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#tony stark deserved to live

idk-bruh-20 · 1 year

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Irondad fic ideas #119

We've all seen the fics where the Rogues return and immediately assume that Peter is Tony's son, leading to a "prank" where Tony and Peter "act" like father and son (they soon realize they barely have to act, cue feelings)

Now, a fic that is a twist on that old favorite.

The Rogues return, and they quickly figure out that Peter is not Tony's biological son, that he started as an intern and as Spider-Man but the two have grown closer since then. The Rogues assume that Tony has never told Peter how much he cares about him. They believe Tony is too emotionally constipated, and that Peter must still think he is "just an intern"

However, in assessing the situation, the Rogues have failed to account for some pretty vital facts: 1) the amount of time that has actually passed, and 2) the fact that Tony Stark would do just about anything, even face and overcome his childhood programming, for Peter Parker

Peter and Tony have known each other for two years now. They have already had all the emotional conversations. Peter sees Tony as a father, and Tony sees Peter as a son, and the whole Ironfam knows it. No one is in the dark about what's going on.

...except the Rogues.

When Peter and Tony realize that the Rogues immediately assumed Tony is emotionally incapable, they decide to prank them by seeing just how long they will keep believing that

Around the Rogues, Peter calls Tony "Mr. Stark," and Tony pretends to be a stone cold bitch (even while "subtly" remaining a helicopter parent). Back on their own floor of the tower, Peter switches easily between "Tony" and "Dad," they have movie nights where they fall asleep on the couch together, and dinners with Pepper, May, Rhodey, and Happy.

The Rogues decide they need to help Tony and Peter realize their feelings. This goes on for a long time.

Then, one day, Peter gets hurt. Bad. Maybe he gets hurt as Spider-Man, maybe it's a kidnapping or hostage situation. One way or another, he ends up calling out for his dad.

The Rogues all hold their breath, expecting Tony to be stunned, to freak out and go hide in his lab. But Tony doesn't even blink. He comforts Peter, holds onto him, promises that he's safe

Finally, it becomes clear that the Rogues... might have misjudged the situation. Just a bit.

#irondad fic ideas #uno reverse on an old favorite #I just think it'd be so funny if the rogues correctly identified the type of relationship but utterly failed to factor in any faith in tony #very on brand and just BEGGING to be pranked about it #they'd fully deserve it #irondad and spiderson #peter and tony: the first few months were rough but it's been literally 2 years and we're family now #rogues: Tony Stark Has Never And Will Never Express An Emotion In His Life #that POOR BOy! peter lives such a tRAGIC existence!#never being told how much his mentor cares about him :(#meanwhile the ironfam are upstairs playing monopoly #may and pepper have formed an alliance. tony is trying to bribe peter with lab gadgets to swap his one remaining dollar for a one hundred #rhodey gave up and is heckling them #happy's in jail #iron dad and spider son #tony stark #peter parker #rogue avengers #ironfam

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redhoodie1723 · 1 year

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maria stark has been living in my head rent free recently

like i just KNOW she was an IT girl before H*ward

version without grain and inspo pic below cut:

#maria stark #tony stark #iron man #marvel comics #marvel #another marvel art in an undefined universe #art #reds art tag #she deserves better than Howard #new AU: she divorces Howard and then moves to Italy with Tony and everyone lives happily ever after #maria carbonell #tony carbonell #tagging Tony for reach lmao

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darsynia · 1 year

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I Know No Other Way Than This | Ch2

(Bruce Banner/OFC, Tony Stark & Bruce Banner Friendship, post-Avengers 1 Soulmate AU multichapter)

MCU Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | Prev | Next

Length: 2,016

Tags: @starryeyes2000 @arrthurpendragon @ronearoundblindly @themaradaniels

Chapter Two: No Second Guessing

The next day, Bruce was too busy to hassle Tony over something he would rather just forget about entirely. The fact that the wormhole had been situated over the tower meant that Tony had a lot of data to go through, and he’d invited Bruce to stay and help. It was a lot better prospect than scrounging for a living in far-flung countries, as he’d been doing. Bruce did have one condition, though. He made Stark promise to build a containment solution for the Hulk as part of the rebuilding process.

Though Stark Industries was headquartered in California, Tony’s tower was a home away from home for Stark, and he planned to stick around for a few weeks to oversee his charity’s work in helping New York City recover from the attack. All of the Avengers had been given apartments to use, though Bruce was pretty sure Steve Rogers had already found a place in Brooklyn, and both Clint and Natasha seemed like they were staying only temporarily.

The soulmate thing was setting off some concern meters for him, though. Of all of the places to have come across her, and at all of the times, this was the worst. Bruce could almost taste stability in the air, something he’d despaired of ever even detecting again. He ought to take her very existence here as a cue to leave. If she was dressed in scrubs, that meant she wasn’t a tourist. She likely lived somewhere nearby, probably worked at a local hospital, and had almost certainly rushed to help when things turned bizarre and dangerous outside.

The only good thing about the situation was it couldn’t be argued that the woman had any intention of meeting him while he was conscious. It didn’t even hurt, her fear, as it might have as little as five years ago. She was wise, his soulmate.

Bruce left Tony’s tainted tablet where he’d found it on the kitchen counter. Giving it back would broach a subject he intended to avoid indefinitely.

“Tony, what’s the login here?” Bruce asked. The past two days had been spent on the roof looking over what remained of the apparatus Selvig had built to create the wormhole. Rain was in the forecast that day, though, so they were down in the lab Stark had been populating with equipment in advance of finishing up on the roof.

“Texted it to you,” Tony said, walking past with a large plank of wood. He was wearing gloves, but the edge of the thing was resting on his bare lower arm. It was Splinter City, waiting to happen. Bruce wondered exactly how oblivious to possible danger a person had to be to work with Bruce Banner, lab experiment gone wrong, and still not wear proper PPE.

“I left my phone in the apartment. Can’t you just set it to the same password as the laptop we were already using? I have that one memorized already.”

Stark stopped, letting the wood slide down onto the floor. Bruce winced. “No! You shouldn’t ever use the same password twice, Big Green. That would just be irresponsible.” He rolled his eyes and hefted the wood back up, heading over to the back wall where he’d set up a stack of coffee tins and a plastic bin at equal heights. Tony set down the wood on it, whipped a level out of his back pocket, and made a self-satisfied noise.

Bruce thought he had once seen those same empty tins going for a couple of hundred each on Ebay. They were from some rare, exclusive brand that weren’t even sold at a flat price, but auctioned off, tin by tin, brand new. Did Tony even know they were anything other than extra fodder for his MacGuyverish approach to lab design?

“I’ll be back, then,” Bruce said.

“Okay, fine. But I didn’t finish your playroom yet, so you’re not allowed to smash me.”

“Tony, I rarely know what you’re talking about,” Bruce said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. So here’s the thing: I have access to probably some things that I shouldn’t, thanks to some tech connections.” He sat down beside the computer Bruce was trying to access. “One of those things is search data. I share it with SHIELD when they play nice. I’ve got not just what’s searched, but where and by whom, if that information is available. There’s a difference between someone searching for ‘Banner, gamma, weakness’ when it’s somewhere in Sokovia two weeks ago versus a person at a public library in NYC searching ‘Hulk, human, transform’ just yesterday, right? And there was.”

“What does this have to do with the password to access the computer you’re leaning on, Tony?” Bruce asked, hoping he sounded patient enough to avoid a ‘calm down’ jibe.

“Footage of your girl,” Tony said, grinning. “I think she knows who you are, now. And I know her name, thanks to the library system logging who uses their card for public computer access.”

Bruce immediately pictured the black-haired woman from the tablet video and wondered if this one showed her face. Then, sanity returned. Nothing good could come of what Stark was doing.

“That’s got to be multiple privacy violations, Tony! Honestly, can’t you leave well enough alone? She probably wants to know how to avoid me, and for good reason.”

“If you both play hard to get, neither of you will ‘get,’ you know that, right?” Tony said, hopping down from the table with a petulant frown.

“That’s exactly the point, yes,” Bruce said, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, how about this, then. You want to avoid her so much, you should know what she looks like, yes? Maybe know her name? Who knows, you might want to hire a medical team to run tests in the basement at some point, and you wouldn’t want to accidentally hire your soulmate, how embarrassing , right?”

“Funny.” It was a known secret that, thanks to their nondescript soulmate words, neither Tony nor Pepper had known they were the ones who had triggered them for each other. They’d both spent time and resources trying to track down the person who’d said their words. The realization had taken years.

“Bruce. Brucey Bear. Pistachio Studmuffin. Take it from me, okay? Resisting soulmates is resisting the inevitable. Pep and I took ‘let’s pretend this is a platonic match’ thing for a ride for a really, really long time, and all it did was bring us back to the station. You should trust the expert on this,” Tony said, dropping into the desk chair and tapping out a complicated password like it was as easy to remember as ‘password12345.’ He leaned back and smiled at Bruce. “Don’t make me have to kidnap you in a cave for three months to get you to see the light.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that would go well for you or the cave,” Bruce said. “I can assume you’ve booby trapped this with another video, then?”

“Facial shot, yes. Boobs? Sorry, the monitor was in the way.”

Bruce ignored the childish comment, even if it was a bit witty. “If I watch this will you stop?”

“Oh, goodness no.”

Just like before, the video started right away. In an overhead view, a black-haired woman walked into the entryway for what Bruce assumed was a library. Her shoulder-length hair was held back from her forehead with a cloth headband, and she was wearing a purple shirt similar in color to one of Bruce’s favorites. He shot a sidelong look at Tony, wondering if he knew about the shirt. He’d probably never hear the end of it, if his friend figured that out.

Then, something occurred to him.

“I thought you said you had search data?” Bruce asked. He was starting to question how cavalierly his friend was taking this project of his.

“I cross-referenced that with the surveillance. Come on, it’s not like it was hard.”

The view changed to the side, watching her walk through a large room to a bank of computers at the back. Again the view changed to a quite close perspective, slanted across her face as she sat down at the nearest computer.

“Lucked out, there. That camera is static,” Tony said.

Bruce should have had the strength to look away, but he didn’t. His soulmate had a heart-shaped face with a small nose that turned up a little at the tip. Her eyes were blue, so clear and rich in hue that even the surveillance camera caught the color. She was pretty. Maybe even more than pretty.

The sight of her struck him like a blow. Even in the year 2012, soulmates were considered the most important factor in relationships. Maybe people who didn’t believe in them weren’t considered mentally ill anymore by the more conservative, family-oriented groups in the world, but there were rude names for women with black soulmate words who were out looking for a long-term, non-bonded relationship. That’s the life the woman he was looking at had in store for herself. Just by virtue of being magically, painfully linked to him.

“Turn it off,” Bruce said darkly. “I have work to do on this thing.”

“But you’ll miss-- here, look,” Tony said.

In a window at the right hand corner of the full-screen video, a view of the computer his soulmate was using popped up.

“How--” Bruce started.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all,” Tony scoffed.

She scanned her library card and a box popped up. Inside was a name. Cicely Besnard.

Knowing her name made the situation more real for Bruce, in a way that having silver-tinted words didn’t. Until now, the black-haired healthcare worker was only an archetype, a helpful person whose exact shape and name were undefined. She was a real person now, no longer an abstraction he could pretend wasn’t relevant.

As Bruce watched, she tapped ‘confirm’ on her name and address (he deliberately didn’t look, but assumed Tony already had it written down somewhere) and brought up a browser window. Instead of typing immediately, though, she stopped, looking up as if trying to remember something.

Multiple emotions crossed her face. Her eyes widened, lips pressing together before they curled up in the sort of smile that implied the person had a secret. Bruce supposed she did. After a few seconds, she mouthed something he couldn’t decipher from lip reading and started typing.

The computer view showed the words. ‘Hulk, human form, transform.’ The results appeared, showing a few YouTube videos of people in green makeup using their graphics skills to pretend they were transforming from the Hulk into themselves. The top non-video result, though, was his Wikipedia entry, with his name.

This time Bruce understood what Cicely Besnard said, even without hearing her words, because it was his name.

“See? Interest, not fear,” Tony said.

“I’m not afraid either, Tony, but I have no intention of doing anything about this,” Bruce said, gesturing at the screen. “In fact, I suspect this woman looked these things up at a public library because she doesn’t want the results on her home computer or her phone. This is proof that she’s the kind of smart, concerned person I thought she was. She’s keeping this soulmate thing away from her home and work life, just like I’m going to.”

Bruce let himself look one more time at the blue-eyed, black-haired woman that fate had designated as his soulmate. “I’m sorry, Cicely,” he said, and closed the program using Force Quit.

“What home life?” Tony muttered. “You know, standing on some kind of self-hating principle like this doesn’t do anyone any good.” Tony told him.

He did actually know that, but Tony hopefully would never know what it was like to love someone as much as he’d loved Betty, only to discover that it was his actions that had put her in the hospital. The most generous, caring thing he could do for his soulmate would be to stay far, far away from her.

Next chapter, some of the nosy stuff Tony's been doing reveals that Bruce's soulmate Cicely may need their help.

#bruce banner x oc #tony stark & bruce banner #soulmate au #bruce banner fanfiction #tony and bruce friendship #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bruce banner thinks he doesn't deserve to be happy #bruce banner is wrong #tony stark meddles in his friends' lives

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peterparkerslefttesticle · 2 years

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Fuck or Die

a peter parker sex pollen fic

pairing: peter parker x reader

summary: peter comes into contact with sex pollen and his best friend wants to take away the pain

NO MINORS!!!!

not edited

“stay the fuck away from me. please,”

it had been a week since you’d seen your best friend, peter. he’d been away on a mission, along with a few other avengers.

being the baby of the team, you definitely weren’t told everything. or anything really, if it didn’t directly affect you.

“just tell me what is going on!” you screamed at the quarantined boy, voice muffled through the thick glass.

peter was crying at this point, an all consuming burn firing through his veins, predominately the veins down low.

“sweetheart come with me. your not helping by screaming at him,” tony tried peeling you from the hall, but you stood your ground

“why does no one tell me what’s happening? when are you guys going to stop treating me like a baby, i’m 18 for fucks sake!” now peter wasn’t the only one crying.

out of the corner of your cloudy vision you could see his form cowering in the corner, convulsing almost.

“please! he’s my best friend. i deserve to know what’s going on!”

“it’s not about us keeping information from you. it’s just that this is… sensitive.” stark’s brow wrinkled, stress emanating from his form.

this time when he pulled you away, tou didn’t fight.

sensitive?

what could possibly be sensitive enough that you can’t know why your best friend looks like he’s about to die???

once in the lab, you and the iron man sit down.

“look kid, something happened on our mission,”

“yeah no shit,” if looks could kill, stark would’ve murdered you months ago. but probably gotten wanda to resurrect you so his steely gaze could kill you again now.

“i’m serious. parker was doing recon in one of fisk’s bases while we fought his men outside. he found a thing… some sort of explosive gas. when he picked one up for closer inspection it erupted.” tony looked apprehensive, almost waiting for an eruption of his own.

“ok. i’m just gonna say it. sex pollen. it was sex pollen. there’s no way around it. peter exploded a sex pollen bomb.”

the way your jaw unhinged looked inhumane. “WHAT?” you gaped. “like, that weird shit from fanfiction? like the weird shit that makes someone fuck or die? are we in the fucking omega verse right now???”

“i’m going to pretend i know what the omega verse is,” the man clears his throat, “but uh, kind of? he won’t die, but unless he… y’know.. he’ll just kind of be in an unimaginable state of pain for the next,” he checks his watch, “22 hours.”

it took a minute to process the aforementioned information. peter had been affected by sex pollen? you guessed that explained his need to be away from you. but imagining your poor peter in pain for almost another day?

“so why aren’t you doing anything? wait that came out wrong.”

this was probably the most awkard conversation you’d had with tony, even after he caught you “making out” with brad in senior year.

“i meant to say, what’s being done to help him? surely there’s something. i know it’ll pass but fuck, i can’t live with myself knowing pete’s in that room hurting.” you felt a pit of guilt lounging in your gut.

wait it was guilt right? why does your guilt feel like it’s… lower… than it should be.

were you seriously fucking TURNED ON from thinking about your best friend being so horny that it hurts? well, if you worded it like that, yeah.

“we offered him… services. not from us obviously. like, paid services. or anything he wants. but he refused. something about ‘respecting women’ yada yada yada.” stark jests, but you can see the fatherly worry seeping out.

with out another thought, you leave tony in the lab and spring back to parker’s quarantine unit.

“pete you need to accept help! look at yourself” he was worse for wear, even since you saw him 10 minutes ago

his suit was half off his body, which was dripping with sweat. and as much as you tried to ignore it, a large bulge had appeared through the fabric.

he could barely meet your eyes, his own bloodshot, hair matted to his forehead.

“you know i can’t. i can’t control my strength like this. i could hurt someone.” the spider cried out

“not me,” your eyes finally lock. “you can’t hurt me. you know that. we’ve trained together. i’m stronger than you.”

your powers may have made your life a living nightmare, but the strength was definitely a plus. you had sparred countless times, and not once had he hurt you. or beat you for that matter.

