonybingo

#pepperonybingo2020 #tony stark #pepper potts #pepperony #my verse #marvel cinamatic universe

[amethyst-noir]

It’s done! The last part of the last story is posted and my @ironstrangebingo card is offically a blackout! Yay! 86.580 words, 25 stories, and lots of suffering for poor Stephen and Tony. But also a lot of happiness and 🦋.

The wonderful people who have read along as I posted - thank you so much for the kudos, the comments, the notes, the reblogs. Everything. You made it possible that I even finished this thing; something I really wasn’t sure about when I got my card. I hope it was half as much fun to read as it was for me to write. <3000

#ironstrange #drpepperony #tony/stephen/wong #ironstrangebingo #tony stark #stephen strange #amy writes

[stony-ao3-feed]

leave the gun on the table

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/32Ef1wX

by Myrime

Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate's arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

Words: 8002, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Additional Tags: iron man bingo 3000, Hurt Tony Stark, Whump, Violence, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, First Meetings, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, although he keeps saying they're not a mob, Kidnapping, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Feels, Protective Steve Rogers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/32Ef1wX

#stony #fanfiction #ao3feed #superhusbands #stevetony

[ao3feed-harleykeener]

by rebelmeg

Morgan makes a valentine for all the people, creatures, bots, and AI's in her life.

Written for my TSB square K5 - I Love You 3000 and for my LoM square E3 - Morgan Stark

Words: 2100, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of Rebelmeg's TSB Fills 2020, Part 1 of Rebelmeg's Ladies of Marvel Bingo Fills 2019

Fandoms: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Friday (Marvel), Gerald the Alpaca (Marvel), James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Happy Hogan, Nebula (Marvel), Peter Parker, Harley Keener, Dummy (Iron Man movies), You (Iron Man movies)

Additional Tags: Adorable Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Married Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Valentine's Day Fluff, Iron Squad and Iron Family, Morgan Stark-centric (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Jarvis (Iron Man movies) Lives

#AO3 works tagged 'Harley Keener' #ao3feed #fanfic #harley keener #mcu #ao3feed-harleykeener #ao3

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo, square: Dad!Tony + Sick Kid

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Words: 5.797 Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts Tags: Sick Kid, Single Dad Tony, Getting Together, Sweet Steve, Protective Tony

Summary: When Peter falls sick, single dad Tony is hopelessly overwhelmed. He is told he needs chicken soup. Surely the super hot stranger living next door will have some. And Steve, being an all-around good guy has no idea how to make chicken soup either but delivers nonetheless.

Meanwhile, Peter, even while he can hardly leave his bed, manages to play matchmaker, because clearly his dad does not know how to get any on his own.

---

Peter’s fever is rising. At the same time, Tony’s adrenaline level has never been higher. These two things have nothing to do with each other, of course. Tony knows exactly what he is doing. Not.

The day before, the school had called about Peter not feeling so well. Tony broke several traffic laws on his way there and had a minor panic attack before he could get out of the car, but Peter had greeted him with a weak smile and a hug. Everything had still been fine then.

Now, Peter’s forehead feels like the wrong end of a soldering iron. He has vomited several times, holds his belly like it is going to split open any second now, and has not moved a single toe out of bed unless to go to the bathroom. Where Peter is usually a lively kid, full of energy, he is now listless and deathly pale.

Tony does not know what to do. They have been to the ER and gotten some pills, which helped them through the night, but Tony feels like it is constantly getting worse. It is heart-breaking to see his son in such a state.

At the same time, he remembers all the sneering articles about what a bad father he will be when the press first found out that he has a son and was going to raise him alone. It was not as bad as it could have been, since he is not half as public a figure anymore than he had been in his youth and before he made Pepper his CEO, but it only added to his own reservations about the matter. For the most part, they are doing well. Only now does Tony wish that he had someone to guide him. Jarvis perhaps, or Ana.

There is one person he goes to with all of his problems, trusting her to solve them – and she usually delivers.

Raising slowly from the armchair he has pushed into Peter’s room to better watch over his kid, Tony gets out his phone and walks into the kitchen. After he puts the kettle on the stove to make fresh tea, he dials Pepper’s number. Dutiful as she is, she picks up after the first ring.

“Where are you?” she asks by way of greeting.

A glance at the clock tells Tony that it is past ten in the morning. Instead of not even a day, it feels like he has been wrangling with Peter’s sickness for months.

“Pepper,” he says, ignoring her question, “you’re a woman.”

The silence that hits him is as brief as it is icy. “You had better think very well about how you’re going to end that statement.”

Tony loves Pepper. She is scary and efficient and has put up with him for longer than anybody else except for Rhodey. Usually, he would not pass the chance for a little ribbing between friends, but he has more pressing matters to deal with.

“Peter is sick.” Saying the words has a shiver running down his back as if there is a chance he is going to lure more germs in to wreak havoc in his home. “I have no idea what to do. Surely you know something.”

Admitting this hurts, but Tony is far beyond pride. He always has been where it comes to Peter.

“Because I’m a woman?” Pepper’s voice is openly sceptic, but underneath Tony can hear the same uncertainty that has kept him up all night.

He momentarily forgot that part of what makes Pepper so scarily efficient is that she lives for her job. Neither of them has actually seen themselves having a family of their own in the future.

“Come on,” Tony begs. “I’ll buy you a hundred shoes if you stop twisting my words around and help me.”

She is his only chance. Rhodey might know more, considering that he has a number of younger sisters, but he is on some mission and they have not talked in a while. Tony could probably get a call through, but Rhodey does not like it when Tony so blatantly breaks the rules. If there is no other way, he will do it without hesitation, though.

“I’m not a mother, Tony,” Pepper says slowly, sounding as if she is physically distancing herself from that possibility. “I don’t know what to do with sick children. Have you been to the doctor?”

Tony is too exhausted to roll his eyes, but it might be better that way. Somehow, Pepper always hears when he is getting cheeky, even when she has no way of seeing what he does.

“Of course,” he says shortly. “They gave me something for the fever and cough syrup.” Peter had even taken the syrup without complaint, which has only made Tony’s worry worse. If it still tastes the way he remembers, it is vile. “But – Pepper.”

She makes a small noise at the back of her throat that might have made Tony laugh at any other time. Never before has she sounded out of depth. He would have even thought it impossible.

“I don’t – have you tried chicken soup?” she asks, clearly grasping for straws.

“Chicken soup?” Tony repeats aghast. “What’s that supposed to do? He’s really sick.”

Actually, the doctor had said something about the common cold, but they have clearly misinterpreted the situation, considering the state Peter is in. There is nothing common about his child lying listlessly in bed, slowly burning up.

“I don’t know.” Pepper’s voice is higher than it is supposed to be, but Tony blames it on the reception. Otherwise, he might have to admit that she does not have any idea what to do either. That is something that has never happened before. “I remember getting chicken soup as a child and I survived. You can always try.”

Trying does not seem enough when it comes to Peter, but Tony does not actually see any other options. “I think I will.” At the very least, it gives him something to do other than watching Peter sleep.

“Good,” Pepper exhales audibly. In a far more composed voice she continues, “I expect you’re not coming to the office for the next days?”

Business is something safe to stick to, Tony can appreciate that. At the same time, he thinks Pepper must have clearly missed the direness of his situation. “My kid is sick,” he says slowly

“He’ll get better,” she offers with more confidence than Tony imagines she feels. “Call when you need anything else.”

He will, he always does.

Belatedly, Tony asks, “Where do I get chicken soup?” but Pepper has already hung up. Since Tony does want to admit how very bad he is at this whole father thing, he does not call her back about something that likely ever other person in this city knows.

Putting the phone down on the kitchen counter, Tony turns to their fridge, opening it despite being peripherally aware of what is in there and knowing for a fact they have never owned chicken soup in the whole time they have been living here, perhaps ever.

Restless, Tony wanders back to Peter’s room, only to find him still asleep. Putting a gentle hand on the small forehead, Tony finds it still hot and sweaty. Muttering something, Peter pushes against the touch, then settles back into the cushions. It leaves Tony restless.

Walking to the kitchen again, he picks up his phone to search for chicken soup recipes, despite knowing he is not going to attempt it. He cannot go out to buy groceries and leave Peter alone, and even if he had the ingredients delivered, he does not want to accidentally poison his son with a bodged first attempt.

Just when he is wondering whether he could order one of his employees to bring him soup – there are so many, one of them has to know how to do this correctly – when he has the idea of asking his neighbours.

It is the middle of the day, which might turn out to be a problem. Tony still throws a short look at the mirror in the hallway to make sure he is more or less presentable – it is definitely less, considering that his hair sticks up in several directions and he has bags under his eyes, not to speak of the wrinkled state of his clothes, which might still be the same ones he wore to the office the day before – and ventures out of their apartment. He leaves their door open in case Peter wakes up and calls for him, even though he does not plan on staying out for long.  

He tries the two apartments one floor down first because he knows two couples live there, one of which has a child on their way

Tony leaves the other door on their floor for last. He knows who is living there, and whether he will be successful in his quest or not, he has hoped to make a better first impression with the inhabitant than to come knocking in a frenzy and ask for chicken soup of all things.

He is surprised when the door opens. Through all of Tony’s completely coincidental observing, he knows that the man living here has an erratic schedule. He goes on a run every morning but that is where all regularity ends. Tony does not do well with schedules either, of course, although he has gotten a lot better since getting a child.

Then he has no more time to think, because the door is fully open and light floods the hallway. Steve Rogers – whose name Tony totally only just read on the nameplate and did not know beforehand through a minor case of stalking – looks gorgeous. He is wearing a horribly outdated plaid shirt but still manages to make it look good thanks to his unapologetic mass of muscles. It sports what looks like paint stains, splattered dots and streaks of all colours that also cover his skin. Tony fights the urge to reach out and test whether they are still fresh.

This is not the time for indulging his secret crush, though. He is on a mission and it is a vital one.  