“i- i can’t” his voice broke as his body convulsed once more, ungloved hands going to cover his dick.

“if you want to, you can. I’m here pete. I don’t want to see you like this. And i don’t want you to worry about all your moral shit. your not taking advantage of me. your not going to hurt me. i want this. i want to help you, if that’s what you want.”

silence. a few beats go by, before a small “please” meets your ears.

in a blink of an eye you slide your hand over the sensor, unlocking the door to his cell.

your heart broke to a million pieces seeing the broken boy. if you didn’t know better you would have assumed he was succumbing to a deathly injury.

“curtains. there’s curtains.” he gestures to blue hospital curtains that have the potential to cover the glass wall between them and the hall way.

as you pull the curtain, the last thing you see is a worried/disgusted/embarrassed tony. poor guy. knowing his ‘son’ and new recruit were about to get it on.

“FRIDAY, lock down and sound proof the floor once i get in the elevator.” tony yelled, mumbling something about ‘for the good of mankind’.

you drop to your knees next to peters warm frame. the restraint he used to not fuck you right there looked painful.

“If you want this, I want this. I would do anything for you spidey. even if it means fucking my best friend into oblivion,” you say to him, a strained chuckle leaving his chest.

“i won’t be able to stop. i would rather go through this a hundred times then hurt you or screw up our friendship.”

“you won’t. i can handle it. please fuck me pete.”

he turns to a rabid animal with the speed he meshes your lips. the carnal devouring of your face dials up your arousal, and he can smell it.

“wow. you’re fucking sick. getting turned on by your best friend in pain,” he mumbled into your neck, trailing teeth and tongue down your décolletage.

you couldn’t even form a response, to focused on the way his bear chest felt under your fingers, and the way his boner grinded into your crotch.

practised hands pop open the buttons of your shirt, and i clasp the bra you donned. thank god you wore a nice one today.

“mmm pretty bra. planning on fucking brad later?” the boy teased.

“only you. always you.” you grinded harder onto his cock, frustrated at the layers separating you.

“fuck i’ve always dreamt of fucking you. fucking you so good. so so good” a piercing cry leaves your lips as he bites your nipple, kissing it better after.

his tongue was magic, working its way all over your chest. he groped and grasped your breast, alternating one in his mouth, one in his mouth.

even with all his talk, you could see his facade fading.

“peter just fuck me. i know you need it.”

“but what about yo-“

“pete i’m soaked. i’m fine. i just want to make you feel better.” with this, he lets you take charge. he (attempts) to rip his suit off while you pull down your sweats, and eventually a lacy pair of panties.

a guttural groan leaves his lips when he sees the glistening mound before him, he goes to put his mouth forward, but you stop him, kneeling over his lap despite his whine.

“i told you. this is about you. making you feel better.” you laughed at his pathetic attempt at removing the sweat soaked suit.

you pull it down just enough to reveal his angry member. it was thicker than you were used to, longer as well, and a small wave of fear rolled through your stomach.

his dick was red, twitching and leaking. you could practically feel his pain just by looking at it.

he hissed when you slid him up your slit, soaking it with your juices.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered as he slammed your hips down onto him. the scream you let out would definitely surpass stark’s soundproofing.

tears stream down his face at the relief of your silk pussy embarrassing his dick. but he didn’t have long to revel in the comfort. he continued to slam into you with a brutal pace. the erotic wet sounds were enough to put porn to shame.

both of your faces contorted with the pleasure.

“fuck spider you’re fucking me so good. i wanna make you come. want your cum to fill my pussy so good.” his pace was so bruising that his groin pounded into your clit with every thrust.

you couldn’t warn him of the imminent coil about to burst as you gushed around his erection. no noise came out of your mouth except for the unholy moans and expletives.

something you never expected about pete, was his vocalness in bed. god, you would be imagining his noises for weeks to come, hand between your legs.

he was louder than you, which you didn’t think possible, though none of it was legible. his broken words were drowned out by his heavenly moans. with every thrust there came a new ‘ugh’, ‘ngugh’, and ‘fuhhh’.

and god did it get you going.

just listening to his groans had you verging on another orgasm. and he wasn’t too far behind.

peter kept repeating the words “soon” and “close”.

“god pete your so hot. so good to me. fucking me so good. please come baby. i want your cum to fill me up so good. need it baby. need your cum.” you slammed your hips down to meet his every movement, chasing the fast approaching high.

“i’m coming. coming. gonna come,” and with the most dirty, unholy, erotic noise ever made before, peter came.

you could feel the warm seed filling your cunt as you reached your peak, fucking his cum deeper into your cavity.

peter collapsed almost immediately, chest heaving as he sprawled onto the cold foor. you followed in suit, falling flat onto his chest, dick still sheathed inside.

it was deadly silent for at least 5 minutes, and you were sure he had fallen asleep until you head him say “i didn’t hurt you did i?” he lifted your body up, allowing his softened member to leave your body.

“i told you i could handle it, and i did.” you looked up to meet his tired eyes “you didn’t hurt me pete. and even if you had it would have been worth it. how are you feeling now?”

you brushed some hair out of his face, his soft breath brushing against yours. “god i feel so much better. i’m forever indebted to you. that hurt like a bitch.” he chuckled and closed his eyes. “seriously though, thank you. i don’t know what i did to deserve a friend like you.” he wrapped his strong arms around your waist, both of you choosing to ignore the bear skin and leaking fluids pouring you of your pussy.

he whined when you got up, and for a second you thought he would pull you back down. you entered the joined bathroom to get towels.

with gentle hands you soaked up the sticky substances residing over parker’s stomach “i think you’re gonna need this dry cleaned.” you mention, staring at the very stained suit.

he jerked when you gently wiped his cock, but relaxed into your touch nonetheless.

“i think we permanently traumatised mr stark,” peter chortled as he pulled your now clean body into the folding cot that lay in the room.

you giggled with him “yeah, i’m pretty sure even with the soundproofing the entire tower could hear you.” you smirked

the boy turned beet red, and nestled his face into yours, “hey! it wasn’t just me!”

the two of you spent the rest of the night on the small bed, neither with the strength to leave the room.

peter fell asleep first, but you stayed up a little to ponder the future of your friendship after today. however confused you may be, one thing was definitely sure.

there was no way you weren’t fucking peter parker again

#spiderman #peter parker #spiderman smut #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #fanfiction #smut #marvel #marvel smut #the avengers #avengers smut #andrew garfield smut #tom holland smut #tom holland

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hurtspideyparker · 25 days

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Thinking about restless spirit Tony Stark who just can't move on to the after life.

The first thing he does once he realizes he's an apparition is check on Pepper and Morgan. True to their word, they're okay. He watches them for a bit but feels this deep unrest pulling him away from the quaint home he yearns for.

There's a deep wrongness within him, some unfinished business that draws him back to New York.

He fears for a moment that it's Peter- but no, it can't be him. He'll be in Massachusetts right now, attending MIT as a freshman. There isn't a doubt in Tony's mind that his little genius is already making his mark.

Still, he follows the pull of his spirit to some dingy Queens' apartment he's never been to before.

It's deep in the night yet the apartment is empty. He looks around a bit, his body phasing through anything he attempts to touch.

It's small and dirty. There's old coffee cups on the desk, alongside a couple GED manuals. Great, the universe thinks he has unfinished business with some broke high school dropout.

He's pondering how he must have screwed up this kid's life; was it the Avengers, Stark Industries? Maybe his old playboy lifestyle is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

His contemplation is cut short by the sound of the window cracking open.

It strikes Tony for a moment that maybe he's stuck on Earth to be a guardian angel, Iron Man living on as some invisible protector against whatever creep is sneaking into people's windows. It doesn't make much sense considering the whole non-corporeal thing, but he still stiffens like he's ready for a fight.

He sees a man- no, a thing? A creature maybe, or an alien. Even in death Tony can't escape being one of Earth's mightiest heroes.

The creature is shrouded in darkness, something slick and bald crawling inside the room with terrifying grace and silence. It shuts the window with a soft kssssh as the seal is formed.

And then it pulls off its mask.

There, with the click of a table lamp, glows the face of Peter Parker.

He's definitely older now; sturdier shoulders, a rugged set of his jaw, hair tamed to something semi-professional. Still present, though, are those gentle brown eyes.

Nothing makes sense right now. Why is his kid here, in this apartment? Surely May wouldn't allow this. How many tenant laws does this place break? Where are his little sidekick friends? And on what planet would Peter Parker ever need a GED?

Tony's getting angry now, watching Peter move around the tiny space. He changes out of his costume and into pajamas. That spider suit isn't Tony's suit, it looks like cheap craft store fabric.

The kid opens a small freezer and pulls out the singular bag of peas that reside in there, pressing it against his ribs while he goes to pop some bread into a toaster.

Tony takes note of every glimpse he gains into Peter's life. Empty cabinets when he reaches for a jar of peanut butter. A fridge housing nothing but condiments and energy drinks when he goes to grab jam. A drawer with two spoons, no forks, and a paring knife which he pulls out and sticks into the strawberry jam jar just as the toast pops.

This is all so wrong.

Tony's outrage is coming to a rolling boil. Peter deserves the world- he was gonna give him the world. He couldn't wait to send Peter to MIT and show him off as his protégé. Tony was gonna fund his projects, tease him about pretty girls, maybe even see him step back from Spider-Man and act like a normal college kid. He wanted to see him flourish and grow up. It was all he could think about when Peter turned to dust between his fingers; he should be goofing off with his friends at a mathletes meeting, or building Legos, not fighting an intergalactic war.

Tony couldn't even conceive how much went wrong to end up here.

Alone. Broke. No school. He didn't even have his Stark suit to protect him. Everything that made him him has been stripped, leaving him in this shallow box with scuffed paint and hollow cabinets.

Tony can feel the violent rage burn deep in his spirit as he thinks about it.

This is why he's here. He can't let his boy live like this, wasting his potential to be some villain's punching bag. Where is everyone? Does no one care enough to stop this? The fury that builds in Tony is dangerous, wondering why a dead man is the only one who cares about the teen's life right now.

Without thinking Tony's hand reaches for the GED textbook, a mocking piece of work that laughs in his face, and throws it at the stupid little kitchenette that's mere feet from the bed.

It sails across the room with surprising speed before it's met with a thunk against Peter's palm, hand reaching out to catch it from the air before it collided with the toaster.

Oh.

Peter sets the book down and immediately picks up his web shooters, eyes darting furiously to every corner of the tiny apartment.

"Who's there?"

Tony steps a little closer but Peter's eyes just look right past him.

"C'mon Pete, c'mon. I'm here, I'm right here."

Tony looks for something else to grab. He swats at a hopefully empty coffee cup on the wooden desk, but his hand just passes right through it.

"Shit," the hope Tony felt waivers slightly and he tries again.

Nothing.

Peter is searching his apartment now, making sure the window is secure and feeling around every crevice, bookshelves, under the bed, in the top corners of the room. Searching for something nefarious, tech maybe.

Tony hits the cup, again and again, frustration building up and up and up till-

The cup flies across the room, Tony and Peter's eyes track its movements as it bounces against the ground and rolls to a stop.

"Shit," Peter breathes out.

Tony walks up to Peter now, standing before him.

"Figure it out. Think kid, you've met aliens, gods, magicians, surely ghosts aren't too far fetched."

Peter closes his eyes. His posture straightens, Tony watches him take a deep breath in as the hairs on his bare arms stand on end.

Peter's eyes blink open, and they're looking directly at Tony.

Tony smirks, "that's it."

Peter turns around and picks the cup off the ground, running to his desk with it and ripping a piece of lined paper out of a notebook and scribbling furiously on it.

Tony walks over as Peter places the cup in the center of the paper.

On the left is the word YES in bold print, NO on the right.

"Okay, okay okay. So, move the cup if, if you wanna talk. Um, is there someone in the room right now?"

Tony reaches for the cup, an intense glare as his fingertips graze it gently. It shifts minutely towards the YES.

"Shit! Shit. Sorry, whew. Okay. Are you friendly?"

Tony moves it to YES again.

"Are you a, um. Person? Like not an alien?"

YES.

"Are you wearing tech, invisibility suit or your molecules are uncalibrated or maybe it's a portal thing like, multiverse shit is happening again, a mirror universe! Oh, maybe a..."

Tony let's a frustrated sign. The kid is too practical, logical. He needs to think like a non-genius.

"... could be. Or, or maybe you're just a ghost-"

Tony perks up and immediately swats the cup, causing it to fly off the desk towards the YES.

"Oh. Oh that's... kinda normal. Or maybe really weird? I mean... I certainly have some ghosts in my past."

Peter picks the cup up and puts it back on the desk.

"Do I know you?"

YES.

"You said you were friendly, and I'm not getting any danger tingles from you. I'm gonna start with people I know are dead, cuz I just really hope you're not a... new ghost. Um. M-May?"

The boy's voice cracks on the word and Tony freezes. May is dead? Tony starts to fear that things are a lot more wrong than he previously thought.

Peter's breath catches and Tony realizes he's waiting, dying for an answer, and quickly pokes the cup towards NO.

Peter's shoulders sag.

"Uncle Ben?"

NO.

"T- Mr. Stark?"

Tony grins, "now we're getting somewhere!"

YES.

Tony is going to have his work cut out for him, but being here with Peter just feels right.

Peter breaks out into a matching smile.

"Wow, okay. I think I'm gonna need more paper," he says as the boy gets to work making a more complex system than YES and NO.

Tony watches on proudly, reminiscing about all the great Peter was and all the great he still is, despite his situation. Whatever this is, they'll figure it out.

Together.

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad and spiderson #spider man #iron man #marvel mcu #post no way home #peter parker angst

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friendlyneighborhoods-spiderman · 1 year

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The forgotten child

Pairing's : fem! reader x peter parker, tony stark daughter! x tony stark, tony stark daughter! x peter parker

Warnings: really sad angst, jealousy, daddy issues, neglect, lmk if i missed anything! :)

Summary: dad of the year award? surely isn't going too him

a/n : I know the gif doesn't really match the theme of this story I just really liked it. I did not reread this so please ignore any grammar mistakes. Also, I'm not sure if i wrote a panic attack correctly but I wrote based on what their like for me. hope you all enjoy!

you really tried not to become the forgotten child, always tried you're very hardest to live up to your father expectations, trying to make him proud in hope's he'd show some form of attention.

always studying to get straight a's even through countless anxiety attacks from fear of failing and disappointing your father.

all you ever wanted was reassurance, and if you ever got lucky enough a "You did a good job" after getting a high score on a test.

but it never came, it would forever be something you longed to hear. he would usually just mumble a small, quiet "congrats" as his mind stayed focused on his work and his eyes stuck to the blueprint laid out on the table Infront of him.

you always tried you're best not to feel jealous whenever your father held morgan, you had no ressentiment towards morgan whatsoever, in fact she was the one that kept you smiling most days. although you couldn't help but feel your heart tighten from jealousy as you watched them have daddy daughter time

you really did try you're best to be happy for your younger sister, but you couldn't ignore that aching feeling. all you wanted was the attention she had that your heart ached so desperately for, but it never came despite your countless attempts.

you we're astound to hear a new avenger had been recruited, you always enjoyed meeting new people. mainly because they gave you attention they didn't even know you craved.

you always seeked to see the best in people, no matter what the circumstances we're. including peter parker, there was nothing wrong with him, he wasn't a bad person in fact quite a good one, and if you weren't so envious of him you possibly could have been friends with the boy. but you watched how peter and your father clicked so easily becoming like father and son.

it made the knots in your stomach tighten as you watched them spend time together, it made you feel as if something was wrong with you, like maybe if you tried harder or changed, he'd give you the attention you deserved.

your mother, pepper always said he loved you just as much as he loved morgan or even peter, but you knew the truth as much as you ignored it you knew. but oh, how you wish he did.

"Mom, I'm home" you called out knowing if father was home, he wouldn't answer you. after not receiving an answer, you decided to look through the house in search of your mother, after a couple of minutes searching you still hadn't found her and decided she probably went out and took morgan with her. you heard talking but it sounded like your father, and peter?? "what's peter doing here?" you wondered. you decided to peak you're head through the door and saw peter and tony standing with their backs faced away from you, working on some upgrades for peter's suit.

"you're a pretty great kid peter" tony told him as he smiled at him patting his shoulder. a wave of jealously hit your chest as you watched them, your throat tightening. "Thank you, Mr. stark," peter smiled cheekily as your fingers clenched into a fist at your side.

"Becoming like my son."

once those words left Tony's lips, your mouth went dry, your head aching as you backed away from the door as quietly as possible, you're breathing picking up rapidly. you quickly made your way to your room, tears forming in your eyes, you walked into your room and shut the door softly as your hands started shaking as you paced around your room quickly, trying to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. you never liked crying, it made you feel weak.

you're breathing came out in heavy gasp as you struggled to breathe. you leaned against the wall coughing as you squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to stop the words from replaying in your mind.

"Becoming like my son" continuously echoed through your head as soft sobs left your lips, you didn't want to feel this way, envious of what your father and peter had. it's not peter's fault about what your father feels about you so why hold him accountable. he'll never love you, at least not like he loves peter. you can't figure out why? you always tried you're best to impress him, but nothing seemed to be enough for him, it's like he didn't even care about your existence.

you stumbled over to your bed, taking deep breathes as your body grew exhausted from crying. you plopped down on your bed tiredly as you snuggled up against your blanket that was where your pillows we're supposed to be, you grabbed a pillow and hugged it too sleep.

you didn't want to put the blame on peter because it wasn't his fault, but a little piece of your heart blamed peter parker.

a/n: CLIFFHANGER!?!? I decided to leave it for now because I haven't come up with an ending that I thought fit the way I wanted so if you guys have ideas, please let me know. reblog's are highly appreciated, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

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astroboots · 10 months

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EVERY YOU EVERY ME: Issue #2

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Your streak of bad luck continues as you find that the universe is not done putting you in harm's way. Luckily, you have grouchy Spider-man to save you.

Word count: 3,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, near death experiences, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara being a rude bastard and a total softie.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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According to an article that ran in the New York Times: one out of every 40 New Yorkers will have a run in with a Superhero in the time they live here.

That might not sound like much, but considering that nearly 8.5 million people live in this city, it adds up to a lot of people. In fact, most in your friends circle have their own anecdotal story to tell.

I ran into Tony Stark at the Brandy Library and he asked me for my phone number. Bit of a sleaze but he bought our whole table a round of drinks.

Captain America landed on my Fiat on Manhattan Bridge. He dented the roof, but he was very polite about it.

Daredevil was hanging out at the fire escape ladder above the Meatball shop. Gave me tips on what to order.

It's nothing short of a miracle that having lived in this city for as many years as you have that this is the first time you've had a Supes encounter.

It'll be a great story to tell at parties. You fell out of the Chrysler building and were rescued mid-air. It blows all the other stories out of the water. Though, you'll probably leave out the part where he wished he'd left you to die.

You stare blindly at your computer screen. There are endless rows of cells on your excel sheet no matter how far you scroll. Uninterrupted numbers and reference codes for insurance claims that are waiting for your attention. But the numbers and letters all blend into an indecipherable sludge soup. All you can focus on is: 'I should've let you fall.'

Heat prickles your cheek, as you replay his words in your head.

What the hell.

That was entirely unnecessary.

You didn't deserve that.

Over the course of the last 24 hours, you've played the scene on an endless loop in your head, until the memory is worn and scratched like a used up VHS tape.

Did you do something wrong? You must've. Who has ever heard of a Superhero treating a civilian in this manner? You’re just a hapless innocent bystander who fell out of a building due to a supervillain battle they started. To blame it on you and then call it a mistake. Isn't that something a supervillain would do?

Gritting your teeth, you feel yourself seething of the memory of the windows next to you breaking and shattering out of nowhere as a bird-person villain with mechanical wings tumbled past you. Next thing you knew you were tumbling out the window.

And then he saved you.

Did he mean to save someone else? Is that why he was so annoyed? But, you didn't see any other people falling from the building on your way down.

You replay the memory. Again.

The looming silhouette of his towering frame over yours as he sneered down at you.

He looked at you like he knew you. Like you had offended him with your mere existence. But you don't understand how. You've never met him before. Never met anyone who looked even remotely like him. You would've remembered a man with red eyes, they're not exactly common. Plus, you don't think you've ever met someone quite so tall. Your neck hurt with the angle you had to crane just to look at his face.

What could you possibly have done in your lifetime to piss off a Superhero you've never met before?

For that matter what Superhero is he anyway? You think back at the dark navy suit clinging onto every inch of skin, embellished by that bright angry red in the emblem of a spider.

Spider-man...

Except Spider-man is known to be a swell guy with a great sense of humor. Not a rude asshole.

Aren't his colors inverted too? You pull up the browser on your screen and google "spiderman outfit". There's over 800 million hits. In all of them Spiderman's suit is primarily red with blue embellishment.

Whoever the guy is, you don't think he's your friendly neighborhood Spiderman that every New Yorker knows and loves.

With a hapless sigh, you click aimlessly on your screen, trying to look busy at work for the next twenty minutes until you can go on your lunch break. You go through the motions of your soul sucking tasks. Tagging each insurance claim into one of the following categories: approved/rejected/further missing information required.

Peering over your cubicle wall to the wall of windows, you spy the section that has been zoned off since yesterday. The broken window you were knocked out of has already been replaced, but there's still shattered glass and debris nearby.

Your stomach drops, the phantom sensation of the ground beneath you giving way. For a brief second you swear you can feel the weightlessness of soaring through the skies without anything catching your fall.

You stand up from your desk, solid ground meeting the soles of your feet to remind you where you are.

The office.

There's a monotone drone of workers all around you grumbling and sighing just as unhappily. The quiet tip-tapping of keyboards of the working masses.

Is this the life you managed to escape death for?

Is this it?

It's kind of sad isn't it? You nearly died and lived to tell the tale, only to return to a life so unremarkable your brain didn't deign it necessary to provide you with any highlights (cause there are none).

The most exciting thing that has happened to you the whole of this year was being insulted by a grumpy superhero. The most you've wanted to live was during that span of ten seconds when you were falling out of a building to your death.

You glance at your clock, still 15 minutes before noon. You log out of your desktop anyway.

You barely make it across the street from your office. The light is green as you cross Lexington Avenue when the screeching noise of tires tears down the street and rips through your eardrums.

A yellow taxi hurtles towards you at full speed. Through the car window separating you, the cab driver is staring up at you with wide-eyed horror. In that fraction of a second before the hard metal is going to collide and shatter every bone in your body, you only have one thought: Oh god, this is going to hurt.

Life doesn't flash before your eyes. All you see is the familiar blur of shiny blue and red.

Go figure that's the only moment extraordinary enough for your brain to think it's worth replaying before you die.

There's a blunt and forceful shove to the side of your ribs. Softer than you would've imagined a two tonne vehicle slamming into you would be. It doesn't hurt. It reminds you of that time you played football with your cousin and he body slammed you to the lawn. You've heard about this phenomena, the brain will try to protect itself by going unconscious if the pain is too extreme.

But there's no bright light, when you open your eyes all you see is the familiar shiny blue fabric.

A firm weight wraps around your shoulders, and you recognize this, the feeling of being held as you're pulled into their solid chest. There's not enough time for you to look up, you're slammed onto the ground, the solid warmth wrapped around you, absorbing the fall.

The pressure wrapped around you shifts then lifts away entirely. When you open your eyes for a second time, there’s no one there holding you.

There's no one else there with you. Just the standstill traffic of cars and pedestrians gawking at you.

A concerned woman runs over to you, bending down to help you up on your feet. "Are you okay? That car came out of nowhere."

Your legs feel unsteady, wobbling as you put weight on it to stand up.

“I’m fine, I think,” you respond, and look down on yourself. There are no scrapes, just a bit of dust on your work-attire from traffic.

"You're so lucky, Spiderman was there to save you."

You blink up at the woman in dazed confusion and it takes your brain a few seconds to process what she's telling you.

Spider-man...

In your mind's eye the flashes of blue and a vivid red invades your vision. It wasn't just your life flashing you by. Not just a figment of your imagination.

He was here. He saved you. (Probably not) Spider-man saved you (again).

A wave of gratitude washes over you. You take back every unflattering thought you had about the man not five minutes ago. Rude? Would a rude man save you, not once but twice in one day? No, of course not, you probably just misunderstood him, or misheard. After all, if he truly regretted saving you, he wouldn't have done it a second time... right?

When you get back at your desk, there's a post-it tacked to your computer screen, with an angry scrawl of a handwriting.

'Look BOTH ways before crossing!!!!!'

You stare at the note, and the way the word "both" is capitalized and aggressively underlined.

Rude.

The universe is out to kill you. You're sure of it.

They say that death comes in threes after all. So no one can blame you for being a little bit on the edge after you've gone two for two within the time span of 24 hours.

You stay away from windows in tall buildings. You look both ways, twice, before crossing the street. You try to go straight home from work the minute you clock out from work, turning down any and all initiations with friends to go out after out of precaution. It's just not worth the risk.

And for a while it seems to work. For a while, there are no more incidents. A week goes by and your nerves start to settle and you are lulled into a temporary sense of security before it all goes to shits.

A ceramic flower pot on a windowsill tumbling off the sixth floor of a brown house by Chelsea that would have dropped on your head and split your skull if someone hadn't bumped into you from behind that you weren’t able to catch sight of.

A piece of scaffolding that comes loose and falls from a construction site in West Village as you happened to walk past, and would have been crushed under if you weren’t tackled away at the last second by someone who fled the scene before you could thank them.

A hot dog cart runs amok, hurtling downhill towards you between 184th and 190th street in Manhattan when the cart suddenly out of nowhere, against the very laws of physics like it’s being pulled by an invisible force and changes direction mere inches in front of you, hurtling through the air and crashing into the windows of a bodega instead.

Each and every incident leaves you with an ever growing sense of paranoia that this cannot be explained away by being merely pure bad luck. There are cosmic forces at force that clearly want you dead.

On Thursday, there are leftover cupcakes from a client conference. Mary, the secretary in your team, boxes up four of them for you and tells you to take them with you, because, "you've had a rough week, toots."

It’s not a flattering assessment of you, but when you see your own reflection in the mirrors of the office toilets, you can’t help but think it’s an accurate one. You look rough. Eyes bloodshot with deep furrowed lines underneath. Your face is gaunter than you remember seeing it too.

You take the cupcakes.

It's the first good thing that has happened to you all week, and as small of a comfort it is, you take it as a win.

You eye the box from your desk the rest of the day, squirreled away in your tiny cubicle. You are determined not to eat one while at work. Because you'll be damned if Matt from accounting catches a whiff of your cupcakes and asks you to share one with him. You want to properly savor them in the comfort of your home at the end of the day.

But as often is the case when you have something to look forward to, the seconds, minutes and hours tick away with a reluctant drag as if time itself knew you wanted the day to end faster and decided it'd be fun to flip yet another cosmic middle finger in your direction.

When it's finally time to end work, you get off your chair so forcefully it knocks it to the floor. You are practically jogging through the lanes of cubicles to get to the elevator, and nearly smack the security guard on the other side with how hard you swing open the front door.

It's pouring outside, which, of course it is. You take off your jacket and cover your cupcake box with it, because you're not going to let the universe ruin the one good thing you've got going for you this week, as you run towards the station.

The moment you step into the damp and sticky station any remaining sense of joy in you evaporates. There's a hoard of tourists swarming the subway paying no attention to their surroundings. Tourists wearing their caps and backpacks and wheelies knocking over a 'Caution Wet Floor ' sign as they gather in a throng in front of the subway map, blocking the way as you hear the train approach.

It's not that big of a deal. A train comes every two to five minutes, and if you miss this one, you'll just get on the next one. It's not the end of the world. Logically, you know that. Emotionally and spiritually however, the world around you has just taken a little bit too much from you for you to concede to this minor little loss.

You are going to make this goddamned train.

Taking a determined step forward, you shoulder and push your way through the throng of people to fight your way to the front of the track.

You push a little too hard. Your feet skid across the slippery tiles, leg buckling from your own weight and you lose control, tumbling forward.

In your peripheral view there's a blinding light approaching. There's wind beating the sides of your face, and you can hear the screeching metal of the train right next to you. Your foot drops into empty space and you are falling into the tracks.

Oh god why...

Why?

You just want to live.

The cupcake box flies out of your grip, splattered somewhere across the front pane of the train. There's a hard tug on your shirt as an invisible force you cannot see yanks you back, hard.

Your head whips back and for a fraction of a second, there are crimson eyes staring back down at you, you blink and then it's gone.

You land on your ass with a bruising force to your tailbone with a bone-breaking thud. The subway whizzes by with a demonic roar past you, inches from where you're sprawled on your ass on the dirty tiles of the subway station.

In front of your feet, there's a long streak of white frosting trailing down from your feet to the tracks of what looks like a crime scene.

Maybe it's the stress. Maybe you've just had a bad night of sleep (after many successive bad nights with little to no sleep). But something in you breaks at the sight of the frosting smeared across the dirty subway tiles.

Your eyes sting with exhaustion. Chest drawing in tight with a crumbling ache that makes you want to curl up on the cold tiles. You're just so tired.

There are people around you staring at you. No one in their right mind who lives in New York would sit on the floor of the subway.

But your legs are heavy and numb. You can’t move from the spot. Everything tastes like bile. You try to swallow and force it back down but it's no use, your throat has swollen shut. Your cheeks run wet and you press your palms to your eyes to make it stop but that only seems to make it worse. Snot runs down your nose and drips down your wrist. You're crying and you don't know how to stop.

Is this the rest of your life?

In the morning, you wake in your bed with a sore ache that gnaws at your bones. Swollen eyes and a soreness that scratches the lining of your throat.

Your back hurts, and as you try to turn to your side to get out of bed a sharp pain surges up along your entire spine.

Fuck.

It's too bright. The sunlight is offensive. It stings your eyes and makes you sick to your stomach. You only have vague memories of how you made it back home. Feet shuffling through the subway in a daze like the walking dead.

God is that what you are? A dead man woman walking?

You crane your head and catch a glimpse of your clock on the bedside table. 9.13 You're late for work. But that's mind as well, you don't have it in you to make it in.

What's the point anyhow? You hate that place.

Besides, if the subway on the way over doesn't finish off the job this time around, then eventually a taxi will. Failing that the universe is probably going to send over a ninja assassin rat from the subway to come after your life.

There's a soft breeze coming in from the open window that grazes the back of your neck and you turn your head towards it. All you can see from your window is the brick wall of the neighboring building. Even though your apartment is on the sixth floor, you can't see a speck of the New York skyline.

Still the breeze is nice, though you don't remember opening the window last night. You never usually do. It is silly and paranoid. No human robber could possibly climb up your six storey building just to climb into your window and rob you. If they could, they’d find that there isn’t much to rob in your apartment, the most valuable thing you own is a complete Le Creuset Cookware set.

Your eyes glaze over your work tote bag on the floor next to the window, drifting upwards and spot the pink box sat on the window sill and you stop.

You didn’t put that there.

You sit upright in your bed, setting your feet to the floor and force yourself to leave your bed as you pad over to the open window.

It's a fancy looking thing. Baby pink, and chiffon ribbon on its side. Wrapping your pinkie around it, you tug it loose. You perch your thumb against the corner of the lid when you stop.

It's not another one of the universe's assassination attempts is it? You're not going to open it to find a bomb ticking down are you?

You hesitate for another moment, taking a deep calming breath before you gather the courage to finally lift the lid. Inside, there is a gorgeous display of cupcakes adorned with white and pink frosting, topped with strawberries, chocolate shavings and on two of them there's mini macarons.

Way fancier than the day old Costco cupcakes you'd lost yesterday.

Picking up one, you take a bite. The frosting is light and zesty. The refreshing lemon melts on the tip of your tongue as the buttery cream floods your mouth with the rich flavor. It's the best thing you've ever tasted.

Lifting the box, you check the sides of it to see if there's any note left behind, but there's none.

Gladis Bakery. It's from a bakery you've never heard of before. When you google the name the place is outside of New Jersey, 58 minutes away and you would need to take a subway then switch to a tram.

There's no note attached, but you don't need one. The list of candidates who would be physically able to climb up six floors up the bricks of your apartment building to leave cupcakes on your window isn’t a long one.

Something warm blooms in your chest at the thought, and your fingers linger on the top of the box, savoring the taste of lemon and sugar still lingering on your tongue.

You put your head out the window, not sure what you're expecting to find but find yourself disappointed all the same when there's nothing there. No people in the quiet street below, and nothing unusual above.

"Thank you for uhm... saving me,” you say into the silence with nothing but the traffic noise below to answer you.

“And the cupcakes," you add.

There's no reply.

~ To be continued.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #marvel #miguel ohara x reader #oscar isaac #spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you

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statisticalcats2 · 2 months

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All the multi-verse chaos in NWH pulls Superior Iron Man!Tony into the MCU verse. He's wandering around, seeing murals of himself, figures out pretty quickly he's ended up in some parallel universe, is about to investigate more, when he's found by Spider-Man. He knows the Spider-Man in his own universe, knows he's Peter Parker, because he's Tony Stark and he knows everything, but there's not really any connection between them.

But this Spider-Man, this Peter, sees SIM!Tony and immediately pulls his mask off, revealing the most adoring, worshipful face SIM!Tony has ever seen, matched in tone by the sweetest voice softly calling in hopeful disbelief, "Mr. Stark? Tony?" And SIM!Tony has to stick around this guy for at least a little while now, this living example of the reverence he deserves.

So he sticks with Peter, who defends him from a suspicious Doctor Strange, and he stays with him as he actively goes against the wizard and sets off on some redemption quest for the gaggle of villains from other universes that have also ended up here. And he also gets to work on the side learning about his counterpart from this universe. It's already clear this world's Tony is dead and SIM!Tony is disappointed to learn it was some foolish sacrifice for the masses he should have ruled if he had been smarter.