“Hey, I’m Tony. Your neighbour. Which you probably know, because we’ve been sharing the floor for a while, and you seem like the type to notice that,” Tony says, or rambles, really.

It makes him wonder how he ever manages to string two complete sentences together during business meetings. Then again, he does not want to sleep with most of his business partners – not that he necessarily wants to sleep with Steve, he is just very nice to look at and Tony has done a lot of looking when Steve comes home sweaty after his morning runs.

“I need –” he stops, tries again, “Do you have chicken soup?”

Steve stares at Tony. It is not the kind of aghast or disgusted stare he might have for something dead in the street he accidentally stepped in. It is more flabbergasted, overwhelmed. Tony knows he can have that effect, but he is usually in an expensive three-piece suit and sunglasses when he does, dialling the Stark charm up to ten.

“I – don’t think so,” Steve says slowly, still not looking away from Tony. His lips are slightly tipped upwards, though, and he has not yet backed away, so Tony counts that as a good sign. “Do you want to come in while I have a look?”

Before Tony can realize that his gorgeous neighbour has just invited him into his apartment, he clicks his tongue. “You should know whether you have chicken soup. That’s like an essential part of every household, right?”

Tony bites the inside of his cheek. Hard. At some point, he is really going to have to learn some manners. And to think before he speaks. Running a hand through his hair, he blinks up at Steve apologetically.

“Sorry, that was rude,” he tries again. “I’d love to come in. I mean, who wouldn’t? But I can’t. I need to go back. Peter has a thing with feeling abandoned. Especially when he’s not feeling well.” Pointing at the other door on their floor, he adds, “We’re in 4A. Come knocking if you find any soup.”

This time, he is telling the complete truth, almost too much of it to feel comfortable. Peter is afraid of being left behind, though, ever since his mother died and he was left with just his overwhelmed father. They are doing well, most of the time, and Tony does not miss the overnight stays he used to do so often for business meetings, but it is still hard to swallow that Peter, at his young age, is already afraid of something that cannot be explained away as one might monsters under the bed.

Tony shrugs helplessly and is already turning around, when Steve asks, “Who’s Peter?”

Normally, Tony loves talking about Peter. He is as proud a father as possible. Right now, getting back to his kid is more important.

“Currently a pint-sized bundle of germs and vomit,” Tony explains shortly. “I’d lie and say he’s normally cute, but he’s a menace. Must have gotten that from me.”

Steve regards him with a smile that is as bright as it is gentle. “I’ll bring the soup,” he promises, and Tony is not going to argue that Steve seemed rather convinced he does not have any soup just moments ago. He will take what he can get.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Tony says and hurries back home.

  For the next hours, they hear nothing from Steve Rogers, and Tony does his best to push down the heartbreak of having trusted his crush and having been disappointed by him. Peter is awake by now, and every cough of his brings Tony closer to just order some soup from the nearest Thai restaurant. Surely that will count too.

They are playing a very slow round of cards on Peter’s bed, interrupted by Tony trying to coax Peter into drinking more tea and taking more cough syrup, when the doorbell rings.

Tony frowns in the direction of the hallway, then glances back at his cards. It is not going to be Steve – nobody needs hours to look through their fridge for soup – and he does not want to deal with anybody else. Everyone important has a key anyway.

He plays his next card but looks up when Peter does not do the same.

“Don’t you want to get that?” Peter asks, gesturing to the door.

In the face of that question, Tony does not want to admit his reluctance to go. Appearing too worried about Peter will not do. Parents, or so he guesses, should appear confident about what they are doing.

“Will you be all right?” Tony asks nonetheless.

He is glad to see Peter roll his eyes. That hopefully means he is not getting worse. “You’re just going to the door, Dad.”

Tony nods and gets to his feet. “All right, I’ll be back in a minute.” He makes a show of putting his cards face-down on the bedsheet. “And don’t you cheat, I’m already going easy on you.”

Peter’s hand, that has already been inching closer to Tony’s cards, stills. “You’re not going easy on me. You’re just bad at cards.”

With a gasp, Tony raises his hand to his chest, clutching his rumpled shirt. “How can you say that? My own flesh and blood.”

He is rewarded with a tiny smile, and treasures it above everything else.  

On his way to the door, Tony tries to smooth down his clothes and hair, but guesses he is just making things worse. The next time Peter sleeps, he should probably take a shower and change into something more suitable for lounging around at home, waiting for a catastrophe to hit.

When he opens the door, Tony is rewarded by a second look at Steve Rogers from close up. He is wearing clean clothes now, no paint splatters in sight, but which also seem a size too small. Perhaps it is his aesthetic, and Tony is definitely not going to protest it.

“Sorry for taking so long,” Steve greets him, looking somewhat sheepish as he holds out his hands to offer a pot to Tony.

“That smells heavenly. Did you – wait.” With some delay, Tony notices that pot only fits in the most generic of senses. The thing is a dented monstrosity of fading colours and nauseating patterns. “How old are you? Why do you own such garishly coloured pots? With flowers?”

Distantly, Tony thinks he should be wondering more about the fact that Steve is here with an actual pot instead of some jar or plastic bag. Even at the first glance, there is more effort involved than Tony wanted Steve to make. This does not look like he found any chicken soup in his fridge after all, but actually went out to get it.

“It’s not mine,” Steve says, a small grin playing on his lips as he regards the pot in his hands. “My friend’s grandmother lives around the corner. She whipped something up for you.”

Tony is unable to do anything but stare, not sure whether he has understood Steve correctly. “Are you telling me this is real, handmade chicken soup? And that you went to a real grandmother to get it?” He has no idea how much work goes into making this soup but it is probably too much for a random stranger manically knocking at one’s door. “Wait,” he then says, not yet reaching for the pot, “you’re not one of those crazy serial killers who lie their way into honest people’s home by bringing them poisoned soup, right?”

Steve’s laugh hits him by surprise. It is a melodic sound that Tony would not mind hearing every day.

“I’d say I’m not,” Steve says, followed by a one-armed shrug. “Things might look differently if I had actually tried to cook this soup on my own.”

That is understandable but does not explain anything. Tony lets his eyes wander from the pot up the very nice arms that are holding it to Steve’s earnest face waiting for an answer.

“Then why?” Tony questions, wondering why he does not take the soup and make sure to be more eloquent when he goes to bring the pot back to Steve, possibly with a good wine and aspirations to turn it into a date. However, all thoughts of romance are sucked out of him by the sick child waiting for him inside the apartment.

Steve smiles. “You looked desperate.” He shows no strain from continually holding the pot.

Under different circumstances, Tony might have protested that statement. He is far beyond holding on to his pride, though. “I am desperate,” he says with surprising vehemence and finally takes the pot out of Steve’s hand and balances on his hip. “Peter’s always been healthy. I have no idea what to do.”

It is cathartic to say that, even to a stranger, but Tony still hopes Peter is not listening in on them from his bedroom. That would defy the whole ‘parents know best’ paradigm they are still sticking to.

A small frown creases Steve’s forehead as he looks at where Tony’s hands cradle the pot before they travel up and find his face. “This might be a tad forward, since we don’t know each other –”

“I kinda know you,” Tony interrupts, afraid of what Steve is going to say. “I ogle you each morning when you go on your run.” He bites his cheek again. What is it with him and running his mouth in front of people he finds attractive? “This – is not appropriate to say to strangers. I’m so sorry. I haven’t slept in three days. At least.”

Because before Peter fell sick, Tony had busied himself with a project, forgetting all about the basic needs his very human body has. That has gotten much better over the past years, but old habits die hard.

To both their surprise, Steve chuckles. “It’s all right.” Tony feels like he needs to propose on the spot. “What I was saying, I could help? I mean, I don’t have children, but I’ve been sick pretty much my entire childhood, so I might just know enough to make things a bit easier on you.”

Everything in Tony wants to say yes. Well, everything but the small part of his brain dedicated to common sense. He has a sick child inside. Even though Steve says he wants to help, Tony would be agreeing because he has an embarrassingly giant crush on his neighbour, not because of his supposed expertise in surviving childhood sicknesses.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Tony says, trying to refuse subtly.

“You didn’t ask,” Steve protests softly, “I offered.”

That is just unfair. Tony does not do well with temptation. Still, he inclines his head apologetically. “Peter does not do well with strangers.”

“Tony,” Steve says, his smile never dropping. “Just say no. I’ll leave you my number.” With complete nonchalance, Steve pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket with his number on it in a loopy scrawl. He definitely came prepared, which has Tony feeling less like he has just messed up his chances. “Write if you need more soup. Or anything else.”

Tony is still dazed from the recent developments when he makes his way to Peter’s room with a bowl full of steaming soup. He cannot imagine how he managed to not send Steve running immediately. The small paper with Steve’s number on it is already safely tucked away on Tony’s desk, and he has, naturally, already saved it in his phone. He will not risk losing it.

Peter is sitting up in his bed, Tony’s cards lying apparently untouched in front of him. Tony does not trust him one bit. Either way, he puts the bowl down carefully on the nightstand and presses the spoon into Peter’s hand without question.

“I don’t want soup,” Peter says, eyeing the bowl with trepidation. The nausea has passed at some point during the night, but the memory of throwing up is still very present.

“Shush, kiddo,” Tony says brightly as he lowers himself back onto the bed. “An actual angel brought this. Blonde, tall, gorgeous.”

Immediately, Peter’s eyes narrow at him. It might be a flaw of character, but Tony has never hidden the fact that it is okay to fancy people, even though he does not bring strangers home with him, of course. He barely has any opportunities for this anyway, since he has become rather conservative since he has taken to being a father.

“Are you talking about our neighbour?” Peter asks with a small grin but also open incredulity. The disbelief might not be that displaced, since Tony has been watching Steve for a while now and has never done anything about it.

“It sounds like you’re pulling through if you can already sass your old man again,” Tony chides gently. He makes no secret out of the relief he feels at seeing some liveliness returning into his son’s features.

Not very subtly, Peter puts the spoon down on his blanket. “You should just ask him out.”

Even while he is thinking of Steve’s number waiting in his phone, Tony still says, “I might have ruined my chances today.” He had been terribly rude, a frantic mess. No one could find that attractive. It is likely that Steve really only left his number in case Tony needs help with Peter after all. He seems like the kind of person who would be nice like that.

“You know what they teach us in school?” Peter asks with as much dryness as an eight-year-old can muster. “Words help.”

Despite himself, a short bout of laughter passes over his lips, before he schools his expression into something appropriately serious.

“Careful, young man. Now eat.” As an afterthought, he adds, “If you eat all of this, I can ask Steve to get us more.”

That said, he should probably eat some himself, just to make sure he does not get sick himself. That is a completely sensible precaution and has nothing to do with emptying the pot more quickly.

And Peter, bless this beautiful child, looks at the soup with disdain but picks up the spoon and dutifully eats the whole bowl, even though he falls back against his pillow afterwards, already half asleep again after this effort.

“Try to sleep, yes?” Tony says afterwards, gathering up their cards so that Peter can lie down completely again. “I’ll be here whenever you need me. Just call.”

Smiling, Peter glances up at him. “I know, Dad. Don’t throw the rest of the soup away so you can bother Mr. Neighbour again. I’ll eat it.”

Tony wonders whether he is this transparent. It is more likely that Peter simply knows him by now. “You’ll be one hell of a heartbreaker one day,” Tony sighs, thinking that this should not feel as much like an accomplishment as it does. “You already play the game well.”

Shrugging against the cushions, Peter blinks up at Tony with utter innocence. The effect is somewhat marred by his eyes dropping closed every couple of seconds. “If the soup helps, I can get out of the bed and just tell neighbour Steve that you like him. Otherwise you’ll never get a date.”

“Excuse you? I’ll have you know –” Tony trails off, face softening as he looks down at his son, already fast asleep.

His own eyes feel heavy, exhaustion pulling at his very bones. He has never planned on being a father and it is sometimes grinding him down. Looking at the real miracle Peter is, though, he would not change this for anything.

Smiling, Tony goes to the kitchen to wash out Peter’s bowl. His phone is sitting innocently on the table but calling out to Tony with a might he cannot resists, even if he had wanted to.

Turning on the coffee machine, Tony pulls up Steve’s brand new contact details and writes him a message.

Thank you for the soup. Peter ate it all and is now asleep.

It feels insufficient, somehow, but Tony has been overwhelming enough for one day already.

Barely a minute later, his phone chimes with Steve’s answer. You’re welcome.

Nothing more. Tony tells himself he is not disappointed by that. He is the one who rejected Steve’s kind offer to help, after all. If everything else fails, he might have to send Peter to get things running again, after all.

  The next day, around noon, the doorbell rings again. Peter is doing much better and they have both gotten a full night’s sleep, which has gone a long way to make them feel human again. Peter has even ventured out of his room to lie on the couch, where they are currently watching Lion King – which Tony will never admit he knows all the lyrics for.

Disentangling from his blanket, Tony gets up to open the door. Later, he will deny having hoped it would be Steve, but when he comes face to face with their neighbour again, he cannot help the smile spreading on his face.

“Steve,” he greets, wondering whether he should tone down the enthusiasm. Hakuna matata is running in the background, though, and Tony is not going to dismiss advice from Disney.

“Hey. I don’t want to disturb,” Steve says as if that is a real possibility. “How’s Peter doing?”

“Much better,” Tony exclaims, and there is no exaggerating the relief he feels. “Thank you again.”

Right now, Tony is convinced that it is only thanks to their interaction yesterday that Tony had the energy to keep his sanity intact instead of doing something utterly crazy like going back to the hospital and threaten to purchase it so he can fire everybody who tells him that Peter has a simple cold and just needs to rest. Pepper often tells him he tends to overreact when it comes to people he cares for, and there is no one more important in his life than Peter.

“No problem,” Steve replies simply. His smile turns sympathetic. “I remember this well.”

Tony does not know what to say to that, so they stand awkwardly across from each other. This is the point where he should get the pot to hand it back over and leave Steve be. Being too much of a bother never ends well. Yet, he never seems able to stop.

“I – would you – I mean –”

“He wants to go on a date with you.”

Peter appears out of nowhere, pushing Tony slightly to the side so he can fit into the doorway too. He is wearing Spider-Man pyjamas and has a blanket slung around his shoulders. For all that he has been close to falling asleep only moments before when they were still on the couch, he looks very awake right now, and very interested. He stares up at Steve, at once critical and smiling. Tony has to swallow the urge to reach down and put his hands over Peter’s mouth.

“Peter,” Tony warns. At Steve, he adds, “Ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Fever dreams, you know.”

Apart from raising his eyebrow, Steve does not respond. Instead, he leans down a bit and offers a hand for Peter to shake, which Peter accepts with newfound energy.

“Hello, young man. I’m Steve,” he greets seriously, as if he is constantly being accosted by noisy kids.

“I know,” Peter says with a smile too knowing to belong on such a young face.

Tony knows what is coming. Something along the lines of my dad never shuts up about you, and he has to keep that from happening. “Don’t be rude,” he says firmly and puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Craning his neck to look up, Peter frowns. “You weren’t going to ask him. Again.”

Acutely aware of Steve watching them, Tony shakes his head minutely, inwardly begging his son to stop. “And that’s my decision to make.”

“You’re afraid,” Peter exclaims, the first signs of irritation showing in his tone.

That is enough, Tony decides, and pushes Peter back into their apartment, allowing him not to struggle.

“Get back to the living room,” he says firmly. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Because Peter is unmistakeably Tony’s son, he does not leave without getting a last comment in. “Take two. You need to agree on a restaurant after all.”

Unable to meet Steve’s eyes so soon, Tony watches Peter walk back into the apartment, more of a spring in his step than he had in days. That is making Tony happy of course, but he still cannot shake the embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters and runs a hand through his hair before he can stop himself.

“What for?” Steve asks, honestly curious. ��He’s delightful.” Just like that, he proves again that he is a thoroughly good human being who does not only bring strangers soup but also lets Tony hit on him via Peter without getting annoyed.

“That’s not a word anyone should ever use for a kid,” Tony replies dryly. “Especially not one with a running nose and a big mouth.”

He cannot quite hide the fondness in his voice, and when he finally looks back up at Steve, they share a smile.

Then Steve shifts his position and looks slightly awkward. “Well, is it true?”

There is only one thing he could be asking about, but Tony does not dare to think about that. “Is what true?” he asks back, trying for innocence.

Something in his tone or face seems to bolster Steve, because he stands a little straighter and does not look away from Tony. “That you want to ask me out on a date.”

Tony bites his lip to keep himself from yelling yes. Instead, he concentrates on a point past Steve’s shoulder and tries to force the blood rushing into his cheeks to return where it belongs.

“I – I’m truly sorry,” Tony says. He is going to ground Peter forever if he has just messed up Tony’s chances even more – at least after they have moved somewhere else, preferably another state to minimize the danger of ever running into Steve again. “I’m afraid I’m not a good role model when it comes to social norms and –”

“Yes,” Steve cuts him off simply, causing Tony to splutter.

He is aware that his behaviour is not always suitable for polite company, but people usually do not call him out on it like this, do not simply agree with him.

“What?” he asks dumbly.

And Steve, in a show of eternal patience, smiles. “If you meant to ask, I’m saying yes.”

Even Tony’s constantly racing and slightly self-sabotaging mind does not find a way to somehow twist these words into meaning something other than Steve agreeing to go out with Tony. Even after close scrutiny, he does not even see any pity on Steve’s face. It is hardly believable, but Steve appears to be serious.

“You – do?” Tony asks nonetheless, unwilling to run headfirst into a trap.

Steve nods, his smile growing wider. “The two minutes are up,” he then says, obvious humour in his tone. “How about next Tuesday? We’ll text later, so you can tell me whether you’ll find a babysitter.”

Mind a mess of conflicted emotions, Tony still realizes that Steve has immediately thought of Peter and that he cannot be left alone an entire evening – which has Tony’s thoughts drifting off to wonder just how long Steve might want their dinner to take.

“I – yes,” Tony exclaims quickly before he lose himself in speculations and forgets all about reality. “Yes. That would be great.”

“Perfect,” Steve says. “And tell me if you need more soup.”

“Will do.”

Only when Steve has already disappeared back into his own apartment does Tony remember the pot sitting freshly cleaned on his kitchen table. Well, that gives him an excuse to visit Steve again later.

Feeling the urge to whistle, Tony closes the door and walks back to the living room. He is going to have a long talk with Peter about appropriate topic of conversation. But perhaps after that date with Steve – a date – depending on how it works out. First, he is going to get them two bowls of ice cream – that is supposed to help with sore throats – to go along with the rest of Lion King.

Then, as soon as Peter is asleep, he is going to make sure that Darcy will be available to watch Peter on Tuesday, even if he has to pay her double. He is not going to miss this chance.

#iron man bingo 3000 #marvel #dad tony #sick fic #stony #getting together #protective steve rogers #precious peter parker #ao3 #my writing

[bruciewayne]

(rat, soulmate, sexually abstinent) bastard

stevetony, fluff, obligatory steve takes tony to bed scene, for ‘sharing a bed’ on @iron-man-bingo​

--

Everything in Tony’s body hurts, every bone, joint and muscle he has, and probably some he doesn’t, his eyes are hardly focusing on the colourful lines of code barely a foot away from his face and every cell, every atom, every quark and gluon in him is screaming for rest, but the neurons in his brain tell him something different. He has to finish this. This… this… whatever, maybe he’s not 100% on what it is, but he’s finishing it. He is.

“Sure you are, baby.”

JARVIS didn’t have an american accent. Or called him ‘baby’ (a baby, sure, but not baby). 