But as he gets access to Tony's old systems and finds archives and archives documenting his private work and thoughts, SIM!Tony starts seeing a different picture. It had already been obvious that Peter adored this Tony but now SIM!Tony could see that Tony was obsessed with Peter in return. And he learns about Thanos and the Snap and the time travel plot and the Blip, and maybe this Tony never got around to reaching as high as he should have, but he's still Tony Stark, and SIM!Tony knows his mind, and it's clear to him that everything, everything, was for Peter. Not the trillions of other people and sapient lifeforms that had been Snapped. Only Peter. Tony wouldn't have done it at all if Peter hadn't been lost to him.

And Tony can make all the moral platitudes he wants, but no version of Tony Stark is stupid enough to think there would be any way to do what he did with absolutely no risk to the timeline or the present day. SIM!Tony knows that and he also knows Tony was still willing to risk it all just to get Peter back.

And now SIM!Tony's feeling an even stronger urge to stick around in this universe, with Peter, and see for himself what's so special about this boy that this world's Tony was willing to do, create, and destroy anything and everything for. Yeah, he's abandoning his own world, but this world's Tony clearly would have done the same thing. Peter must really be worth it.

#marvel #mcu #starker #superior iron man #tony stark #peter parker #statcat's iron man lives again verse #because my mind's building like a whole little verse for this

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seikkoi · 3 months

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ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ [1, 2] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 12k a/n: new year, new format. sorry for the delay! wrestled w this for a bit.

You believed him, obviously.

You drank in every malefic word. It’s only the easiest thing in the world to do. Any voice that suggests your wanton attachment was becoming self-destructive died without a fight. You tell yourself that’s impossible–that you couldn’t see your life without him anymore because it was obviously better with him.

Sure, maybe you had some suspicions about his work, and maybe he could be a tad austere demanding, but that was child’s play compared to anything in the past.

You let your body curl beside his, savoring every ounce of his cologne in the air. It’s unfamiliar, feeling his bare skin against yours, but you’re thankful for it. The sandman visits quickly this time, sending you sleep as a calloused hand strokes your cheek.

There’s a beautiful sight awaiting Tony when he wakes the next morning–you, all tangled in silk sheets, warm arms wrapped tight around his midriff.

Almost every hour it feels like he finds a new beauty in you, another reason you’ll stay on his mind every moment of the day. This time, he’s noticing how breath-taking you look asleep, peaceful and holding him like you’re scared he’ll disappear.

Your form is casked in a shy early morning light as he trails his fingers across exposed skin gently, watching the slow rise and fall of your breathing. Tony would pay just about anything for you to see what he saw (which was absolute, unwavering perfection, in case you were still unsure).

Eventually, the sun rises high enough to illuminate the faint, pale marks on your hip–and only part of him wishes he showed more restraint.

No matter how much he wanted to take things slow with you, bring you in little by little, he needed your trust–your loyalty–so much more. He’d never cared much for delicacy when it came to love or attraction, especially not after Pepper. After all the bullshit with her, he wanted every living thing to feel the same desolate anger that fused in his bones. Scorched earth seemed too gentle of a policy.

It’s easy to say the end of their relationship came the second he found out, that all his feelings faded into nothingness and no further harm was done. It’s easy to pretend like he’s always been this way–this sharp-edged, arrogant man who commands loyalty and respect. It’s infinitely more difficult to acknowledge that his love for Pepper went away more like a kidney stone than a dying light.

That hot-headed arrogance, the one that soared at your proclivity for mistrust, or hints of leaving, that had been around for ages. The arrogance and fear of losing what he valued most burrowed together, growing slowly over the years into an obsessive need for control. It had laid dormant, waiting for that strawberry blonde catalyst.

The faint patches on your skin gave him a sense of satisfaction–you were his, and he tried to know that that would never change now. He realizes all his calculated moves probably weren’t needed, that he could’ve been more of himself with you sooner. Tony’s anger let him run clean over any worries that you’d leave at the first signs of his true colors. He really wanted to be the kind of man that was all sugar and no spice, but someone ruined that for you a long time ago.

Certainly, it at least wasn’t what you needed. Tony knew what you didn’t, that you could have any man you wanted. You could have chosen some run-of-the-mill, 9-to-5 guy. One who buys you flowers once a month while you live your own boring life with a dead end job, but you chose him for a reason.

You didn’t need coddling, just a bit of control–direction. All the worry he had about the ink in his life staining you could go away. Sleeping beside him, you looked just as pure and innocent as ever, dreaming peacefully. Hiding his life from you is exactly what led to last night’s events anyway. He made a mental declaration to be less conservative with himself, to give you exactly what you claimed to want (him–entirely and unconditionally).

He feels bad for past-him, who had to wait all those months to hear you cry out his name, to feel how easily your body submitted to him. Truthfully, you weren’t resisting him enough to justify the tight hold he kept, but every movement of your body needed to be his doing.

Maybe he should have just ripped off the bandaid sooner. You didn’t need things as fickle as slowness and patience, you needed to know where you belong–right here beside him, blissful and wearing the marks of his obsession.

Every fiber in his being hated doing it, but Tony pulls out of your sleepened embrace. The sudden loss of your warmth is almost physically painful, but he manages to rise from the bed. Your face scrunches slightly, sheets dragging to accommodate your shifting frame.

He contemplates waking you, if anything just to make sure your thoughts aren’t still set on leaving him. Tony’s not a betting man, but he takes the look on your face after coming to his room as a positive sign. Besides, he doesn't like the idea of waking you this early when you need rest more than anything.

There’s money waiting to be made, but he won’t deprive himself of this phenomenal view to do it. A rosewood table identical to the one in your room is moved closer to the bedside, right where he can keep you in his line of sight.

That’s exactly where you find him when you wake, hours later–already dressed in a black polo and dark pants, peering over his laptop. It’s a heavy knock on the door that stirs you, causing Tony to swear when he sees your eyes open.

The papers scattered about the table are shoved into a folder as he checks his watch and swears again. You’re almost too groggy to process voices at the door, turning just in time to see a wooden box transferred into Tony’s hands before the door shuts as quickly as it opened.

An apology is already spewing when he turns to you.

“You’re fine, it’s fine,” you waved your hand, starting to sit up.

You swing your legs over the edge, yawning and trying to think the last bit of sleep away. You might’ve forgotten about last night for a tiny longer had you stayed down. You feel the tenderness of your body before seeing it. Tony notices the subtle twitch of your brow, waiting for your reaction to worsen as he tucks the box into a leather duffel on the floor.

“We should leave in a few hours.”

There’s a flatness in his tone that pulls a puzzled look from you. He puts more papers away, now not even sparing a glance your way. It’s not out of contempt, just the last remnants of fear about you leaving. He had nothing but confidence when you were asleep–obviously feeling safe and enamored enough to lie beside him.

Now though, Tony’s forced to think ahead in time, trying to plan responses to questions and arguments you haven’t even made.

Maybe all Pepper did was make him insecure. (He’d never admit such a thing, though)

“What was that about?” you asked gently, even though you were genuinely trying not to wonder.

“Just work.” He strides back around the bed, planting a kiss to your forehead.

You manage not to pry, or give much of a reaction at all, simply smiling and still trying to stretch the weariness from your body. Your quiet demeanor comes from your own internal battle about his mood, nothing more. Tony though, for all his talents, sadly isn’t a mind reader. What he is however, is sure it’s his own fault.

Tony lets out a huff when he remembers he decided to be less withholding. You’re confused until the wooden box is brought back out. The bed makes a depressing noise under Tony’s weight as he sits across from you.

He can’t stand the apprehensive look in your eye, and figures there’s no time like the present.

“You wanna ask what’s in the box, don’t you, doll?” He says smugly, tapping the container against your knee lightly.

Trick questions aren’t really his style, but you don’t think there’s a right answer.

Tony’s expectations seemed to grow more complex the longer you were with him, and right now, you’re not certain what’s expected of you. The last ten hours in your mind was a feature film, full of depressing internal monologue about how little you really knew about him.

You know you should trust Tony’s words over the whispers of others, but they’re hard to separate when both sources are drenched in ambiguity.

“Look, I,” he pauses to sigh heavily, looking away from you for a moment. “I was completely open with Pepper–full transparency, no secrets, the whole nine yards.”

Vulnerability in any form was without a doubt his least favorite thing, especially with this. It almost petrifies him that you’ll see him differently. Mostly because he doesn’t know what he’d do if you really did leave. Somewhere, swimming in back of his brain is the idea that you’ll pull the same stunt she did. That train of thought always leads him down dark roads he’d prefer to ignore.

“I guess I was a little too open because I woke up one day and suddenly everything’s gone to shit.”

Tony’s phone rings, and for the first time ever, you see it declined without a second glance

“I cannot have that happen with you. You can ask me anything, if you can promise me you won’t leave if you don’t like the answer. If you can’t do that, you should go.” he ends coldly, and it sends a shiver through your frame.

You wouldn’t–whether he told you the truth or not. So, naturally, you nod in agreement.

A visible wave of relief rushes through him with a sigh.

“Okay, go ahead, shoot.”

What Tony’s expecting is questions about his work, about Pepper, maybe about Steve. The preparation for those questions is immaculate, answer trees with presumed added points of inquiry. Instead, you ask something he feels moronic for not planning for sooner.

“What are we doing here? With us? And don’t say it’s up to me.” You don’t ask how you normally do, with a hint of snide or taste of anger. It just comes like a whisper.

Stark sucks at very, very few things, but this is certainly one of them. Words never seem to do him justice. How he feels, what he wants to say, and what he ends up saying, never quite align. Hence why he much prefers action to rhetoric (hence why last night didn’t end in the screaming matches you might be used to from others).

Tragically for Tony, you’ve got that damned candied look on your face again that he absolutely cannot stand disappointing, even if you don’t know it.

Still, he takes a beat too long to formulate a response, so you continue.

“I mean, what are you telling all these other people who think you’re still married?”

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation about my life, doll.” he says a touch too sternly, without meaning to.

He continues before your face can turn too sour, placing an apologetic hand atop yours and sighing.

“Truthfully? No one asks, it's–I think everyone’s able to put two and two together with Pepper gone. If they did, I’d say you were my girlfriend, maybe partner. But honestly, that feels a little inaccurate.”

“Inaccurate how?” you ask tentatively, hoping it wasn’t somehow less than that.

“Underwhelming.” Tony smiles and laughs a bit, making your face warm.

“Promise me that you won’t change your mind about me.” he continues exasperatedly, half joking.

For once, you can read the emotions on his face clearly–it’s obviously not a world of fun for him to say any of this, and you know it’s the closest you’re getting to an apology (and a direct answer).

“I won’t, I promise.”

You don’t fully comprehend the metaphorical contract you’ve just signed, more permanent than any marriage certificate in his eyes.

For your sake, Tony hopes you aren’t the type to break promises.

It’s early in the day once you return to New York, and while you managed to stay awake on the flight, your eyelids shut the moment Tony closes the car door.

You realize you must have nodded off when you open your eyes to the familiar cluttered horizon. As the buildings come into sharper focus, you also realize that the car is completely stationary right outside your apartment.

You shift in the leather seat, turning to see Tony tapping at his phone screen. A wide grin spreads as he catches your eye.

“How long have we been here?” you yawn.

“About an hour.” Tony mutters absently, brow furrowed at whatever his phone displayed.

“You could’ve woke me, you know.” You felt a teeny bit guilty for keeping him when he definitely had better things to do. You shake the soreness from your body, slipping your shoes back on your feet and gathering the items you had spread throughout the car.

“You looked tired,” he says dismissively, pocketing his phone and turning the car back on. “and I don’t mind.”

The apology you want to give is interrupted with the painful reminder that you still have a shift at the bar tonight. Tony watches the realization wash over you, laughing as you dramatically groan and toss your head back.

“What’s the matter?”

“Wish I could go back in time and tell Alicia hell no on closing tonight–”

“Uh-uh, nope, you’re not allowed to complain.” he interjects, shaking his head comically.

“Why not?” you laugh hesitantly, already guessing what the answer would be.

“Honey, it’s almost physically painful watching you waste your time there knowing I can take care of everything for you.”

Was this the first time Tony indirectly suggested you quit working? Not in the slightest. Lately, a week could hardly pass without even a small mention. In theory, it sounded lovely to you ( as someone who never planned on staying a bartender this long but had no other goals to stand on). Reality bore different fruit that told you independence was probably better.

So, as you’ve done before, that’s exactly what you tell him. You liked making your own money. It causes the billionaire to chuckle as if you’ve told the funniest story ever, making you feel like a paranoid freak.

“No one said anything about taking away your independence.” he chuckles, turning the key. “If making cocktails makes you happy, go for it, but I would at least make sure it’s a nicer location–with bottles worth drinking.”

“I don’t recall you having any issue drinking all those cheap cocktails.”

“I’d drink anything if you were the one serving them.”

You have to try hard not to swoon at his words, watching him leave the car and pop the trunk before you can say anything else. You follow before long, standing to the side as he moves your bags from the car to the sidewalk.

“It’s just hard–what I want to do isn’t really a money maker. People don’t get into art for the paycheck.”

He laughs again, and you’re starting to find it very infectious.

“Maybe I’ll single-handedly revive the field of patronage. Pay you to build whatever kind of gallery you want, if you let me keep a few.”

With a wink, the bags are carried by Tony to the front door, where he gives you a long, slow kiss that leaves your head spinning. Something leaves his lips about taking you to breakfast in a few days, but you’re too charmed to hear it.

All in all, you do end up working a lot less. Mostly because you don’t need to. Over the next month or two, Tony manages to persuade you to get what he wants. Okay, so it was less persuasion and more necessity.

Two weeks after your trip, your roommate gets a job offer out-of-state and moves out faster than you can make up the difference in tips. Originally, you weren’t going to mention it in the slightest. Plan A was to beg your landlord for more time, and plan B was to write a bad check and hope you had enough by the time he tried to cash it.

For weeks straight you worked non-stop doubles to try and close the gap. You were making progress, but steadily wearing yourself down to a dull nub. By the end of it, you were beyond burnt out and completely forgot that Tony knew nothing about it. You fucked up by inviting him over one night, not realizing that the sudden absence of half of everything inside would tip him off (that and the deep bags under your eyes).

Immediately, he asked how on earth you were still paying rent this month, and absolutely despised your answer. Tony had never been shy in telling you how wasted your talents were, and this night was no exception. Especially considering you hadn’t still made enough and planned on working another double tomorrow.

You had little energy or reason to argue with him about it.

Now, you assumed it was a one time thing, just to help you get re-stabilized, maybe find another roommate. Neither really panned out. Every hit on Craigslist gave serial murderer vibes, and tips were starting to trickle as summer ended. The following month, you walked down to the leasing office, last month’s check in hand, only to be told it was taken care of.

Do you think the bitchy lady at the front desk answered you when you asked how that was possible, or do you think she ignored you and called out next in line?

It’s the latter, leaving you forced to call Tony and find out from him. You wouldn’t let yourself trust him, so it’s only right he does it for you. Tony always gets what he wants one way or another after all, causing the same story to be told next month, and the following, and every month after for the foreseeable.

You can’t say he isn’t right, though. Less shifts just means more free time to do all the things you’ve put off for the last five years. And so, your life changes once more. All the paintings, books, and movies that sat abandoned finally get some well-deserved attention. You fall into a mellow routine: spending your mornings ahead of a new blank canvas and afternoons buried inside forgotten novels.

An odd shift is picked up here and there, the appropriate amount to stay on staff and keep some semblance of a normal routine, but not consume your life. You adapt surprisingly well, skipping that awkward stage of persistent guilt for having someone else handle your bills. It’s especially effortless when your now empty evenings are filled by Tony. It becomes easier to relax around him, oddly enough. You never thought that time would come, anticipating a lifetime of tiptoeing or a fiery end.

Funny, it feels like only yesterday when you were reeling at him buying a simple dress.

Between spending more time with Tony and less time working, you see more of what the city has to offer. The heightened level of status that dating Tony Stark brings unlocks a plethora of galleries, restaurants, and events you’d only dreamed of attending. Co-existing with the brazen personalities of the 1% could still be a pain, but now you know how to smile and pretend when it counts.

You even have the temerity to attend some alone. It’s much more fun with Tony, though. Your evenings almost always end inside your apartment, staying up and keeping Tony far later than you should. He rarely minds, often halfheartedly leaving to handle some issue or another. If your luck is high enough, no one needs Tony Stark, leaving him to occupy his time with his favorite person.

If you’re even luckier (or simply brave enough to ask) he’ll slide a taunting finger behind whatever teasing skirt or shorts you’ve chosen (specially to incite this reaction), whisper in your ear how perfect you taste and make your eyes roll. You’ve tried to reciprocate–an embarrassing number of times. Short of actually ripping his clothes off, you don’t know how else to get the message across.

Tony only takes your attempts as a sign that he’s succeeding at keeping your mind elsewhere.