“No, I do not, Sir.” One day, Tony was going to program the sass out of JARVIS. Maybe that’s what he was working on.

“I do,” Not-JARVIS says. Tony turns around to find that the Not-JARVIS is Steve. Steve has an American accent. Because he is American. Captain American. America. They don’t call Tony a genius for nothing.

“We’re already married,” Tony says, because he’s fairly certain that ‘I do’ is something that you’re supposed to say when you get married, and Tony’s married. To Steve. And they definitely said ‘I do’.

“I’m glad you remember our wedding, sweetheart,” Steve says, and that bastard is laughing. At Tony, nonetheless. He should stop laughing.

Steve, the rat bastard, laughs again, “I’ll stop laughing if you can tell me what day it is, or the time.”

Tony must be saying his thoughts out loud. Or Steve, the rat bastard, is a mind-reader. Both seem equally as plausible. He resigns himself to the fact that he has absolutely no filter whatsoever now.

JARVIS, the robot rat bastard, doesn’t have the time or the date showing on any of the screens in the ‘shop and refuses to answer him. “JARVIS, you’re a robot rat bastard and I’m donating you to a pit-stop Denny’s,” Tony says, haughtily, glaring up at the ceiling.

“Honey, you know that JARVIS doesn’t live in the ceiling, right?” Steve says, teasing, (finally) walking towards him. Steve, the rat bastard, also meant hugs, because they were married, which meant that it was basically conjugal privilege, or spousal duty. One of the two.

“I know that,” Tony pouts, still slightly miffed that he hasn’t gotten his conjugal hug yet. He made JARVIS, he knows everything about him. (He’s decidedly ignoring the one section he wrote utterly shit-faced and never managed to find again. He’s sure it wasn’t important.)

Now Steve, the rat bastard (it doesn’t matter why his very wonderful husband is currently being considered a rat bastard, he just is. (No, Tony hasn’t forgotten, just temporarily misplaced. His brain is pretty big after all.)) is incredibly close to him, close enough that he can smell him. He once read somewhere that if you like how someone smells then you’re soulmates. 

He knows for certain that Steve is his soulmate, because he loves his smell, it’s nice and comforting and warm and all he wants to do is hug him and Steve, the bastard soulmate (Tony’s decided to drop the ‘rat’ part in favour for ‘soulmate’. It seems more romantic.), still hasn’t hugged him yet and any longer he’s going to start taking offence.

“Beloved, I think we established ourselves as ‘soulmates’ in our vows and my proposal, and that one time with Strange,” Steve, the bastard soulmate, says, smiling down at Tony. He reaches a hand out to brush through Tony’s hair. It feels nice, acceptable as a temporary replacement for a hug. He has nice hands and fingers, they’re very big. Which makes sense, Steve’s a big person.

“Come to bed, darling,” he says, wrapping his other arm around his shoulders and Tony lets himself be eased up. Tony expects him to put that an arm around his waist and walk up like that (another acceptable temporary replacement for a hug), but instead, Steve just lifts him up into a bridal carry, kissing his forehead when he makes weak protests. It’s nice being carried like this. Even if it makes him akin to a damsel in distress. If he’s going to be a princess, he’s going to be the prettiest princess the land’s ever seen.

“You already are, honey,” Steve says, smiling, and he probably was talking out loud again, but he can’t really bring himself to care when it means that Steve compliments him. He probably has a praise kink.

“You definitely do, sweetheart.” 

Maybe Tony cares a little about what he’s saying. Whatever. Steve married him, they’ve had sex at least once. A day. That’s enough to figure out any kinks right? This is Tony’s first, and hopefully only, marriage, he’s not too sure on the timeline. He never was that good at history anyway.

Before Tony notices, Steve’s letting go of him, and before he can whine (which would have been incredibly manly, thank you very much), he realises that it’s because they’re in bed. Well, he is. Steve’s undressing him.

“No sex, Tony, sleep,” Steve says, through laughter. Now Tony wants sex. With all of Steve’s… Steve-proportions, and lack of gag reflex, you can hardly blame him. Tony’s eyes are slipping shut even as he mumbles about Steve’s mouth. He valiantly tried to keep them open, catching fragments of what’s happening around him.

Steve, the sexually abstinent bastard, smiles, with what many would call a fond look on his face. Bucky, best man of the sexually abstinent bastard, prefers ‘whipped’.

“I feel like I should be concerned that you’re thinking of my best friend when we’re in bed,” Steve says from behind him (when did he get there?).

Tony doesn’t reply and his breathing evens out, finally asleep. Steve knows that Tony’s a genius, and how he gets and how hard he works, but he deserves, needs, rest every now and then. Even though he highly doubts that Tony’s aware that he’s been away for the past week (seemingly how long he’s been awake for), he knows that’s just how he is, that’s the man who married him.

He presses up against his back, and wraps an arm around his waist. He tucks his face into the crook of Tony’s neck after kissing him there and breathes him in. He missed him. He lets the steady ostinato of his heartbeat and the constant, even in-out of his breathing lulling him to sleep.

-

“You weren’t here last night,” Tony mumbles when he wakes up in Steve’s arms to him pressing light kisses along his neck. It’s a nice way to wake up, right up there in his top 3. He turns to face him and all his sleep-mussed, gorgeous splendour.

“I’m magic,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with disuse, smiling at him.

Tony doesn’t remember much of last night (he’s at the stage of his life where, after a certain amount, sleep deprivation acts startling similar to alcohol) but it dripping back to him.

“You’re a rat bastard,” Tony accuses, he would point a finger, but he has a very limited range of motion in Steve’s arms and he quite likes it.

“And a bastard soulmate, and sexually abstinent,” Steve adds distractedly as he shifts his whole body a little, just enough to bring attention to every place where they were touching, which seemed to be everywhere, and runs his hands up and down Tony’s back.

“Yep,” Tony agrees sagely, fighting off the same easy grin that graces Steve’s face. Based on the twinkle of his eyes, Tony doubts he did a very good job.

“Your rat bastard,” Steve hums, stating a fact, a universal constant, and god, Tony’s so damn lucky to call the man in front of him his, he hardly knows what to do with himself half the time. He’s so in love with him, if you broke him apart, if you tore him down to his bare essentials, he knows that his atoms would be made up of pure love and adoration for the man lying next to him in his bed.

“Yeah, mine,” Tony agrees softly, saying in two syllables what he’s been thinking. Steve’s returning smile is enough for him to know that it’s reciprocated.

-

iron man bingo masterpost

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #steve rogers x tony stark #steve x tony #my writing #my fic #iron man bingo 3000 #imb

[eye-raq]

Ember 8

The Ride Continues.

Erik Stevens x Kimora Myers.

Summary: For this stage along the journey of Kimora and Erik being together, Erik spends some time with his client and new friend Cyprine. Erik and Cyprine POV

So Ember PART ONE will be exactly 15 chapters. Chapter 15 will be a 15A and 15B. 

“Right on the edge of fear was where trust could grow” - Cherise Sinclair

@panthergoddessbast @eriknutinthispoosy @whoramilaje @hearteyes-for-killmonger @killmongersprncss @thehonorablekingerik @thehomierobbstark @vikkidc @allhailnjadaka @killmonger-dolan @killmongersaidheyauntie @killmongersgurl @erikismybitch @killmongerskingdom @killmongersmistress @killmongerthirst @killmongerthiskoochie @hdkween @erikslulbaby @killmongerkink @supersizemeplz @marvelpotterlove @itsangeludaku@itsangeludaku @hidden-treasures21 @wawakanda-btch @bidibidibombaclaat @iamrheaspeaks @drsunshine97 @laketaj24 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @loosewindmill @janelledarling @unfriendly-blk-hottie @uhlxis @softnani @muse-of-mbaku @princesskillmonger @amarvelhoe @simplyyamberr @purple-apricots @chaneajoyyy @blowmymbackout @forbeautyandlife @wayla-kayla @tamagxcci @thedelightfulone @killmonger-bakari @disneysdarlingdiva @nickidub718 @lucidaquarian @missumuch1918 @wakanda-inspired @kaytauru @wakandantings @hairhattedhooligan @onyxvixen-writer @lostgalaxies @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @destinio1 

California called for rain that day; the liquid pouring down like hail almost. It was a humid rain; the kind where your skin felt sticky and everything clung to your body. It mistifies in the air and tracks this evergreen smell that reminds you of the tropics. As for Erik, he enjoyed the weather. The smell and the way the wind blew was his perfect utopia while he finished up on his client's car.

Cyprine.

[My name is Cyprine, but you can call me C.C] 

The girl he met not so long ago. Her Acura was definitely up to par;, especially for her standards. Erik could practically hear her sassy words cascading off her sharp tongue, causing him to smile and shake his head. He cranked some music, YG 10 TIMES playing on his Beats Pill.

Erik wipes in a circular motion over the brand new car engine that resides within her car, visibly pleased with his skills. It was crisp and shiny; the cast iron and aluminum alloy acting as a reflection as Erik smugly stared down into it.

You couldn’t tell him shit. Erik was THAT DUDE when it came down to fixing cars, even that dude in general.

He didn’t have the title for best Mechanic in Cali for nothing. He softly closed the hood of her car, lifting from his crouched position to wipe along the length of the car. His waterproof all black Timberlands dragged loudly along the concrete flooring and the tank top he wore clung to his tacky russet reddish-brown skin from the rain, stained in car engine oil.

A crack of thunder broke out, but Erik didn’t jump. He let out a breath before pulling out his phone, calling up Cyprine to give her the go-to come through and get her car.

“Guess who?” He leaned against her car, folding his legs.

“The guy who’s turning my Lucifer into sex on wheels.”

He chuckled softly, scratching his brow.

“Bingo.”

“That’s music to my ears...is it cool to come through now? I’m a little antsy as you could probably tell.”

“Depends if the weather is your best friend, it’s pretty crazy out there Cyprine.”

“And? I wanna feel that familiar leather on my back again Erik.”