During one of these late-nights, he’s working on doing just that when he notices you’re distracted for other reasons. He’s standing behind you in your dim bedroom, slowly working the zipper of your dress down as he trails the soft revealed skin with heavy kisses. Normally, you’d be panting, pressing against him trying for any bit of friction. Instead, he can see your tightly wound brows, the glossy flesh of your bottom lip jutting between two front teeth, thinking far too hard for how good this felt.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he hums lightly, turning you by your waist as the dark fabric pools at the floor.

Tony doesn’t still his lips at all, leaving tender marks down your neck and chest. The good news is it gets your breath choked and heavy just how he likes it. Unfortunately, your half-presence remains. He stops right before the airy lace of your bra begins, causing you to catch his eye.

“How come you’ve only taken me to the tower once?”

You don’t have a set event that prompted this question. The realization only dawned on you today. You’ve been dating one of the richest men on the planet for the better end of a year, and he’s taken you to his home a grand total of one time. Your brain is good at forgetting that night most days, but today you can’t shake it. It feels almost karmic to bring up bad memories, as if just speaking about it will bring it back into existence.

He laughs a bit when your issue proves so elementary.

“Seriously,” you stress, even though your voice wavers with the arousal he’s building. “We’ve been together all this time and I’ve never really seen where you live.”

“Promise you aren’t missing much.” Tony smiles, capturing your lips and guiding you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“It’s only one of the largest companies in the world. Guess seeing the inside once is pretty lucky.” you sigh, feigning a dramatically sad tone.

You’re really trying to guilt him, making a purposeful effort not to soak into the heat of his touch. Hot hands snake up your thighs, thumbs brushing small circles into the inner skin. He dips below you as you sit, still humming his way up your legs with butterfly kisses.

“Might have been followed, couldn’t risk taking you home.” he mutters, preoccupied.

It’s not his fault you look too good to argue with right now (which you knew and were definitely using to your advantage). The dress you wore tonight might as well have been see-through– it hugged you like cellophane, and he made a mental note to buy you more in the same material.

While Tony’s busy leaving more hickeys on your thighs, a shiver runs through you. What would have happened had someone followed Tony’s car?

Your mind goes to work crafting all types of theories, and Tony recognizes the look plain as day. He stops with a stout sigh, leaning back on his heels. It pulls your attention back to him, looking down at him with uneasy eyes.

“You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.”

Even if you’re not entirely sure what you need protecting from.

“Good, now do me a favor and lie back.”

You do as you're told, of course, more than enthusiastically.

Balance is important after all, though. So, while Tony gets what he wants now (as he usually does), he indulges you as well.

You made an off-hand comment about never actually seeing a broadway show in person, despite living in New York for literal years. Tony finds any missed luxury in your life unacceptable and naturally drops a small fortune to orchestrate a private show. While buying out the theater was partially for the romance, it would have also been too much exposure for him otherwise.

Afterwards, he makes a very notable detour from your usual route home, pulling you away from your long ramble about how awe-striking the show was. Asking just gets you a cheeky smile and turns your attention towards the tower.

You get the full tour that you weren’t afforded the first time (given the circumstances). The lobby you recall, with its marble floors and high ceiling. It’s well in the evening, leaving the tower empty minus a few guards and late-night staff.

You regret never paying attention in science when Tony guides you through the labs and workshops.

As you pass through room after room, each unnerves you. Most things of the scientific nature are lost on you, but you’re certain the high amount vials and chemicals you see would floor even Einstein.

You can’t place why they unsettle you, looking so out of place and painfully high-tech in stereotypical white walls. It also doesn’t help that Tony spiels about the building and not what lies on the tables three feet away.

You swallow your questions, fearing that the answer to be even remotely similar to the one that drove Pepper away.

Tony mentions having dinner upstairs, to which you smile and follow him into an adjacent elevator before you can stress yourself out further.

The doors open to a penthouse apartment that you don’t remember walking through before (definitely too caught up in thinking you were about to be dumped over a drunken mistake). You obviously expected Tony to live in the same luxury he exudes, but the decor and imported wood reminded you just how wealthy he was. He leads you to his office, tucked behind a frosted glass door that you do remember from last time.

“This,” he starts, swiping a small card against the door’s thin black reader with a quiet beep, “is where the magic happens, but it is off-limits without my permission.”

You give an understanding nod when he turns back, although you wanted to laugh at how quickly he switched from sounding like a complete nerd to stony-faced. Tony leaves the door open once you enter, tucking the card back into the pockets of his slacks.

You are naturally more curious than most (for better or for worse), and make quick work walking around the vast space, eyeing each shelf, table, and weird gadget. A pair of soft couches mirror one another in the center of the room, surrounding a cluttered coffee table of notes and books. A whiteboard stands nearby, covered in what’s probably math but could pass for ancient Greek. Every inch of the walls is lined with something–be it awards and diplomas or more books with words you’re convinced are made up. It strikes you then that the office lacks any windows, and you wonder if that’s by design or sheer chance.

At the back wall shines various lights and screens, below it a thin, large clear desk where Tony sits. The desk holds more of the odd, transparent screens, which Tony closes with the swipe of his hand as you approach. A compliment of some capacity about the decor is brewing when you notice the picture frame sitting nearby. Two figures pose in front of a row of trees, one clearly Tony, and the other a young man, with dusty brown hair and pristine in dark blue graduation robes. Tony’s arm wraps around the younger, smiling bigger than you’ve ever seen. The young man holds a slender booklet and a matching smile.

Predicting this, he answers the question before you figure out how to ask it.

“That’s Harley–don’t start getting any ideas, he’s not Pepper’s.” he says, pulling you by the waist into his lap.

“Is he your nephew or something?” you question, resting your head against the velvety fabric of his shirt.

“Howard Stark was a man of one child, to his disappointment, so no. Harley’s a family friend.”

“You just run around befriending random college kids?” you joke, dangling your legs over the edge of the chair.

“If I’m feeling generous enough.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a figure appear across the room in the empty door frame. A tall, older man waits–hands clasped behind his back in black pants and pressed white button up.

“Mr. Stark, there’s a visitor for you.”

He speaks as quickly as he appears, with an unexpectedly posh accent. Tony taps your knee, and you leave his lap very begrudgingly and watch with even more unnecessary sorrow as he exits the room. A promise is given about returning soon, but you know better than to believe that.

A word is exchanged between the two that you can’t hear across the large office. When Tony’s figure leaves, the other man enters. You notice his blue eyes as he comes closer, deciding to take a seat on one of the couches.

“Mr. Stark has requested I quote–keep you from dying of boredom–in his absence.” he says, standing at the head of the couch across from you.

“Has he now?” you laugh lightly.

The thing they don’t tell you about rich boyfriends? It takes time to make all that money, keeping them busy and away from their easily bored girlfriends. So, you nod when the man smiles, making a permissive motion towards the seat.

“My name is Jarvis, I work for Mr. Stark.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m [y/n]”

“You need very little introduction, ma’am. Mr. Stark has talked a great deal about you over these last several months.” he laughs, crossing his legs.

“Really?” you ask. It’s not extremely surprising, you just assumed Tony was perpetually occupied talking about other things. He did make a good move though, Jarvis is much more pleasant company than he usually keeps.

“Indeed, he’s quite fond of you.”

You aren’t used to hearing this–from anyone really. Everyone you know has no idea Tony exists (for better or for worse) and everyone he knows seemingly despises you. It’s a breath of fresh air that does wonders for your insecurities about this whole relationship. Not a complete cure, but the start to some form of remedy..

“And what do you do for Tony?” you ask, not wanting to be rude and keep the conversation entirely on yourself.

He ponders this for a moment, giving you the impression he’s never had to explain this before.

“I assist Mr. Stark in his day-to-day activities, so that he may devote more energy towards the company.”

What was with this calculated nature everyone around him seemed to take on? Still, Jarvis appeared to be a beacon of kindness (the accent might be biasing you). It’s bright enough to tempt you to ask Jarvis what you were too hesitant to ask Tony, mostly out of trepidation over the answer.

“I have to admit I’m a pretty terrible girlfriend–I don’t even know what Tony does.” you sigh and pout slightly.

Naivete was an old trick you didn’t mind pulling out of the bag now and again.

Jarvis chuckles, an optimistic sign that your tactics are working.

“Stark Industries is a manufacturing and research company that specializes in pharmaceuticals and biotech.”

Now that line sounds more rehearsed. More accurately, it’s strikingly similar to the first line that pops up when anyone searches up Stark Industries.

“Doesn’t sound much to me like a merchant of death.”

You might have been better off forgetting Steve’s words, but it’s all you can think of when you picture what lives in the labs just below you. As much as you wanted to play out the rest of your life with Tony in blissful ignorance, you were constantly exposed to things that made you question if it really was bliss.

You expected maybe a twitch of the brow from Jarvis, the face trying to compensate for what the mind already knows. Instead, Jarvis’ mouth turns downward, cocking his head in confusion at the moniker.

“Where did you hear that?”

Before you can answer, Tony’s voice bounces down the hallway. In the next second, he’s back in the office, and Jarvis is standing. You’re disappointed (and shocked) that Tony didn’t take as long as usual, having to cut the conversation short.

The older man shoots you a curious glance as he leaves—an unspoken reassurance that he does indeed expect an answer at a later point.

“Everything okay, doll?”

Tony asks, because you're too busy thinking to mind your face, and it looks troubled. You shake it off though, smiling and taking the hand he holds out.

The two of you have that dinner, though the entire evening you catch weathered blue eyes watching you from afar.

Remember that thing about rich boyfriends and their busy jobs? Yeah, that becomes a pain quickly. You could handle the phone calls on dates or distracted answers while an email is answered no problem. But once Tony brought you to the tower, he didn’t see a reason to keep you away anymore. You happily started spending most of your nights there. You just didn’t fully process the implications of Tony living where you work. Most days he manages to spare an hour here and there, interrupted by phone calls and meetings. So, often you roam around, trying to not wonder just what your boyfriend has to do to earn all that money.

You pick up on a lot of little things about his life from pure close-hand observation. The Tony you know is sweet and passionate. Tony working is almost an entirely different breed. You thank god that you’re just dating him and not working for him. The sternness he tended to use with you wasn’t exclusive, but dialed to an eleven when he came to his work.

The most jarring, however, is the constant presence of armed guards at the Tower, even in Tony’s penthouse. You think back to every date so far, scanning memories for shady figures waiting by exposed exits. A few potentials stand out, but you can’t be certain your memories aren’t being falsified by present events.

One morning, you pass one of the men on your way to the kitchen. It’s an early morning, at least for you, coming down the stairs as he pours a cup of coffee. It strikes you, since they normally keep near the elevator and you’ve never seen them do anything except stand around.

The bald man nods towards you, and out of nothing more than courtesy and habit, you nod back. He retreats to his post without another word soon after.

Despite the early hour, Tony’s already risen before you and is likely tucked away somewhere working. Peace is a valued comfort, of course, but the tower gave you an overwhelming sense of emptiness without Tony around.

Any mess you leave is miraculously cleaned (you learn this is Jarvis’ doing), and most of the tower is off-limits for you. Still, you enjoy being relatively closer to Tony than you were most days, so hanging around isn’t too much of a burden.

That morning proves fruitful as well, as you get to speak to Jarvis again. That’s not to say you haven’t seen him. In fact, he’s almost always somewhere nearby. The issue being that it’s normally coupled by Tony or other parties. This time, he’s alone.

You’d entered the kitchen that morning in a determined search for caffeine, planning to spend your day shopping for something new to wear for a gala that’s a ways away. It’s a much calmer experience without crowds, so you got an early start.

Jarvis enters soon after the guard leaves, setting fresh kitchen towels onto the island.

“Morning, ma’am.” he says, opening a cabinet across from you.

You laugh lightly, finding it odd that a man old enough to be your father would waste such honorifics on you. You inform Jarvis of such, to which he gives a chuckle of his own.

“It’s simply out of respect and the nature of my work, nothing more.” he explains, delicately laying each towel in the small space.

“You don’t find it weird calling people younger than you sir and ma’am?”

It’s a pretty genuine question, having never been in such a role yourself. The cabinet is shut with a soft thud as Jarvis turns towards you.

“I do not.”

He goes for the recently emptied coffee cup beside you, refilling it before you can tell him that’s not necessary.

“Might I inquire to you about something?” he questions, handing you the warm mug.

You were expecting a continuation of your earlier conversation. You had prepared questions of your own, of course. Mostly about Steve, and definitely a few about Pepper. A nod of agreement leaves you as the warm liquid slides down your throat.

“Do you not find it–strange, romantically involving yourself with someone so much older than you?”

The raise of his brow tells you he is similarly being genuine. This floors you though. Ironically, that was one of your main reasons for rejecting Tony all those months ago. But lately? You barely even thought about it. You’d stopped paying attention to the odd snide comments and the occasional bizarre look. Really, the fact only comes back to you when Jarvis mentions it. Come to think of it, you can’t recall Tony ever bringing attention to it either.

“I don’t really notice the little jokes and weird looks anymore, so no, not at all.” you shrug, taking another sip.

“I mean no disrespect, simply curious.” he laments.

“None taken, don’t worry.”

“Might I also ask then,” he pauses, testing out the words in his mouth first and waiting for your approval. “–how your family’s temperament is towards Mr. Stark?”

“My parents died when I was really young, and they were both only childs, so I’m gonna say it’s pretty neutral.”

Jarvis goes a tinge red at this, immediately apologizing as if it was somehow his fault. You can’t help but laugh at the contrite attitude. He stops once he sees the grin on your face, breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn’t seriously offended you.

“You’re fine, really, I’m surprised Tony never mentioned it to you.”

“Mr. Stark is typically a private man, and I doubt he would share such information with anyone without your permission.”

“Yeah, that can be– annoying.” you sigh.

“I understand, naturally is,” Jarvis nods towards you, walking past you to exit before halting. “Employ a bit of patience, if you can. Mr. Stark’s stress is greatly alleviated with your continued presence.”

If his behavior now was relaxed, you didn’t want to imagine how he was prior.

That afternoon, you returned to the tower, spoils in tow (and paid for with Tony’s matte black card). Despite the time, there wasn’t a sign of Tony anywhere. Most of the lights were off when you entered, causing you to pull out your phone flashlight like some kind of horror movie. You made your way through the penthouse, flipping switches and checking rooms.

Kitchen, empty. Office, empty. Gym, empty.

Your voice bounced through the hall as you climbed the stairs, calling out Tony’s name. Disappointedly, you were only met by silence. Out of the last forty-eight hours, a grand sum of eight of them you shared with him. One out every six hours (and most of those you were asleep). The recurrent solitude made an evening in your own home suddenly sound much more favorable.

You traipse into the bedroom, tossing the gown that you were very excited to show Tony into one of the massive closets. The random handful of items you had scattered around the room are thrown into your bag. Some you leave in their place–you knew you wouldn’t be away long. A bright light shines in your face when you fumble with your phone, reminding you to turn it off. It also gives you the literal lightbulb idea to text Tony.

[ heading home for the night, call me when ur free ]

In the still quiet of the penthouse, a beep reverberates behind you. Puzzled, you turn, noticing the golden light trickling from under the bathroom door.

“Tony?” you call out again, crossing the room towards the door.

On the other side, water runs for a moment, followed by the click of the lock as the door opens.

“Hey, honey.” he drawls, walking out with a sniffle.

“You okay?” you ask tentatively. “It was like, pitch dark in here.”

He pulls you into a welcomed embrace, wrapping large arms around your body tightly.

“I’m fine, they’re just timed. Gotta be eco-friendly, right?”

Tony punctuates his sentence with a kiss on your forehead. You stay in his embrace as long as possible, resting your head against his chest. His heart thumps heavily, beating like a rabbit through the soft cotton of his shirt.

Eventually, the embrace has to end, mostly so that Tony can plead to you to stay another night. He promises that he’s yours for the evening, and given that this was what you preferred anyway, you oblige.

First though, Tony has a surprise. One that he swears will make the tower feel more comfortable for you. His surprises are typically rather ornate or sickeningly expensive. This one, however, is moderately less materialistic than usual.

Down the hall from the frosted door of Tony’s office is a room that you were initially told was off-limits. As you reach the end of the hall, Tony explains he needed just a little more time for some ‘finishing touches’.

Another keycard is produced from his pocket, swiping on a reader much similar to the one in his office. When it beeps in response, the card is planted firmly in your hands.

“Go ahead, check it out.” he grins, motioning towards the door.

Tentatively, you enter the previously inaccessible space. Once inside, your jaw nearly drops. It’s not a large space, but it takes a while for you to process everything within.

Shelves stand tall with various jars and tubes of paint, elegant brushes and canvases of every size. Tables sit near pristine walls, freshly painted and holding any medium you could possibly want. The walls are bare, save for the antique painting hanging by the window. You recognize it instantly, not believing your eyes at first. Tony doesn’t need to say it for you to know–this was all for you.

What Tony does feel the need to say is that if everything isn’t to your liking, he can have it changed in a day. He worries as you stand silent, not reacting in explosive joyful glee like he hoped.

“No, no, it’s perfect.” you swiftly add, turning to him beaming.

You’re still in awe as relief passes through him as your arms wrapped around him. Somehow, Tony always manages to redefine what you thought you deserved. There’s a painting worth half a million dollars sitting less than 10 feet away, and it was purchased just for you.

An impressive length, all for a simple smile. How the hell could you ever settle for anything less from anyone else?

Sure, you don’t realize this is a purposeful gift to encourage you to stay around the tower more, and the knowledge wouldn’t change anything anyway.

After you thank him excessively for the next ten minutes (to which Tony’s response can mostly be summed up as ‘has literally no one done anything nice for you? ever?’), the dress you bought earlier comes to mind. Tony thought you learned by now that he’d buy you the world if it was for sale, but indulges in your feverish gratitude for the time being.

You do the leading this time, back into the bedroom where he waits on the black duvet for you to change. It’s a magical feat that you manage to get it zipped up alone. Stubbornness also plays its own role.

When you reemerge, it’s Tony’s turn to be rendered speechless. A sleeveless auburn number wraps your body, cinching at your waist and following to the floor. Cut-outs show off your midriff, letting the cool air cover your skin. The high level of regality is new to you, but you weren’t risking the embarrassment of being underdressed a second time. It’s also Tony’s favorite color to see you in (which you totally didn’t know and totally weren’t exploiting for this very purpose).

“Well?” you start, give a small twirl. “What do you think?”

There was a worry that he might find it too much. Another thing you picked up on over the last few weeks was Tony’s subtle disdain for clothing he found tacky or too revealing. You hadn’t managed to hit that threshold so far, and knew it better to avoid.

“As amazing as you look, I think you need to take that off before I end up ripping it to pieces.” he responds, voice low and hungry.

Solace finds you, pleased that you didn’t make a wrong choice. It’s brief though, because a second glance at Tony reveals that while he liked the choice, (almost too much, really) he also wasn’t joking in the slightest.

A raise of an eyebrow says it all–don’t make me repeat myself.

So, under his fervent commands, you wind up pinned below him, dress long discarded on the plush carpeted floors as his fingers curl inside of you. A hand keeps your wrists pinned tightly above your head, keeping you at his mercy. If you could call his unrelenting fingers mercy.

You quickly grow more frustrated than ever at the barrier of clothing on his body. It’s always goddamned there, holding back the warmth you can feel radiating through. His restraint prevents you from taking the friction you need. You’re further burdened by the teeth grazing your neck, sucking slow and teasingly on your pulse point. All the man had to do most days to turn you into a needy mess was kiss you, but after so many busy days, this was sweet torture.

Tony knew it too. The increasing pitch in your whine was music to his ears. It’s not before it’s broken and whimpery, your excitement coating his fingers. Every movement was overwhelming, and yet still managed to leave you desperate for more.

“Please, Tony, fuck-” you plead, interrupted by your own moan when he curves his fingers again.

“Aw, do you need something, darling?” he whispers, moving away from your neck. “I know I taught you better than that–use your words, pretty girl.”

This isn't an uncommon taunt of his, loving the embarrassed shy look that crawls over your face each time. He’s pleasantly surprised tonight, however, as you just about had it enough to give in. The award for longest time to make someone wait under they verbally beg for you to fuck them goes to Anthony Edward Stark, with an impressive record of eight months.

Your brows furrow, trying to find your center again to speak with clarity and not falter under his gaze.

“Would you stop being an asshole and just fuck me, please?” you sighed exasperatedly.

Manners would be something to correct later. For now, Tony’s happy to focus on rewarding your needy pleas.

Your wrists are granted all too short reprieve, as he takes little time undressing, climbing back on top of you and attacking your neck with hard, bruising kisses. The hard member you’re used to having constrained by high-end slacks feels larger pressed bare against your folds–hot and heavy as he returns a hand to your wrists.

His free hand aligns him at your entrance, stopping when he notices your tightly shut eyes. Now that simply won’t do.

“Open those pretty eyes.”

It’s a short and breathy order, the tone earning your instant compliance. Tony’s eyes are dark above you, catching them only for a moment before he swiftly sinks into you (he’ll allow it this time).

There’s little resistance, as you were already a mess from earlier, but his thick member still stretches your walls. You cry out when he reaches the hilt, snapping his hips into you only to withdraw and fully sink back into you with the same speed.

Tony gains a new found appreciation for the philosophy behind a reward being sweeter the longer you wait. There’s nothing more delectable in the whole world right now than the fractured moans escaping you, despite your visible attempts to bite them back. As much as he wants to commit this coy little expression of yours to memory, he’s clearly not doing his job if you’re able to hold anything back.

The hands above you let go, gripping your hips instead to thrust deeper into you. It does just what he needs to do, listening to the sweet sounds of your whines as his cock reaches right where you needed to. All this time without h, combined with his fast and hard thrusts has moan after moan falling from your lips.

Tony can hardly contain himself either, high off the sticky mess you're making. Your neck is perfectly dotted with tender marks from his mouth, only driving his ecstasy further.

He knows he’s being more than rough, pounding into you relentlessly–you’re just taking him so well, your nails leaving tiny red crescents on his thighs. It drives him wild, possession does go both ways after all. Every erratic breath and tremble of your legs came from him. You were his–who begged for him and moaned his name.

The fast, rough pace pushes you to your peak not long after, and Tony recognizes the stuttery pitch of your voice.

“Go ahead, darling.” he whispers into your ear, voice soft and gentle despite how deep he was inside you.

Your legs wrap around his waist as your core swells with pressure, desperate for him to be impossibly closer than he was. It’s not long after your voice breaks altogether, falling into a slight plea as your walls tighten around him.

The feeling of you losing yourself around him sets off something entirely new in Tony. He’d never miss another chance to make you his like this. A deep groan echoes in the bedroom walls, unsteady hands holding your hips tighter.

He was absolutely nowhere near done with you.

Before you can catch your breath, it’s taken as he slams into you with renewed energy. A string of curses leave him when your back arches into him, straining against his hold.

Your body feels white-hot with pleasure. You were used to Tony pushing you into orgasm after orgasm, alternating between his mouth and fingers until you’re a pile of jelly below him. This was entirely different, hit that spongy spot inside of you over and over as your walls shutter. It leaves your whole form trembling, mind blanking each time he bottoms out.

“Shit, Tony, I can’t,” you whimper.

It’s a broken plea, already feeling your body go taunt a second time. Still, you hope for a bit of reprieve, just enough to bring your mind back to earth.

“You will for me, darling.” he groaned, voice heavy and breathless, bringing a hand to your hair and exposing your neck to his teeth for another assault. “I know you can take it.”

A shiver runs through you as his latches onto your neck, deciding you could stand to have more marks across your skin. You’re completely lost in the throbbing member splitting you apart, aimlessly grabbing at the soft sheets below you. He leans back, pulling your hips up to keep slamming to you, letting a hand wrap around your throat and press against the fresh mark left there.

“All mine, aren’t you?” Tony moans above you, close to his own peak. He just needs to feel your body to submit to him one more time.

The tender pain in your throat mixes deliciously next to the sweeping euphoria. You want to answer (mostly because you know he’s expecting one), but all your mind can zone into is how electrified your skin is.

“Aw, is my girl too fucked out to answer me already?” he taunts, even if the sight of you this blinded by pleasure nearly sends him over.

No one else could ever have you like this, he’d make sure of it. You were past shame over how his words left you, cruel or praiseful. Any utterances that made it known you were his turning your body into melting sugar.

Tony’s own hips stutter, bucking into you as your peak hits you again, your moan silenced by the tight hand around your throat. He’s close behind you, keeping his rhythm until the shake in your legs lessens.

He sinks into you, caressing your face and burying himself back into your neck. A long moan floods your ears, feeling him still inside of you and paints every inch of your walls white. Hot, heavy breaths cover your ear as he fills you, not withdrawing until he’s certain you’ve taken every drop.

You’re an exhausted pile of bones below him, leaving him feeling quite prideful. Stark on the other hand is oddly energetic. He disappears for a moment, returning after putting his boxers back on and grabbing a towel.

He lies beside you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. Soft praises and peppered kisses follow, trailing along your face and shoulders. He tells you over and over how perfect you did, though you're still barely present.

You’re focused on calming your breathing, so Tony’s praises fall onto distracted ears. You aren’t that distracted, though, as his next words ring through clear as day.

“I love you, doll, you know that?” It’s barely above a whisper, spoken between into the delicate skin of your collarbone.

You turn your head almost instantly, blinking rapidly because surely you didn’t hear that right. The words left him before he knew what he was saying, caught up in the swirl of post-coital bliss. In an unusually empathetic act of vulnerability, he stands by it. The declaration is repeated louder to your stunned face.

He’s not that vain that he expects an immediate reciprocation–though you eagerly give one anyway. That's all good and well, except he senses concern in your voice.

“That’s just how every guy wants to hear that, thank you.” Tony jokes, propping himself onto his elbow with a grin.

“That came out wrong, I just,” you chuckle softly, trailing off. “You are being genuine, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“I guess–be honest, you really don’t mind being with someone like twenty years younger than you?”

He throws his head back in laughter, and you use the little energy you have to swat at his shoulder.

“You’ve been talking to Jarvis, haven’t you?

“How the-what do you mean?” you fully turn on your side to face him, more puzzled than before. You also worried you somehow crossed a line discussing Tony with someone else in private.

“Don’t sweat it–Jarvis is more of an old friend than an employee, regardless of whatever the old bat says. He’s just overprotective.”

“And he was worried about us?”

“More about you, specifically, that you were some covert gold-digger playing the long game for a chance at the Stark inheritance. He didn’t believe that I had to damn near beg on my hands and knees for a simple dinner.” he says indignantly, and you have to roll your eyes.

“What if I was? You don’t know.”

“Please, no one trying to woo me for my money would start as many arguments with me as you do.”

“I do not start arguments, if anything you’re the one-” you start to defend yourself, then Stark raises an eyebrow and the sentence dies on your tongue. “Okay, point taken.”

Tony pulls your naked form towards him, your head resting on his chest as your body curls beside his. You’re more than spent, the sound of his heart still racing after all this time doesn’t process under the lure of sleep.

For now, you’re too in love to care.

When you wake, Tony’s absent from your side. This is not unusual in the slightest for any night you spend here, but it's barely four in the morning.

You scan the dark room momentarily before switching the bedside light on. Groggily (and on sore legs), you rise, tying a short robe around yourself. Thinking of yesterday, you actually check the bathroom this time to find it empty. You ventured out of the bedroom to an empty and pitch black hallway. Deja vu feels like an understatement.

You start to call out his name just like before, stopping once you see the light flowing from the kitchen downstairs. As you descend, Tony’s voice grows louder. His back comes into view once the final step is crossed, with another figure in front of him.

Tony swivels slowly when you enter, and you notice the person he’s speaking to is the same young man from the photo. You cross your arms over your body as best you can when you enter the space, suddenly feeling very underdressed for meeting a stranger.

“Sorry, did we wake you?” Tony asks apologetically, to which you shake your head and yawn.

“Harley, this is [y/n], [y/n], Harley.” he continues.

Harley holds a blue duffel in his right hand, giving you a curt wave with the other. Under the bright kitchen lights, however, he gets a better look at you. You don’t understand why in the moment, still half-asleep, but he makes an unsettled face at you before darting his sharp eyes back to Tony. After which Tony tells you he’ll be up in a moment and you return back to the warmth of the sheets without protest.

It’s not until you step into the bathroom later in the day that you figured out why he looked at you that way. A few tender marks still spotted the left side of your neck and the top of your chest. While not the best first impression, it sends a wave of excitement through you at the sight. A bit of concealer goes a long way after you shower.

Tony explains that Harley is just stopping by briefly, and that he’ll be leaving after dinner tonight as you get dressed. You obviously spend the entire day worried about it, convinced any further interaction with Harley will be painfully awkward and uncomfortable for you both.

Unfortunately, you end up wishing things were just awkward.

Jarvis prepares an excellent meal, and you make it through the first two courses with Harley’s eyes piercing you across the large dining table. It’s not constant, as he manages to dart away each time Tony speaks to him as if he never looked your way. Engaging in conversation becomes troublesome under his gaze (though it’s mostly just Tony asking Harley about some trip he took). You almost start to think you’re imagining it, wondering what the hell his issue could possibly be.

Thankfully, Tony has to excuse himself for a phone call, leaving the two of you alone.

The moment Tony’s out of earshot, Harley leans in, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” he questions dramatically.

“Are you?”

“Funny.” he snorts, taking a bite of roast potatoes.

He stays quiet for a second as Jarvis clears away empty dishes from the table.

“That’s not a yes, though.” he hums in a high pitch.

“If it would get you to stop staring, I’m twenty-six.”

Harley hums in approval, sitting back in his chair.

“Was that really your problem? You know you could’ve just asked at literally any point in the last hour, or hell, asked Tony.”

“Oh, I did.” he scoffs, shrugging his shoulders.

Tony returns, taking his seat in the same breath that Harley wipes his mouth and stands.

“Well, I’ll leave you and your child bride to it.” he declares sarcastically, turning for the exit.

“Excuse me?”

Tony’s voice stops Harley in his tracks, rising and closing the distance to the young man. You heard worse, but based on the tightness in his jaw you can assume Tony hasn’t.

“Oh, come on. She’s not even four years older than me. What else would you like to call it?” Harley jests, laughing.

“You have a flight to catch, don’t you?” The edge in his tone shocks you, and cuts Harley’s laughter straight away.

He takes his leave without another comment, but he does give you another overdramatic wave on the way out. You tell Tony what passed between you two in his absence and ask what all that was about, but Tony just shakes his head and apologizes.

You’re not sure why–it hardly bothered you as much as it did him.

Later that night you overhear Tony on the phone. You presume it’s with Harley, hearing Tony mention something about ‘showing more respect’ and ‘minding your own business’. You hope it isn’t Harley–even though the kid was an ass, Tony speaks with a ferocity that unnerves you just as the eavesdropper.

Fall passes by without more pop-up visits from impolite guests.

While painting will always be one of your first true loves, even the strongest of loves can grow tiring. The technical term is typically referred to as a lack of inspiration. You can’t get a single image out of your brain and onto a canvas. It’s a well deserved burnout though, the rest of the studio space lined with finished paintings. A consistent month and half of work proved quite the endeavor. Most are simple plays with color, though there are a few you came to be very proud of.

Yeah, a break would probably do you some good.

There’s more than one traditional seat for you to choose from, all extremely lush and definitely better for your back. The floor works a lot better though, so you stand and stretch the soreness from your body. Would you learn your lesson and sit in the chair next time? Nope.

The evening was growing near, evident by the lemony sky. Your hyperfixation meant a lot more nights indoors, even on the sparse evenings Tony was free. All signs pointed towards taking advantage of what was likely one the last warm nights of the season.

You wasted little time changing out of your paint covered sweats, throwing on a simple blue skirt and white sweater.

On your way downstairs to his office, you spot Jarvis in the kitchen preparing a drink you presume is for Tony.

“Oh, I can take that to him.” you intercept him at the bottom, taking the cold glass in your hands.

“Very well.” he nods to you, taking in your dressed up state as you walk away, not expecting either of you to leave the tower that night. “Shall I have the car ready for you and Mr. Stark?”

“For me, definitely. Can’t promise anything about him.” you call back to him, increasing your volume as you head further into the hall.

You knock once you reach the glass door, waiting idly until you hear his voice call out come in. Tony doesn’t lift his head when you enter, scrawling away at something atop his desk. You hear him muttering to himself softly, shirt disheveled and unbuttoned.

You’re certainly not silent as you cross the space. Your heavy boots made a mild thud on the hardwood floor, surely loud enough to get the average person’s attention, you thought.

Nope, wrong.

He does know you’re there, however– the screens in front of him are switched off as you approach the desk, head never lifting from the papers.

You wait patiently beside his desk, setting the drink down the corner. His attention doesn’t yield for no less than five minutes after. When he does finally address you, it’s with tired eyes and gleams.

“My, my, my,” he whistles, guiding you over to straddle his lap. “What a fantastic surprise.”

Tony’s hands can never be idle more than a moment, already snaking them under your skirt to the supple skin of your backside. He’s much more interested in that than anything you say about leaving the tower. Who could blame him, really. Any red-blooded man would after hours of phone calls and calculations.

You twitch when he squeezes hungrily, sensitive from the same hands the night prior. He’d nearly forgotten, and the remainder is a good amusement.

“You know, I could get so much more work done with you just like this.” he hums, lifting your sweater to graze your stomach.

“You’re welcome to join me.” you point out, linking your arms around his neck.

“There’s nothing more I want, but I have a few more things to take care of here.”

You figured as much, of course. Knowing that answer was coming doesn’t make it any less disappointing. Conversely, seeing your smile falter for any reason is akin to a tragedy for Tony.

“How about this, it’s still early– you go out, have fun, I’ll pick you up for dinner later.” he concedes.

That fixes the problem, earning Tony a very satisfied kiss from you. It’s long and heavy, nearly enough to make him consider sending you out on shaky legs, but he resolves to bring that fantasy to life another time.