Erik shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine by me, I’m here so.”

“Cool, be there in 20.”

———

Cyprine hung up with Erik, pulling up her lyft app right before clocking out from her job as an assistant curator at the Getty Center. It was a simple shift for her today, the cozy warmth of her office space giving her a comforting feel on this gloomy day. She had the task of assisting the lead curator in assembling and presenting the new renaissance exhibit set to start the following Monday. She closed her MacBook, unfolding her deep bronze shapely legs, sliding back from her desk. Cyprine has a natural strut that radiated erotica, walking towards her heavy duty antique coat rack that sat in a lone corner near the door to her office.

She picked up her black Akris belted cashmere overcoat, fastening it around her waist, picking up Her umbrella. Her Uber is just 5 minutes away, brown eyes staring at the GPS map of the car; a Dodge Charger, with a driver by the name of Kevin. Grabbing up her bag, she finally made her exit, closing and locking her office door. She felt someone brush past her, turning to find that it was her co-worker; Alicia. Alicia was an accounting manager there at the Getty Center.

“Don’t get that coat too wet now girl, I bet it cost a pretty penny.”

Cyprine looked over her shoulder, a light giggle escaping her lips, curly hair flipping.

“I’ll try not to, take care Alicia be careful out there.”

“Same to you C.C.”

———

Finally exiting the building, her Uber sat patiently and right on time, the heavy rain seemingly letting up and the clouds shifting. The click-clack of her olive green pumps pounded the pavement in a sweet melody, trickles of rain from the puddles splaying out from under her step. Cyprine’s dainty fingers finally grabbing hold of the back seat handle on the right side of the car. She slid in quickly, closing her umbrella and shutting the door with ease. She let out a relaxing breath, flipping her hair over her shoulders.

“Cyprine right?”

“Yes, that would be me.” She eyed the cute young man in the rear view mirror. His eyes lingered for a minute, his oval-shaped pure hazel orbs finally settling on his phone as he started the route.

“Headed over to Golden Speed?”

She looked up as the car headed into traffic.

“You know that mechanic shop?”

“Yeah, it’s the best in Cali.”

Cyprine places a small smile on her lips, Erik himself making its way into her brain.

_________________________

“It’s gonna be about 1500 for the interior design, and then roughly 3000 for the new engine.”

Erik sat behind his desk, twiddling a pen in his hand as he studied a file in front of him that he created for a new client. The phone call was with that very client; a Lakers player.

“You want a good quality engine right? I’m good for it homie, that’s what I’m known for.”

A smile crept up Erik’s lips, then afterward a snicker; clearly, the guy on the other line had said something hilarious.

“Listen, I’m not gonna keep you, bro,  just come through in two days and I can get you started...ared take care.”

Erik hung up, lifting from his desk at the same time as he heard that familiar voice.

“Is there an Erik Stevens available? I’m here for a pickup.” 

Erik followed that melody of a voice with his ears, finally meeting the eyes of C.C, her hands untying the belt of her fancy black coat, olive green pumps echoing as she walked towards him. A tight yellow turtleneck dress was underneath that very coat, her hair in its natural state, with soft curls, parted on the side.

She reached out her hand playfully, a professional look on her face.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Cyprine.”

Erik cleared his throat, fighting a dimpled smile to keep up with the charade.

“Cyprine huh? It’s a please miss.” 

Erik did a bow, kissing her hand playfully, with a waggle of his eyebrows. Cyprine snorted a laughter, pulling her hand away before slapping Erik playfully on the shoulder.

“You miss me, little nigga?” Erik leaned forward on his desk, tilting his head in her face as if daring her to say otherwise.

“Not as much as I missed my Lucifer where is she?!!”

“Patience is a virtue.” His appealing voice replied, lifting from his workstation.

She kissed her teeth, finally removing her cashmere coat and tossing it on Erik’s desk. Erik turned towards her, walking backward in the direction of her car that he covered for a surprise. His eyes roamed over her from her head to her toes, then back up, before finally meeting her eyes again.

“Who the fuck you tryna impress?”

Cyprine held his stare before giving him an evil eye.

“I don’t have to try when it comes down to catching a nigga attention. Men are easy prey.”

Erik’s eyebrows disappeared under his dreads.

“eh, not all guys. Some are predators.” He was visibly amused.

Erik turned to continue his trail, finally stopping in front of her car.

“Now, are you sure you’re ready?”

She felt antsy, her fingers twiddling and feet pacing.

“Yeah, I’m ready just pull the sheet back.”

“No countdown?” Erik suggested with a mild expression on his face.

“No, no. Just do it E.”

Erik gave her a triumphant smirk, gripping the end of the cover before flinging it back in one clean motion, gathering the fabric.

He heard her gasp loud in his ears, that same feeling he always got whenever he made a client happy filling his chest.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD.”

It was beautiful, every single detail she gave him finally made a reality. The candy apple green was dangerous; almost like poison, and she just knew that she would fuck shit up on the road with this baby. The diamond-encrusted headrests that spelled out Lucifer gave her an early 2000s type of feel.

“Fucking sex on wheels.” She stared at it longingly.

“Nasty sex on wheels.” Replied Erik, rubbing the roof of the car.

“Damn Erik. You didn’t come to play did you?”

He opened his arms wide, his ego definitely on a trillion.

“Need I remind you? I’m the one for a reason girl.”

She rolled her eyes into her head, walking up to the car. The look on Cyprine’s face was the look he enjoyed seeing. She was drawn to this new whip and the way her fingers stroked the surface let Erik know that she would make even better use of this.

“Now this what I want you to do.”

Erik motioned with his hand for her to come around to him.

“C’mere, get in the car and start it up.”

Cyprine took no time to walk around towards Erik, stepping in front of him quickly and excitedly, damn near knocking him back with her hips.

“Damn girl.” Erik stumbles a little before catching himself.

“Don’t let me find out you can’t handle curves, Erik.”

He looked slack-jawed like somebody hit him clean across his face. That look had her hollering with laughter.

“I can’t believe you just said some shit like that out your mouth.” That’s all he could muster.

“Shhh.”

She hushed him, finally opening her car door and slipping inside. It smelled like sandalwood and cedar; guessing that it was Erik’s scent that filled her nostrils from the time he spent designing the interior.

Cyprine closed the door, grasping her familiar keys. She turned the ignition, feeling the car rumble under her, vibrating her body.

Erik knocked on her window, causing her to lower it ever so slightly.

“Pump the gas pedal. Don’t hold back either.”

She had a wide-eyed expression, her heeled foot pressing down on the gas pedal in short bursts.

That damn engine. 

“You hear that engine girl? 191 Horsepower. You hear the way it’s revving up?”

Both of their eyes locked in a shared understanding.

She pumped it again, letting her foot settle on the gas peddle a little longer, watching Erik’s face contort in absolute pleasure. If you could get off on cars, Erik sure as hell would, she thought.

It was like music to her ears. She felt like she was in a fast and furious movie the way it sounded.

“Fuck me sideways.” She spoke.

“Like you said, sex on wheels right? I think it’ll fuck you more ways than that.”

Cyprine let out a soft chuckle, turning her gaze to Erik. She tilted her head back against the seat, a grateful look in her eyes, and maybe tears?

“Aye! Don’t start that shit girl.”

“I can’t help it! It’s so fucking beautiful.” She wiped at her eyes, groaning.

“I’m such a fucking baby with shit like this.”

Erik opened her car door, holding out his hand to help her out. She pulled at her dress, the fabric bunched up from her sitting.

“It’s no problem with that, you are all around pleased with my work and I’m more than proud to see that look on your pretty face. You looked like a child at Christmas time girl.”

She couldn’t help but to smile at that, the touchy side of her lunging forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him in for a hug. It happened just as quick as it started, C.C pulling away.

“I’m sorry I felt like you deserved that.”

“Why are you apologizing? It’s just a damn hug you act like you tried to kill me.”

She shoved him.

“Smart ass.”

“You smell good though so it’s coo.”

Erik turned to walk away back to his workstation, pulling out her file.

“Okay so everything is paid for, you like the design. All ends were met so we are good Miss Cyprine. All I need is for you to sign these areas that I have marked with an X, just to confirm everything.”

Cyprine grabbed a ballpoint gold ink pen from a small cup on Erik’s desk, leaning forward to study the script.

“Sign here..” Erik tapped on the paper delicately with his pointer finger.

“Then here…” Cyprine made one last swish of her wrist as she wrote out the fancy cursive of her name in Erik’s signature gold ink.

Erik smiles goofily at her, closing her file and placing it in a neat pile on top of at least 10 others.

“Wow. A hard-working man who makes his money.”

She was impressed. She may not have understood the workings of a mechanical engineer, but she understood hustle, and Erik was that and then some.

“Making money doing what I love. That’s always been my goal.”

She focused her eyes on an empty space between them, before shaking her head slightly, staring down at her fingers.

“Honestly, Erik I really appreciate what you’ve done.”

“Don’t trip, it’s not a problem.”

Her feet were beginning to bother her, finally deciding to seat herself on the edge of his desk.

“Long ass day?” Erik asked.

“Yes. My feet are killing me and I need a drink. It’s a Friday night why the hell not right?”

Erik stroked his beard, both of their eyes meeting before Erik broke it off, a thought surfacing.

“Well, seeing as we’re friends and all, you could cruise through my place. We can get drunk and listen to some music? how’s that sound?”

Cyprine paused, one eyebrow arched perfectly and questioningly.

“Your place?”

“Yeah.” Erik’s shoulders shot up.

“What’s so special about your place?”

“Step foot in it then you’ll see.”

“Well, what if I don’t like it?” She teased.

“You mean what if you LOVE IT.”

“You smug motherfucker.” He was irritating.

“So what’s it gonna be little nigga? Drinking alone? Or drinking with me?”

She pondered that, her eyes squinting on him to try and read any sign of a joke, but he was dead serious.

“Fine. Lead the way host.”