An hour or so drifts away as you take in the fresh autumn air, window-shopping from store to store. Close to when you're due to meet Tony, you stumble across something you can’t be sure is a really bright bar or a super dark restaurant. As you go for a better look through the towering windows, the doors beside you swing open.

You spot Steve first, getting a clear view of a reddened cut above his eye. You fail at turning away from the door in time. It was worth a shot, even if he was just five feet away.

“Oh, would you knock it off–I’m not gonna bother you.” he exclaims exasperatedly, a deep slur in his words (so that solves that mystery).

You give a half-hearted surrender with your arms, watching him head for the street corner. Mid-way, he stops, turning back unsteadily.

“You still with Stark?” he questions.

“What’s it to you?”” you scoff, rolling your eyes. This was what you wanted to avoid–annoying people and their annoying judgements.

“Just don’t tell him you saw me, okay. I don’t need more shit with him right now.”

Remarkably, Steve sounds genuine. Well, as genuine as a drunk man can sound. A grand opportunity presents itself. Someone with a lot more information than you needs something of you.

“Sure, okay.” you agree, watching a breath leave Steve. “If you can tell me what you meant at the party.”

Steve, having drunk every drop of Kentucky Bourbon on the block, happily obliged your question for the small price of not dealing with Stark.

If asked to make a list of all the things you guessed Tony was involved in, your brain would assume the best of the worst to ease its conscience. Steve’s answer is, tragically, nowhere on that list.

You wander around for a bit playing moral adjudicator in your mind. It’s a consuming task, and in your concentration you space completely on the fact that you were expected somewhere. In your bag, your phone buzzes to no answer, muffled in the city’s noisy ambience.

You have to see for yourself, which makes the tower your destination after you’ve calmed your nerves enough. It’s been ages since you’ve taken the subway anywhere, though you somehow manage to work through the busy platforms. You remember you live in the age of technology, deciding to rely on your phone for navigation.

Two missed calls and around five unanswered texts from the past half hour await you, all from Tony. You swear to yourself as the train car rocks, hurriedly typing a response.

[ where are you? ]

[ on the way back now. didn’t feel well. ]

Lying feels like swallowing a bitter seed. You know that ‘s not an answer. You know you’ll have to find some way to explain the missed calls later. Honestly, that might be the harder task than covering a lie. All you hoped was that New York traffic would play in your favor and you could make it back before him.

The luscious bells of victory are right in your sight as elevator dings! open. Your genius plan to check his office is foiled quickly, the black card reader blinking back at you tauntingly.

A moment passes where you question your own motivations. Why were you even bothering to let someone else get into your head again? You could ask him anything, so why lie to him when you chose to stay in the dark–

You all but fly up the stairs, striding through Tony’s bedroom and into the bathroom. It takes a while for you to find it, having to scour the numerous cabinets one by one. Your hands touch a rough leather pouch, right under the sink.

You open it tentatively, praying for Steve to be wrong, but your fingers find the small plastic baggie within, and your stomach flips when you know he was telling the truth.

You don’t have long to process it. The elevator sounds again from below

Shit.

You thought you had more time to craft a better excuse.

“What happened? Everything okay?”

His voice is stern even if his words are sweet, turning his body towards yours as you enter the kitchen. Your hands reach for a glass to fill with water, needing a distraction to ward off his gaze.

“Got a little dizzy, took the subway back.”

“You took the subway alone? This late?”

You can’t tell if he’s wrestling between concern and suspicion, or just pissed. Although, here would be where a normal person would remember that under a year ago you took the subway later than this five nights a week.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just going to get some rest.” you smile weakly, swallowing the rest of your water and heading to walk past him.

Tony makes a quick step to the side to keep you there, looking down at you with pointed eyes. Despite the small heat in his eyes, a hand caresses your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Who were you with?” he asks slowly.

“No one.” you replied, keeping your voice light and confident.

Or so you thought. Tony’s fingers wrap the base of your nape, tilting your head slightly to see if you have the gall to lie to his face.

“Is there a reason you’re lying to me?”

“How long?

“How long what?” he scoffs, unyielding.

The tiny plastic you’ve been white-knuckling for the past few minutes is dangled inches from his face. That hardened jaw falters, shortly returning with a dry chuckle and sly smirk.

“How long have you been meeting Steve behind my back?”

part four coming soon

tag request: @those-late-night-feels

#seikkoiwrites #tony stark x reader #tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark smut #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon

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darsynia · 1 year

Text

I Know No Other Way Than This | Ch 5

(Bruce Banner/OFC, Tony Stark & Bruce Banner Friendship, post-Avengers 1 Soulmate AU multichapter)

gif by @scottxlogan

MCU Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | Prev | Next

Summary: Bruce tried to forget he had soulmate words entirely, but on the day of the Chitauri attack, he returned from his stint as the Hulk to find that his black words had turned silver. His soulmate must have watched him shift from the Other Guy into himself and said them while he was unconscious… Length: 2,159 Note: if I’d have found this chapter title before I started this, the entire story would be named Parallel Postulate, instead. Basically, Euclid’s Fifth Postulate is describing a line that falls across two other lines. It says that if the angle created by each ‘corner’ that the joins make are less than 90%, then the other two lines will eventually meet at a single point. Tony is the line that falls, and Cicely and Bruce are the two lines that will eventually meet! Tags: @starryeyes2000 @arrthurpendragon @ronearoundblindly @themaradaniels

Excerpt:

“How’s it going, Aris-Toss-All? Whatcha thinking?”

“Hulk was trying to warn you I think. The thing that set me off was finding out her stalker wasn’t a stalker at all. He was being paid to watch her, referred to a ‘them’ that had missed a payment.”

There was a minute or two delay in hearing Tony’s next response.

“All right, JARVIS is on the case, thanks to what you already told him and some enhanced directives from me. But Bruce? I think you’re going to have to really watch those videos and see what you can see. AI is one thing, but--”

“No, I agree,” Bruce sighed.

“Don’t fret. Your impulsive instinct got us the jump on the guy.”

“My existence is harmful to her, Tony.”

Chapter Five: Euclid’s Fifth Postulate

Bruce’s left side was still a bit bruised when he woke up, despite the healing factor of the Hulk. He could feel it, tender and unfamiliar, as he rolled over onto his back on the springy floor of the room Tony had built for him. It had been a long time since he had felt a true serious injury; Bruce wondered exactly how long. Years, that was for sure. All of those injuries, even the one where he’d actually shot himself, had resulted in the Other Guy taking over and his body repairing the damage. For it not to have been fully repaired by the time Bruce was back in control of himself must have meant an extensive injury.

He looked up at the ceiling above him and found the answer.

There was a circular metal collection of slabs, not quite over his head, but close. They were clustered and angled, looking a lot like something he’d seen in the science fiction show Stargate, called the Iris. There it had been used to cover up the titular gate to prevent anything from moving through it without permission. Had Tony built a shaft through his tower to this room? Had he dropped Bruce all that way?

“Dr. Banner, Sir has requested that I monitor your condition and inform him when you are prepared to speak with him over the comm. Shall I give you some more time to adjust or are you ready now?”

He was used to JARVIS, but there was something strange about hearing the AI speaking so casually here, of all places.

“Go on, but I’d like you to do a welfare check on Cicely Besnard. The information I learned that set me off directly relates to her safety.”

“Certainly, Dr. Banner.”

It stood to reason that Tony had a protocol in place to make sure that simply telling him what had brought forth the Hulk wouldn’t do it again, but Bruce remembered what it was, and that information was still relevant. At least, he hoped it was.

“If it isn’t the Jaw-y Green Giant! How much do you hate watching videos of yourself as your chartreuse creature?”

“It’s not my favorite thing, Tony. Why?”

“He was really chatty during the flight. Seemed like what he was trying to say was important, but I couldn’t figure it out.”

Bruce was genuinely surprised. He sat up, resting his forearms on his knees, frowning. “Is there audio?”

“Sure. Here, ignore the wind noise:”

He understood what Tony meant as an audio file started to play. The sound of the wind whipping was distracting, but then the Hulk started talking.

“BRUCE’S ANN. ANN DANGER. NEW ROSS HIRE NEW EMIL WATCH BRUCE’S ANN.”

He recognized some of the names, but not their context.

“Bruce?”

“Give me a few minutes!” Bruce yelled at Tony. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and added, “I’m not that angry, I just need to think, okay?” He was on edge, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d lose it again and Cicely would be in even more danger. Waiting to hear back from Stark’s AI was making him antsy.

“There’s clothes through a human-sized door activated by your fingerprint, light it up, will you JARVIS?”

Bruce stood and looked around until he saw a (green, of course) blinking light above a door-shaped indent in the padding of the walls. He walked over and activated the controls, opening it up to find a few outfits hanging on the wall. One of them was a t-shirt with Oscar the Grouch on it, which had Bruce laughing despite the serious moment.

“Dr. Banner? I can report that Cicely Besnard is currently at home. The man who has been seen following her around was not visible on any of the surveillance taken from her journey.”

“That’s less encouraging than it sounds, JARVIS. Someone’s hiring people to tail her, that’s what made me lose it. We need to tell her, and either move her somewhere safe or arrange for some kind of security until we can find out why. And it sure as hell better not be because of me.”

“Shall I inform Mr. Stark about this development?”

“Please.”

Bruce dressed quickly, his mind on the names that Hulk had used. He’d sounded upset, in as much as the Other Guy could have variations in demeanor. Ross was obvious, and so was Emil, for that matter, but calling them new was throwing Bruce. And ‘Ann?’ He couldn’t think of any--

Wait.

Betty had told him about a nurse who had been particularly kind to her in the hospital after his initial rampage as the Hulk. The woman had changed shifts, altered her schedule, so she could be there for Betty. That nurse’s name had been Ann.

He stumbled out of the changing room, finding the light switch and turning it off with a weak hand. Did Hulk remember that? The creature’s thought processes were primitive, he knew, but were they associative?

‘New’ Ross. ‘New’ Emil. ‘Bruce’s Ann.’ Bruce’s nurse. A bad guy called in an accomplice to watch Bruce’s nurse?

“How’s it going, Aris-Toss-All? Whatcha thinking?”

There was a minute or two delay in hearing Tony’s next response.

“No, I agree,” Bruce sighed.

“Don’t fret. Your impulsive instinct got us the jump on the guy.”

“My existence is harmful to her, Tony.”

Just saying it out loud hurt. He’d been looking forward to seeing her in person, after warning the stalker off, even though he wouldn’t have approached her. The Hulk’s determination to pass along Bruce’s message in the only way he could think of was very worrisome to Bruce. It meant that Cicely was more important to him than he’d thought she was, which was already too much.

“Seems to me it’s too late to worry about that. If there’s no way to avoid complicating her life, shouldn’t you both at least benefit from it?”

“You got an old laptop you can put on your internal network so I can watch from in here? I don’t think I’m ready to head out just yet,” Bruce asked, ignoring Tony’s question entirely.

“Man, you have no idea how tempted I am to try to set up something on one of those PlaySkool tablets. I won’t, though. I know you’re taking this seriously.”

“Yes, I am.”

Bruce had been looking through files and sorting them into various folders for about five hours when Tony showed up in his Iron Man suit with a person-sized cot, and some blankets.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bruce said, standing up and holding his hands to the small of his back like a man thirty years his senior. “Got carried away.”

“Hey, I’m the last person to chastise a good work binge. Getting any headway?”

“There are at least two of them. The guy I scared away and another man,” Bruce said grimly. “JARVIS did some background, and I’d just like to say that if I weren’t pretty sure this was about the Hulk, I’d be seriously concerned about your access to resources that cross ethics boundaries.”

He was being mild. It seemed like JARVIS had the ability to do things that if the US Government did them, they’d be hearing about UN violations for spying on its own citizens. Intellectually, he knew that private citizens were held to a lesser standard, but when it came to some of the things that he’d been involved in over the course of his life, Bruce didn’t see much difference in the kinds of people who were willing to cross those lines. That Tony Stark was one of them was concerning. It wouldn’t take much to nudge him over into the category of people whose well-meaning concepts were twisted into something horrible.

Bruce would have hoped that the things he’d read about at the Stark Expo a few years back would have taught the man something.

“Bottom line?” Tony asked.

“You’re going to need to send someone to approach her. Maybe Romanoff?” he sighed and once again pushed back the protective urgency he’d been feeling all evening.

“Why wouldn’t you be the one--”

“Okay, you’re Cicely, you recognize me as the person you said something innocuous to only for it to turn out to be a soulmark on my body. You ran away, but I’ve found you, and uh oh, here I am to warn you that someone other than me is stalking you, and it’s probably my fault. How will you react? Favorably, do you think?” Bruce shook his head.

“You watched her do research on you, Bruce. She knows you’re a scientist. The woman’s smart, she can figure out that it’s only logical that you tracked her down. It’s not like you picked her out of a list of women.” Tony flew up to the iris-looking metal door in the ceiling. “JARVIS says you still have some bruising. Should I fit this with some sort of net?”

“Focus, Tony!” Bruce said, irritated. His own comfort was far from a priority right now. “Ideally we set up someone to speak to her as she leaves for work in the morning. Whoever is tracking her was almost certainly warned that we’re onto them.”

“I can send Clint to watch the entrance now, if it would make you feel better,” Tony said, flying back down and landing near Bruce.

“It would.”

“I’ve got at least five empty apartments here, you know. The commute wouldn’t be too bad, and--”

Bruce’s frustration exploded into a tirade. “I can’t get close to this woman, Stark! Look what happened when she vaguely said something in my direction!”

“Wow, you actually do get green around the ears. I thought that was a euphemism!”

Bruce leaned over with his palms on his knees and started doing his breathing. Whether or not there was some kind of genetic imperative to caring for and/or protecting one’s soulmate, he felt responsible for the woman’s safety. She’d come into contact with him, and shortly afterwards, she’d become a target. Tony’s insistence that he remain involved with trying to get her into a safer situation was quite literally driving him insane.

“I’d kick you out of the tower to put her in instead but you’re kind of the one guy who should stick around,” Tony pointed out.

“We neutralize the threat, let her get on with her life. It’s that simple,” Bruce said.

“That’s right up there with ‘create world peace, everyone is happy,’ but okay.” Tony was hovering over Bruce in a way that would look nonchalant except for the way he lifted higher every time Bruce looked up at him. “I’ll send Clint to watch out for her overnight, and in the morning, Nat will drop by for a friendly chat. She’s good at undercover bullshit. Maybe something like a routine sweep of suspicious persons caught two men that had been subsequently seen on surveillance footage following her.”

Bruce let out a breath. “That could work,” he allowed. “Especially if Natasha questions her gently about whether she knows the guys. It could come across like a sting on them, not an operation to protect her.”

“Okay, it’s settled. Do you want me to read you a bedtime story?” Tony asked, sounding entirely too excited at the prospect.

“I already know about the book Go The Fuck To Sleep, Tony, but nice try,” Bruce laughed.

“Damn. I bought it to swap out for one of the books Cap takes to Children’s to read to the sick kids every month, but it turns out he actually does his due diligence and checks the books before he leaves. Knew it was me, too,” Tony lamented.

“Get out of here before your soulmate blames me for your absence. Good night,” Bruce ordered.

“Yes, Dad,” Tony said.

“Wow, no snarky nickname?” Bruce couldn’t resist.

“All I came up with on the fly was ‘Father Throws Best,’” Tony shrugged.

Next chapter, Bruce does his best not to get attached as he seeks to make life better for his soulmate-- but comes to the realization that his life got better after the attack on New York.

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smolvenger · 5 months

Note

I have a big request!!!!!!!!

It's just that y/n lost her parents at an early age and lives with her uncle, Tony Stark. She is like him smart and sarcastic. When, Loki came to stay at the Stark Tower as an Avenger both of them starting off the wrong foot. Slowly, they became friends and had feelings for eachother which they didn't confessed. Peter being the bff of y/n sets both of them up with a lil bit of smut at end??

P.S: In my thoughts, y/n and Peter are of same age, both are 21. Also, I am very sorry for a lengthy ask.

Seven PM Sharp (Loki x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: A sudden dinner "for the Avengers" changes everything about the relationship between you and a certain mischievous god...

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: SMUT AT THE END! (public sex, restraints, spanking, possessiveness kink, bit of dom! Loki, doggy style, on the rougher end), loss of parents (YN is adopted by Tony) and Loki accidentally being a jerk and being a jealous whore too. Grammar and spelling mistakes.

Dick-tionary (thanks @muddyorbsblr for the term): Smut starts at "At once you got on his lap, straddling him." and ends at "His magic got rid of the embarrassing mess.."

A/N:Hello there nonny! Sorry this took such a while! My life went wild and my monkey brain got distracted by other projects. But here it is! I really wanted to get this done for you. Went overboard with the smut, but blame my Demon Thirsty Whore Brain with the images of Behind the Scenes of Loki that popped out. Oops. I hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @littlespaceyelf @superficialdomina @muddyorbsblr

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

“Your uncle is a useless fool,” Loki snarled at you as he walked around.