“Yee! That’s what’s up.” His huge brown eyes dancing with humor.

Erik pointed to her Lucifer.

“Let’s see how quick you can keep up with me in these streets with that car of yours.”

She liked a challenge, taking no time to agree with Erik.

“Oh yeah? Well, let’s see then Erik.”

_____________________________

Erik pulled his matte black Audi R8 with gold trimming into the roundabout lobby entrance outside of his luxury loft apartment building. He pulled up to the garage, entering in his personal PIN number to allow access into the garage to park. His favorite spot on the first level was available, pulling in swiftly. The engine made an intense vroom vroom sound, then came to a complete stop, his eyes training on the new and improved Acura pull up behind him. He smiled like the Cheshire Cat, his competitive, fixed eyes watching her window roll down, her curly mane whipping out the window, chocolate face coming into view with a bright white smile.

“You cheater! You lucky I don’t know where you stay I would have been the first one pulling in here.”

“I like how you believe that!! You must not know girl I race cars faster than both of ours stop playing with me!!.”

Erik pulled his head back into his car, finally opening the door to exit, quickly opening the back door to grab his uniform top with the Golden Speed logo embroidered on the small front pocket.

Erik motioned for C.C to follow him towards the revolving doors, the light from the fancy chandelier drawing patterns along those swinging doors. Erik sped in first, quickly twirling the doors to make it difficult for C.C to get through. He watched her annoyed expression, that small hand of hers giving him the finger before lunging forward to squeeze her tiny but voluptuous frame inside. Her heels clicked quickly along the marble flooring before finally making it into the air-conditioned building, coming face to face with extra Erik.

“You see these shoes right? You know it’s such thing as death by heels.”

Erik scuffed folding his arms, eyes falling to her heeled feet and strong calves.

“The way your legs are built you would have been alright C.C.”

“Oh, so I have nice legs?” She questioned slyly, walking ahead of him with a switch in her hips to purposely showcase her stallion legs. They glowed like she was dipped in a bath of essential oils.

“They cool.” Erik shrugged nonchalantly, speeding up to meet her strides, bumping her softly.

Erik made it to the elevators, pressing the ascending button. Cyprine stares at both of their reflections on the elevator directly in front of them, her oval-shaped brown eyes falling on Erik’s purposely low ones. He gave her a wink, followed by a charming smile, causing her to look down at her olive green pumps, watching the way her feet slid across the polished flooring. A soft ding sounded to her right, indicating that the last elevator out of the four was available for them.

“Ladies first.” Erik motioned for Cyprine to go first, reaching out from behind her to hold open the elevator door so it wouldn’t close; it had the tendency to do that in these buildings.

“Such a gentleman Mr. Stevens.” She spoke softly, focusing on Erik’s toned frame enter the elevator, turning his back towards her, his pointer finger pressing number 12. He rested his body against the mirrored wall just behind him, his eyes staring up at the many rows of light panels that littered the ceiling. His arms were folded over each other, fingers resting in the crease of his arms.

The smell that radiated off of him was the smell of rain with a hint of apricot or peach mixed with a woodsy scent. It was masculine but soft and inviting. Cyprine caught herself turning her head towards him to get a better whiff, pausing when she caught sight of him eyeing her down with a curious flicker of his eyebrow.

“Are you smelling me?” He had amusement in the way he asked that as if he were trying to make her feel uncomfortable next to him. She rolled her eyes heavily into her head, almost as if she were possessed. But deep down, Erik knew and I’m sure she knew, the effect that he caused.

“Maybe I am. You’re so close.”

“Hmph...did you know that this elevator space is roughly 80 inches wide? Then I would say about...54 inches in depth from the back wall to the elevator door.”

“I had no clue E...I’m not an expert on such things,” Cyprine commented with sarcasm, making quotations with her fingers.

“Well, the point I’m trying to make is that out of all the space within this elevator...you decide to stay settled next to me.”

Erik continues, leaning his right shoulder against the wall, downcasting his eyes on Cyprine.

“You ever notice how when there is one person on an elevator, they stand in the center, then when someone else comes in that person moves to the corner?”

Erik leaned down towards her face, Cyprine looking forward towards the LED screen, watching the count from each floor.

8, 9, 10…

“You didn’t do that though...your ass just wanted to be near me. Say it.”

“I’m not giving you the satisfaction.”

The elevator dinged, sliding open slow, Erik’s double doors to his loft staring straight ahead.

“Come on little nigga just say it and we can go.”

Cyprine lifted from the elevator wall, flipping her hair like a diva, preparing to make her exit, only to have Erik lunge forward, stepping in front of her to block her from leaving.

“You insufferable ass.” She had her hands on her hips, eyeing him from head to toe with malice.

“You insufferable ass.” Erik mocked, following up with a low dark chuckle that would usually make your knees weak but in this case, Cyprine was hungry, tired, and her pretty pedicured feet wanted freedom from the tight hold her pumps were providing.

“SAY IT. And I’ll let you pass.” He waited there, his eyes never leaving her face; unblinking.

Cyprine’s bratty nature fought to be difficult but that wouldn’t help situations, Erik would simply toy with her further, almost tormenting.

“You smell like a tropical rainforest with a hint of fresh soil and wet oak. HAPPY?!”

Erik had this bewildered look on his face, something she couldn’t quite describe but the way his tongue dragged along the inside of his mouth, those gold slugs shining as if they were freshly polished, and his full lips pulling back over his teeth was evidence that he took that response as a “yes”

“You gonna move or what irky.” She stepped forward, pushing her front against him forcefully to attempt pushing him back and out of the way.

“I love it when you women do that, Y'all actually think you can move all this muscle.” Erik finally stepped away, turning towards his door.

“Just like you men think Y'all always run shit when you don’t be running nothing but ya mouths.” Snapped Cyprine.

“Oh, we gonna have a discussion baby girl when we get in here.”

Erik patted his black cargo pockets, face set in a confused expression, his eyebrows knitted together extra tight. Did I leave them in the ignition? Nah, I couldn’t have that doesn’t make sense, he thought.  Did I drop them while coming in the building? Panic set in a little at the thought of misplacing his keys when FINALLY he felt the hard outline of them deep within a lower pocket on the left side of his pants. He let out a sigh, pulling them out swiftly to unlock the doors to his domain.

“For a second there I thought we would have to call a locksmith.” Teased Cyprine.

“Shut up!” Erik barked over his shoulder, finally pushing his doors open, darkness awaiting ahead.

Cyprine watched as Erik disappeared into his Loft, then it was her turn to make a move. She took a tentative step forward, silence within his home as she finally slipped beyond those doors, closing them behind her. Swiftly, the lights one by one ignited the place, shocking her for a moment. She heard Erik’s familiar devious chuckle past the grand foyer, beyond a wall that was littered with many paintings; mostly abstract with amazing color contrast.

She shook her head slowly, stepping around the wall to find Erik perched against a railing that led down a small staircase into his living room area. Cyprine would usually respond to his shenanigans but the sight before she had her lips sealed tight. It was a large adaptable open space. It was beautiful, luxurious with its contrast of creams, browns, and deep royal blues. The wide ceiling to floor windows gave you the best view of downtown with the twinkling lights from the skyscrapers and the bustling cars down below. There was an edgy staircase with a glass railing leading to the upper level, and a matching one going downward towards what she assumed was the basement. She settled at the top of the short staircase, mouth slightly parted and eyes filled with awe and admiration.

“Is it okay to say I told you so yet little nigga?!”

Cyprine settles her gaze back on Erik, eyes flickering to his sock covered feet rubbing into the alpaca fur rug. He had his chin up and chest poked out with pride, winking at her with a smile.

“Not quite. Don’t get your hopes up high I still haven’t seen the entire place yet.” She removed her heels, feet pressing firmly against the polished marble flooring. The lime green color popped against the floor and of course her mahogany skin.

“But your living room area is amazing though, I’ll rate it a 10/10. Who is your interior designer?!! I mean this shit is beautiful.”

“A client of mines, we had small talk and he told me he does interior design work so I hired him. He basically is in charge of keeping up with the look of my home, and I give him free car work.”

Cyprine was VERY impressed by Erik.

“Well, I may need to hire him because DAMN. He’s really good at what he does.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you his info but for now..”

Erik motioned for her to follow him.

“Let me give you a tour of my crib before we let loose.”

Let loose? What was she in for? This was going to be a long night.

Cyprine followed Erik, watching his muscular back,  solid and strapping, as he walked ahead of her. Cyprine couldn’t help but train her eyes there, this nigga Erik was BUILT. She didn’t want to comment on his physique, afraid he might not like the approval.

“Dining room, that as you can probably tell I don’t use.”

An asymmetrical glass wine cabinet as big as the staircase above it was outstanding. Every rack was filled with a bottle of wine whether it be white or red, sweet or dry. Cyprine could faintly make out the date 1977 on a bottle of Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon; 40 years old.  She then eyed the edgy long brown dining table with matching seats that could hold at least 20 people. There was a simple plant in the middle; what looked to be white roses.

“Wow...how could you not eat in here?” She was genuinely curious.

“More for display honestly, but I have used it for dinner parties with some friends, courtesy to Mama B.”

Mama B? Cyprine briefly wondered about that before Erik continued on, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Give me a rating. You’re not getting out of this one.”

She smiled softly, “10/10 Erik. Now keep going host I’m sure there is plenty more.”

Erik curved a corner, gone from sight for a second until Cyprine finally caught up, the view in front of her practically knocking her back a few notches.

“This is where I throw down girl. Don’t play with me either I can sense the snide comments. Big E can cook baby.”

“Big E can burn some shit” she replied with a small snort.

There was an increase in the pitch of his voice.

“Lil nigga...when you step into my place, beyond those fucking doors, you don’t play with me right?!” He had a slight closed lip smile on his face that she didn’t bother to pay any attention to.

Two sets of kitchen islands sat in the middle with four bar chairs each, quartz countertops even including the ones near the sink, oven, and impressive smart refrigerator in a stainless steel.  It was as if she stepped into a kitchen owned by a celebrity chef.

“What the fuck.” She muttered under her breath as she stepped into the fancy kitchen area. This dude even had a walk-in freezer box with a glass door!

“You-I-.”

She couldn’t even speak proper words.

“You-I-what?” He couldn’t hold back the heavily dimpled smile then. The more shocked she looked, the more triumphant it made him.

“Okay, So...I have nothing bad to say about this loft so far. You got the room for me?” She laughed softly, waving him away with her hand.

“It’s  coo I’m kidding.”

“I got the room for 4 maybe,” Erik replies with one raised eyebrow.

“Aight so let’s go to our final destination. I’m not gonna drag your little ass all over the place.”

Erik walked around one of the counters, heading back out towards the living room.

Down those stairs they went, the plush carpet comforting her now bearable feet. There was a long hallway to travel down, an archway ahead of them. Finally, within that room, Erik flicked on the lights, throwing his arms out to welcome her into his-

“MAN CAVE.”

walls were a beige color but the outer lining was painted all black, a fancy bar off to the side in black marble with gold trimming, a wall rack behind it filled with liquor. Any drink you could imagine was on those racks, Ciroc of different flavors, Hennessy, Patron, 1800, more wine, Long Island, Skyy Vodkas, Jose Cuervo margaritas, Rum, and many more. A big black leather L shaped couch was in the middle of the den, with a small beige and black coffee table in the center.

A large TV, almost like a projector screen, was on the wall straight ahead, and in the far corner, there was a pool table and a mini kitchen that housed a countertop, a glass rack, and cabinets. The walls had different worldly art on them, the most she could make out was from Africa, and what looked like pieces from India, maybe even Russia?

All in all, this place was screaming Erik everywhere. The gold and black aesthetic was all him and she could tell by the few pieces of clothing that littered here and there, this was his main area. He probably sleeps down here too, she thought.

“You wouldn’t believe this if I told you.”

Cyprine’s head whipped towards the direction of Erik behind the bar, pulling on a fresh T-shirt and tossing his dirty white beater. She blinked a few times to focus.

“Try me.”

His shoulders bunched upward, “I took a bartending course about...three or four months ago.” Erik pulled out a cocktail strainer, a jigger, an ice tong, stainless steel cocktail shakers, and bottle pourers.

“Didn’t feel like paying money for drinks at the bar huh?” Cyprine finally walked over towards him, settling on one of his leather bar stools. She peered over the bar, seeing a sink there with draft taps and an icebox. She was amazed by this man and his place.

“I didn’t feel like paying for drinks that tasted like water instead of liquor what’s the fun in that shit? What the fuck I look like going to some hyped up lounge paying anywhere from 11 to 20 dollars for bar drinks? Then they wanna run you a couple hundred for bottles of champagne that taste like piss.”

“How the fuck you know how piss taste?! Let me find out!” Cyprine barked out a laughter, clutching her chest right above her bouncing breasts. Erik pulled a few ice cubes out of his icebox, quickly chucking them at her while she successfully dodged the first but not the last one.

He was big mad about this for some reason, and that had Cyprine snickering into the palm of her hand. Erik could be so funny even when he wasn’t trying, which was most of the time she got to know him.

“So, what makes you so special huh?” Cyprine rested her chin on the palm of her hand, watching as Erik turned away from her, studying his drink rack.

“Well, let’s think about the 1920s, right? EVERYBODY was drinking. Bootleggers made hella money off of secret parties filled with alcohol. Back then, they partied and it didn’t end in chaos like now; people acting a fool. Nah, the parties we HAD-not talking about white people..” he paused, looking over his shoulder to see if she was paying attention. Cyprine leaned back and looked up to show him she had focus.

“Nah, we had it big. People drank to enjoy themselves, that’s what I wanna do. I wanna drink to enjoy myself and why not make other people enjoy themselves right? Make a banging ass drink and let the festivities began. You agree?”

Cyprine didn’t expect a full blown explanation from Erik with a bit of history added into the mix over his reason for getting his bartender license. However, she thoroughly enjoyed hearing him talk the way he talked, all knowledgeable and excited.

“Wow. You just gave me more hope than I had before E. I like a good drink, so why don’t you surprise me huh?”

That charming smile resurfaced, and from there Erik went to work pulling down bottles she couldn’t quite catch.

“Alexa, play Up by LoveRance.”

The instrumental started out in that melody that had your hips rolling. Cyprine naturally fell into music, she was a dancer so of course, it came naturally to her. The music was a start that had he ready to unwind with him.

“So, we plan on getting drunk?”

“Why you saying WE like I’m making that decision for you lil nigga?”

“Because you’re the one making the special drinks irky. So, should I be worried?”

Erik brought over his bottles, but instead of keeping them in view, he decides to hide them under the bar. Sly ass motherfucker. 

“What type of drunk are you? Let me know now before I give you my hook up. C’mon girl I don’t need you throwing up and pissing on yourself.”

Cyprine could slap the black off his skin for playing with her like that.

“FUCK YOU. I’m not a sloppy drunk. I’m very mellow when I drink, depends on how much you give me and I am OUT.”

“I can deal with that.” Replied Erik, eyes never leaving his motions as he mixed. He would use the jigger to pour into his drink mixer, shaking it over his head, dreads swinging to his motions, the ice rattling along the stainless steel of the mixer cup.

“Oh, you don’t need to work in a bar.”

“Why the fuck not? I got skills.” His voice cracked a little in the most serene way, half smiling with those teeth that would make you wet.

“Because you’re a distraction, sir. Your tip bucket would be filled with panties, not money.”

Erik didn't respond, but his eyes glanced sideways, eyebrow raised with a tilt of his head as if he were trying to read beyond her response. With a shrug of his shoulders, he sucked on the tips of his fingers to remove some liquid, finally lifting up a cocktail glass, sliding it towards her.

Cyprine studies the burnt orange liquid, a lemon on the side as a garnish.

She grips the stem of the glass softly, while her other hand graces the top of the sweating glass. She took a whiff of it, so far lemon  I.Tshe thought.

Slowly, her bow-shaped lips parted, hanging over the edge of the glass with her eyes closed. The liquid began to drizzle into her warm mouth.

She made an audible whimper in the back of her throat. Damn. Whatever he did it was fucking fantastic. She definitely could distinguish the taste of Hennessy, but what else? It was so well mixed that you got a burst of flavors, and that did nothing but make her taste buds tingle.

A beatific expression overcame her soft features, dreamy eyes landing on Erik.

“What is this? That’s all I want to know.”

“It’s called Between the Sheets.” 

She sure as hell felt like she was between the sheets. That and LoveRance in the background talking about beating the pussy up made her feel like she was really between a mattress and a man with a long hard dick.

“Mhmm.” That’s all she could say as she went back to savoring her drink.

“Hennessy V.S, light rum, Grand Mariner, fresh lemon juice.”

Erik watched her tip the last bits into her mouth, licking her lips slowly before flipping her hair over her shoulder, sliding her empty glass towards Erik expectantly.

“More please.”

“So graceful.” He teased with a smile, biting his lip.

“Make it in a bigger cup though that wasn’t enough.” She replies with a raise of her chin.

Erik took a sip of his simple glass of Hennessy Black,  pulling the drinks from under the bar to make her another round.

The song changed to XXX by Kendrick Lamar.

“Tell me what you do for a living C.C?”

Cyprine took a black velvet scrunchie out of her Fendi shoulder bag, pulling her curly hair up into a pineapple, the short hairs in the back of her neck and on the sides of her face falling out with a bounce.

“Assistant Curator at the Getty Center.”

“Impressive,” Erik added her garnish for a finishing touch, handing over her glass swiftly.

“I plan on being head Curator. Give me about 3 more months.”

“I don’t doubt it girl, you got potential.”

“How do you know? You hardly know me.”

“I know that any black woman who packages herself as well as you do with an attitude got her shit on lock and ain’t about to stop for nothing or nobody.”

“Yeah, you right about that nigga.”

“Of course I’m right. I shouldn’t have to remind you of that girl.”

Erik gave her a warning look.

“Don’t make me have to remind you again.”

Cyprine bent her head, hugging her arms with a smile gracing her lips.

“Yes, Mr. Stevens.”

Cyprine took a generous sip of her second drink, watching as Erik kneaded his right shoulder, rolling both twice before letting out a soft moan.

“Tense?” She asked out of curiosity.

“Pretty much. My body is sore.”

“Hmm…” Cyprine drummed her fingers on the surface of the bar for a second, before letting out a smooth breath.

“Sit down right here.”

“Why?”

“So I can be of assistance. I have magical fingers I can help you work out those kinks in your shoulders.”

Erik strokes his beard, studying her for a second before walking around to where she sat, making himself comfortable. Cyprine eases off the stool, her blood feeling as if it rushed to her head from just two drinks.

Erik, of course, was physically bigger than her. Even sitting down, C.C had to stand on her tiptoes almost to get a good grip on his shoulders.

Erik threaded a hand through his hair, looking over his shoulder as her hands took their place on his upper back. She pressed the pads of her thumbs into his shoulder blades hard in a circular motion, feeling Erik’s toned back arch.

“Woah.” He chuckled softly.

“Do That again but harder this time.” He instructed, feeling Cyprine’s thumbs stab deeper into his upper back, almost painful but he loved it. “Fuckkk.” He sounded out softly, his head falling forward.

The knots in his muscles seemed to melt away after all that increasing pressure.

He had an alluring expression on his face, hands bracing the bar tightly as she moved one hand to his right shoulder, and another hand to the back of his neck. She used the pads of four of her fingers to rub in a pressured circular motion, faintly hearing the bones of his lower neck crack.

“Jesus Erik that sounded like the body of an old ass man.” She teased.

“If you were working five days a week doing nothing but crouching, kneeling, heavy lifting, and pulling, you would be saying the same shit about your body.”

“I would never let my precious temple get this bad.”

Erik had a calculating look on his face.

“You must have a man to work out the kinks after he folds that body while he fucking you.”

Cyprine tried to compose herself after that nasty comment, her weary gaze aimed at Erik’s back.

“There, all finished.” She stepped away quickly, grabbing her drink to swallow the last bit.

“I’d like to try something new please.”

Erik huffed like an overgrown child.

“That’s it? The middle of my back still hurts C.C.”

He had a pout in his lips and it was the cutest thing she had ever witnessed from him. Nope nope.

“Make me another special mix, and if I’m up to it I’ll finish the job.”

______________________

Erik got to working on another Hennessy mix while Cyprine watched with interest, giggling at him from time to time.

“This one is called Black Velvet.” 

Cyprine wasted no time to begin drinking. Velvet on the tongue, warmth in the heart. This drink was seductive and elegant on the palate and it definitely would keep you coming back for more.

“Slow down girl before you catch that heat,” Erik warned her with humor.

“Well, what if I want the heat?” Erik and Cyprine shared a look.

“Calm that kitty down lil nigga. Don’t let me find out you're frisky when you drink.”

She gave a half shrug, inclining her head to the side.

“One thing's for sure I get horny when I drink.” It went quiet then...

Hem hem was the audible sound of Erik clearing his throat as he finished off his third glass of Hennessy Black.

The time wasn’t even a thought and so was the drinks. The sink behind Erik’s bar was filled with orange and lemon peels, wasted ice, and dirty shakers. The duo was nothing but a snickering, goofy, non-comprehensive mess and it was a sight to see.

“Equinox.”

Erik’s T-shirt was discarded now from all the mess he made, the beautiful body that would usually go unnoticed did for Cyprine. She was so tipsy that the sight in front of her didn’t matter.

“Equinocssss.” She sounded out slow and with a slur, her shoulders rolling and her chin elevated with grace. She bounced on the stool, her ass jiggling with every motion as if a man were behind her to tease. She grabbed the glass, bringing it to her bow-shaped lips. A moan escaped her mouth and her hand came crashing with the smooth surface of the bar, slapping it hard.

“What exactly does that mean hmmm???”

“When everything is in balance, that is the equinox.” Erik shoved his hands in his cargo pockets, his eyes so low you would confuse it with sleepwalking. He had a smirk on his face and that tongue kept creeping out of its cavern to lick at his already lubricated lips.

“You should make your own drink, the way you’re advertising this shit. I would buy it for sure.”

C.C took another sip before throwing her hands up, almost knocking the glass over.

“Oops.”

“Why are you single Cyprine?” Erik checked the weight of his bottle of Hennessy black before pouring another glass.

“Cuz guys can’t handle me that’s why. I’m not a bad girl for no reason.”

“So you’re breaking hearts huh? Devil wearing Fendi?”

“I’m not that bad!!! I’ve had my heart broken for the record. But, if I smell bullshit, you might as well turn the other way, and I can smell bullshit on a nigga Okur.”

Erik leans in towards her.

“Besides smelling like a rainforest, do you smell bullshit on me?”

Cyprine leans in towards his neck, taking a long obnoxious sniff causing Erik to snort loudly.

“Nah, you just smell like you.”

“You hella funny when you drink,” Erik replies.

She attempted to drink, but it was gone.

“Well, I need another it seems.” She pouted.

“Something new or another Equinox.”

“Something new!!!” She clapped her hands together happily.

“By the way Erik, if you’re single, why?”

He cocked his head, pausing to gather his thoughts.

“I’ve had plenty of reasons why I’m single.”

“Damn E, why in the fucking world would you be single? It just doesn’t make sense...unless you're a womanizer?” She let out a bitter laugh.

“I want a woman who's my equal, who can take what I’m dishing out.”

Erik handed her a small glass, watching her take a sip, a knowing smile gracing her soft lips.

“Henny and pineapple juice.” He Spoke for her.

“So...when was the last time…”

Cyprine spaces out, her finger dipping into her glass, twirling it.

“The last time I had sex?” Erik finished for her.

“About...4 ½ maybe 5 months ago.”

Cyprine’s throat went sore from swallowing her drink the wrong way.

“No fucking way.”

She didn't want to believe that at all. Erik didn’t seem the type to go that long without some pussy.

“Saving yourself?” She toyed with a lock of hair, her eyes looking as if she were bewildered.

“Uhh...I guess you can say that, but not really, not until marriage or anything, I’m just picky with my women.” He laughed softly, taking a long sip of his drink.

Cyprine figures that maybe there was a girl he admires, and from that, she could discern that she had to have all the qualities he wanted in a woman.

“You like them chocolate, intellectual, freaky..”

“Goofy, sexy, stylish.” Erik finished, counting off on his fingers.

They paused, laughing obnoxiously before stopping suddenly to drink some more.

________________

“Erik it’s almost 10pm.” Cyprine’s eyes scanned the dirty bar, her arm a little wet from spilled drinks. She yawned, her head lolling back and forth like a rag doll. Erik snapped his fingers, causing her to open her eyes quickly.

“You were right when you said you get tired.” He kissed his teeth.

“I can’t help it, I had to work from 9 to 5.”

“Girl I was in the shop longer than that.”

Erik stopped the music from playing, throwing his T-shirt over his shoulder. He walked up to Cyprine, helping her off the stool only for her to arch into him, almost like dead weight.

“Erik c’mon I’m not that fucking heavy.” She teased, laughing as he tried to lift her. Erik was equally drunk but more in control, his muscles failing him as he finally got her to stand on two feet. As if reading each other’s minds, they both began to laugh continuously.

“Stop making me fucking laugh! I’m trying to help you out, lil nigga.”

“Shut yo bitch ass up and throw me over your shoulder!”

Erik grunted, feeling Cyprine wrap her arms around his neck, while he brought his arm down to cup under her ass, pulling her up and over his shoulder. Her ass sat on his forearm like it was her personal seat as Erik walked up the stairs and towards his bedroom.

Finally there on the third level, Erik kicked open his cracked door, flicking on the light, watching as the wide clear space came to life.

“Mmmph.” Cyprine lifted her head, her hair practically all over her head, studying her surroundings with squinted eyes.

“Where are we exactly?”

“My bedroom.”

“Really?! damn I’m too drunk to take this in right now.”

“Good, can’t have your young eyes staring at shit it shouldn’t be.”

Cyprine punched Erik softly in the middle of his back, her muscles not helping her the slightest.

“If I hadn’t said fuck you already, FUCK YOU.” She felt queasy from being thrown over his shoulder like a rag doll.

“Nah, not fuck me Cyprine...”

Erik flopped her down on his bed, the organic cotton melting into her chocolate skin like clouds of milk. She curled up, her dress riding up, exposing her black savage beauty panties in lace. Erik moves her onto the bed further, pulling down her dress before walking over to his wardrobe, grabbing up a fresh white T-shirt.

“I’ll get you some water, here is a T-shirt. I’m not driving you home tonight I’m drunk myself, and you’re definitely not driving girl.”

She wiggled against his bed, her beautiful dreamy eyes staring up into Erik’s like an innocent girl. 

“You don’t look drunk though.” 

“That’s because I’m solid, takes a lot to bring me down.”

Cyprine made a low rumbling noise behind her throat, sitting up from the mattress with her curls matted.

“You're solid alright.” Erik paused.

“Stop drunk talking and change.”

Without warning she started pulling her dress up, causing Erik to turn away towards the door with an amused smirk.

“No peeking Stevens!”

“I’m not a pervert lil nigga.”

“Finished.”

—————

Cyprine took small sips from the glass of water, snuggling into Erik’s bed with her eyes dropping half way. Erik was dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a white beater, a large white blanket under his arm, walking towards the bedroom door.

“Hey.”

Erik turned with a searching look.

“Thanks for today big head. I thoroughly enjoyed drinking with you.”

“Back at you lil nigga, get some sleep aight?”

“Wait!”

Erik rolled his eyes, dropping the blanket, turning to her with folded arms.

“Yes?”

“Text her. Tell her she’s on your mind.”

Erik stares her down with an interesting look, grazing his lower lip with his thumb.

“When I wake up, give me a full story, nasty details included.”

She made an incoherent noise, then finally sleep overtook her.

“Goodnight Lil nigga.”

Erik picked up his blanket, turning to walk down to his den. He pulled out his phone, seeing that it was 10:45pm, deciding to take a chance and text Kimora.

Let me guess, you are still up right? I know you all too well. 

#amethyst1993 ErikStevens EmberFiction

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[rebelmeg]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Friday (Marvel), Gerald the Alpaca (Marvel), James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Happy Hogan, Nebula (Marvel), Peter Parker, Harley Keener, Dummy (Iron Man movies), You (Iron Man movies) Additional Tags: Adorable Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Married Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Valentine's Day Fluff, Iron Squad and Iron Family, Morgan Stark-centric (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Jarvis (Iron Man movies) Lives Series: Part 4 of Rebelmeg's TSB Fills 2020, Part 1 of Rebelmeg's Ladies of Marvel Bingo Fills 2019 Summary:

Morgan makes a valentine for all the people, creatures, bots, and AI's in her life.

Written for my @tonystarkbingo​ square K5 - I Love You 3000 and for my @ladiesofmarvelbingo​ square E3 - Morgan Stark

Title: Morgan's Valentines Collaborator: rebelmeg Card Number: 3055 Squares Filled: TSB, K5 - I Love You 3000 LoM, E3 - Morgan Stark Ship: Morgan and her family, background Pepperony Rating: Gen Major Tags: Valentine's Day Summary: Morgan makes a valentine for all the people, creatures, bots, and AI's in her life. Word Count: 2100

#fanfic #rebelmeg's fanfic #tonystarkbingo2020 #ladiesofmarvel19 #lomb2019 #morgan stark #iron family #pepperony #friday #jarvis #pepper potts #tony stark #valentine's day #iron squad #mcu