What. The. Actual. Fuck you thought. You had never met this guy before- you met gods. Like Thor- sweetheart he was. This, his brother… was a different case. You knew your uncle was an Avenger- and you’d be circled about them but this…this took the cake.

You gasped, folding your arms. No- Loki was under watch since causing trouble possessed by the mind stone. He wasn’t going to…use his powers to turn you into a pile of dust or whatever. And you were not going to have Uncle Tony’s name slandered, not when he loved you, took care of you, and did so much for you.

“That’s the first thing you’re ever going to say to me? You don’t even know my name!” you huffed back. You tried to square him up though he was tall and broad.

“I do not bother with names of mere mortals. Midgardians are the least interesting to me,” he said.

“Whatever. Just stay away from me- and don’t shit talk my uncle or his inventions.”

“I will speak how I wish.”

“Listen - I know you don’t give a shit but my name is YN Stark. I’m not some nameless figure you can push around. I wasn’t always a Stark- -why? Why?!”

You got up to his face, his eyes still unperturbed.

“I had nothing! I came from nothing at all! My family fucking died! Everyone runs back to their family every Christmas and Birthday and holiday- but me? None! I had to be alone, scraping for myself! No one around me-no one to keep me safe! No one to even love me! I had nothing until Uncle Tony came in…” there were tears in your eyes.

You took a breath and continued, Loki’s face was frozen, but he still listened.

“I don’t give a shit if he was the CEO of Stark Enterprises or the janitor- he welcomed me to his home. He’s like a dad to me- the only one I got left. So you can keep talking your shit- just not to me!” you cried.

You hurried out before he could make a reply.

You couldn’t help but hold onto your grudge. Every time he appeared, you turned away. Ignoring him. Giving him the cold shoulder. Ignoring him in the rudest, snobbiest way. He deserved it. No wonder if his baritone voice you could never stop listening to. Your ears perking over whenever he spoke like a cat. But your eyes forward.

There were a few times he would lock eyes with you. And then he would smirk. You would huff and turn right away.

“Ugh…asshole,” you muttered. Stupid, beautiful asshole with a great ass.

It continued perhaps for a couple of weeks. Then…one day he caught you alone. You tried to, wanted to, everything urged in you to back off…but your feet stayed put.

“Hello there I…I have…thought about what you said and…”

“And what? Plan to throw my uncle off a building? Again?” you asked.

“No I…I’m sorry. For what I said,” he replied.

You paused. Looking at him.

“Oh…okay…what made you change your mind?” you asked. You folded your arms.

“You see- I am adopted too.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

With a slight whiff of magic, briefly, his appearance changed. His skin was blue and his eyes red. You dropped your jaw.

“Turns out, I’m a Frost Giant. Or…part Frost Giant at least. I was just a baby- found abandoned in the snow. Then adopted and brought to Asgard to be raised under the name of Odinson and not Laufeyson.

“Why…what?! Oh…oh god, when did you find out?”

“The hard way.”

“That…that does sound miserable…I’m sorry for being harsh.”

“Don’t be.”

You began to talk more. About the birth family you lost forever, wondered about. Each time it happened, you learned more about each other. He learned some about Tony and you- like what flavor of cake your uncle would try to make on your birthday. He would tell you about turning into a snake as a child to trick Thor.

Uncle Tony would keep a careful eye on him. He gave you a few warnings, and you promised him to tread with caution.

So you trod with caution for months. Then a year.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

“My brother is dangerous and impulsive- he endangered his kingdom. Why would you even agree to go with him on a date?” Loki cried.

You just got back to the compound. He looked down at your clothes- causal plaid and jeans. Probably not first-date wear. The place wasn’t a fancy restaurant- just a bar and grill.

“It wasn’t a date! We were hanging out! It was just out to a restaurant to enjoy happy hour and eat mozzarella sticks! He needed his own tray of them as he was wolfing them down like candy!” you explained.

“He will try and charm you! But you know his type and what they do! That’s what he is- he gets everything he wants on a silver platter. And when you tell him no, he’ll…he’ll…”

“What Silvertongue? What will he do?” you asked.

Loki huffed, then began to pace away.

“Nothing happened. He just wanted company. A friend. Thor keeps talking about how much he misses this woman named Jane. He’s too madly in love with her. You can practically see the heart eyes on him every time she’s brought up!”

Loki paused. How beautiful he looked. The shine of the moon radiates from the window. Making his ivory skin have a silver glow. His eyes soft. He took a large but graceful hand and ruffled it through his own curls.

“I’m. Not. Dating him. And how could I take Jane’s man away from her? It’s like when me and Peter go see movies- or when you or I go see movies! It’s fine!”

“Alright. I was just…just worried, was all. I wanted you safe.”

“You thought I would be unsafe with Thor? Thor’s just a big teddy bear!”

“When you date I just…I just want you protected…” he said.

“You know…thank you. It is scary to be on a date. Things have happened. To women on dates. But…I’m an adult. You can worry about me some. But I can take care of myself too,” you replied.

“Yes…yes you can,” Loki agreed.

With that, he vanished away in a sliver of magic.

“Absolutely not” was your response.

“Come on, YN! It will be fun!” Peter replied, nudging close to you. He sat next to you on the couch. The TV show you were both watching droned on.

“Fun?!? Fun!?! What about going to a fancy dinner with the Avengers sounds fun! Besides- what if I use the wrong fork or knock something over? I know these events, but this…this is something else,” you replied.

“Please, YN! You are invited too!” Peter insisted.

“Well…I may have to go shopping for the right dress,” you sighed. Peter grinned at you.

“Don’t worry- all the men will be in suits. And your Uncles paying for everything.”

“He always paid everything for me,” you replied. “Okay, you know….fine, I’ll go.”

“Awesome!” Peter cried, high-fiving you.

You watched a few more minutes and then Peter excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Little did you know, that Thor knocked on the door to Loki’s room several floors down in the compound. The god of mischief opened and cocked a dark eyebrow.

“Brother! There is going to be a dinner and you must come! It shall be at a tavern- but it is like a palace! Very exquisite! You must come!” he invited, waving a hand.

Loki smirked, folding his arms

“Finally! For all the world saving none of the Avengers truly know the finer things in life. I would like to eat something that isn’t frozen and from a bag. ” he replied.

Thor folded his hands.

“I knew you would like it! And everyone is dressing up! We all know your style!”

“These so-called sweatpants they all wear all the time become old and reek of their personal smells. Do they even know of any basics of dressing? Fine then- reserve me a spot. You know I have plenty to wear. No one will dare call me the sloppy one of us both,” he continued.

Thor nodded his head. His lips smiling but tight. Then Loki used his magic to close the door and he returned to reading his book.

As Thor and Peter passed in the halls, they exchanged nods and high-fives.

You arrived in a dress- it had a slight dip to it but had a flowy skirt that went to your knees and a heart-shaped neckline with a pearl necklace. You had them take your coats and go to the table.

It was odd- you didn’t see anyone here. Not Wanda. Steve. Nat. Uncle Tony. Thor. Peter. Clint. Not even Bruce discussing something science-y with whoever sat next to him.

You approached the hostess.

“Hello- I am here for the table marked for The Avengers,” you said.

She nodded and led you to a table. It was notably small. Only three other chairs.

Perhaps it was a more intimate event. Just you and Peter and Uncle Tony and maybe someone else- maybe Thor.

No one was there. You sat there alone, placing the cloth napkin on your lap. Fidgeting nervously and staring at where everyone sat. Not one recognizable face among the soft chatter and sound of wines being poured.

Loki arrived wearing one of his nicer suits and a long coat. His hair was washed today (his brother talked him into it). He looked at the restaurant. He was correct- It was the Le Sait. The street was the correct one. Walking with a swagger, he went up the steps inside the restaurant with its bright yellow glow inside.

“Hello there my dear- the table for the Avengers, please,” he crooned out.

The hostess led him over to the table…

The person who showed up was Loki.

It struck you. You were in nice clothes. In a nice restaurant. Alone was Loki.

You both stood up. You felt so hot you could have burned or melted your own self into a puddle. Loki’s eyes went down to your neckline and then politely back up.

“You!” you gasped out.

“You!” he repeated with a slight jump.

Then you both relaxed and burst into laughter.

“Why Loki! It’s you!”

“Yes, it is! Well…”

“Come on…sit down…let’s just eat some dinner, I’m starved….”

“Yes, I agree…”

It then hit you-no one else showed up.

“Where is everyone?”

“I’m not sure but…let’s just…just enjoy it. Enjoy the place and being together.”

You both laughed and talked so much you didn’t realize it was nearly empty. Only you guys here. Recalling every memory you had. First happy ones, the ones that could make one laugh so hard your stomach hurt. Then…about the day you met.

“I said those offensive things back then. Because the truth was I was the fool…do you forgive me?”

“I already have.”

“I need to know every day. It always is my greatest shame. What keeps me awake at night. I said those things back then because I didn’t know you. In a way, I wanted to prove myself. Make myself big, strong-I kept getting into those habits. Tried to scoff at Stark to feel better about myself…But then you spoke. You challenged me. I never heard of him doing that- of taking you in. And it wasn’t to tear me down or to make me less. But to challenge me to be better, do better. And the way you fought back instead of lying there…it impressed me.”

It was quiet now, still. People had left. It seemed not even the waiters were around. But you didn’t mind.

“With you, I feel less alone. I feel seen. I’m not perfect. It’s odd for a god, but I have…I have so many faults. Yet you see me and choose me anyway. And with you…I want to try to improve those faults,” Loki replied.

Your eyes brimmed with tears.

“I love you too. It’s so weird- you can’t leave my mind. I miss you. I want you. I want to be with you, I want to choose to love you…”

“My dear, we can be better. Grow to do better..together.”

“Oh, fuck it!” you cried.

You grabbed and kissed him. You could feel it already- his mere touch driving you crazy. You wanted nothing more than him on you, in you.

“Oh, I can tell, my dear…” he smirked, his voice half a laugh.

His hand lifted up. Green magic sparked from his hand and then went around you. A clear shield.

“No one will see us, hear us. We are silent and invisible, my pet.”

At once you got on his lap, straddling him. Just piling on the kisses, his scent- him. Your lips crashed onto his. A hand reached up, and raked through his curls. He washed them today- and how beautiful, how soft they felt to you. Well…there was one thing you felt that was definitely not soft. And you felt it already poking at you, right at the lace underwear you wore for tonight.

“Oh…oh gods….” You moaned. The shudder escaping you. He carefully moved his hips closer.

He held you tight. Already your hips lining, an electricity shooting through you both. You let out another whimper.

“Ah, if that is the effect a mere brush of my clothes has on you…then you must be ready when my bare flesh touches yours,” he whispered.

He then sucked onto a part of your neck and you sighed into it. Loving it-loving him. You reached up.

Your fingers were too greedy, you went to his tie. You gently undid it. Then it was just an impractical thing dangling from his neck like a scarf with his undone shirt.

“Holy shit, that’s hot,” you confessed. You moved in another sloppy kiss.

“I see…my little dove is eager, greedy…and who am I to keep her waiting too much…” he replied.

He held onto you. Then at once, used his magic to make the plates and food and glasses vanish. He shoved you onto the table. You began to kiss on him. Holding onto him tight, and grinding as you did.

“Please…I need you…”

“Oh…still more…then…then beg…” he asked. “You will have to want my touch rather than placing your pretty hands all over me.”

With a bit more magic, his undone tie was over your wrists.

“Yes…yes please…Loki…I need you…I need you inside me…here, now- fast. Rough.”

“Hmm, what was that last bit?” he asked quietly.

“I just want you to take me- take me in the filthiest way possible on this table, here.”

He chuckled. Then easily flipped you over onto your stomach. He lifted your skirt. You heard him tsk at the sight of your lace underwear on display. Already dripping wet from the inside, but flattering your ass.

“First…you must learn a lesson…you scared me quite a bit there, going with that fool of a brother I have…but now you are mine…but you will learn a lesson.”

He undid your underwear and let it fall. Then he reached for a hand and spanked it. You let out a yelp.

“Tell me I’m yours with every spank. Then thank me.”

“I’m yours. Thank you.”

He spanked you again, and he let out a cry. The momentum makes you move.

“Hmmm…what was that?” he asked.

“I’m yours! Thank you!”

He spanked you a third time, you let out another sound- then it melted to your voice.

“I’m yours, thank you.”

Then a fourth time. You could already feel the impact, the sting on your flesh. How since his hands were so large, it could cover so much of your ass.

“I’m yours-thank you!”

“One more time- I didn’t quite hear that.”

He spanked another time and you cried out.

“I’m yours! Thank you!”

You still felt your necklace almost to your mouth. Your arms were a little tight from being held together. But gods, this was the hottest thing you had ever experienced.

“Yes…are you ready, my little mortal. Can you handle all of a god?”

“Yes…yes please-please…”

His hands wandered to your legs, his breath catching. Letting you spread wide. Finally, you felt him inside you, getting inside with each inch.

“Oh- oh-oh!” you were crying.

“You will be a good girl, and take all of it. You wanted a god, and now you have him,” he demanded.

He let out a slow thrust.

“Yes! Yes, I can!”

“And you will keep saying thank you.”

He thrust again. Grunting with each one. The table shaking. The pure lewdness of it all overwhelms you.

“Yes-Yes-Yes, oh gods- thank you- thank you so much!”

You could feel how he reached over the skirt. His own sounds. The little noises he was making, his breath right over the back of your neck. His breathy repetitions of your name. Then you felt the bonds disappear- he pulled you up to him.

“Hold onto the table, dove. It’s going to be rougher-”

You grabbed onto it for dear life. Then let out a cry as he got into you. He pounded into you with such a dury the wood shook, you gripped on. IT was so painful, so pleasurable.

“Oh- oh my god- yes-yes-please-oh-thank you, yes thank you- thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou-”

“My-my dear I- gods, the sight of you- nrgh-bent over for me- such-such loyalty-to-to-to your god and-fuck-I’ll be-be loyal back-”

He reached a hand in as he pounded and found your clit.

“Now darling- yes-yes cum-that’s your reward-norns-norns I’m close-come on-just cum, over it all-scream so loud-test the shield-yes-come one-hel, I’ can’t I’m about to-I’m about-”

You came with a cry, it broke on you so intensely. The release you couldn’t fight anymore. It spun up and out, and then the relaxation of its flight washed down your system.

Then it became all smaller, quieter cries. “Ah..ah…ah…” you were whimpering with what voice you had after that. You were panting as was he.

His magic got rid of the embarrassing mess that some poor employee of the restaurant would have to clean up. It smelled and felt normal. No one would suspect a thing… except for how you both held hands leaving the place. A blush on Loki’s cheeks as his tie was still left undone for you.

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sokoviansimp · 8 months

Text

Unspoken Hearts

✒ Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision

✒ Summary: Wanda gets married with you as her maid of honor, Tony gets too drunk at the reception and exposes your true feelings

✒ Tags and Warnings: angst and fluff

✒ Author's Note: I just had the urge to write this today.

✒ Word Count: 2125

✒ Read Time: 11 minutes

Masterlist : Socials

The sun cast its warm glow over the tranquil morning, illuminating the Avengers' headquarters. Wanda Maximoff, dressed in a stunning white gown, stood before the mirror, a smile gracing her lips as she admired her reflection. Today was her wedding day, a day she had dreamt of, and it was finally here. The room buzzed with excitement as friends and teammates bustled around, making the final preparations for the ceremony. Among them was you, Wanda's closest friend, and perhaps the one who knew her best.

You had been a constant presence in Wanda's life since your paths had intertwined at Hydra. From the first moment you met, there was an instant connection, a deep understanding that bound your souls together. Through trials and tribulations, you had leaned on each other, forming a bond that could never be broken.

As Wanda's maid of honor, you had the task of ensuring everything went off without a hitch. You moved gracefully around the room, orchestrating the final touches with your usual calm demeanor. But beneath the facade of serenity, your heart was a storm of conflicting emotions.

Wanda turned from the mirror, her eyes alight with joy. "Y/N, can you believe this day is finally here?"

You smiled, your gaze tender. "Who would’ve thought that one day, one of those scared little kids being tested on in the Hydra facility would be getting their happily ever after? Here w-you are, defying all odds, you deserve all the happiness in the world."

Wanda's gaze softened as she reached out and took your hand. "And you, my dear friend, have been there for me through everything. I couldn't imagine this day without you by my side."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in Wanda's eyes. How you wished you could express the depth of your feelings, but you had always been skilled at hiding your true emotions.

The ceremony was a blur of beauty and emotion straight from a fairy tale, and soon Wanda and Vision were pronounced husband and wife. The reception was a lively affair, laughter, and music filling the air as the Avengers and their friends celebrated the union. You watched from the sidelines, your smile bright, but your heart ached. You had always been content with your friendship with Wanda, but the realization that you could never truly have her stung more fiercely today.

As the night continued; Tony Stark, his inhibitions loosened by alcohol, became increasingly boisterous. You tried to keep a low profile, but Tony's attention landed squarely on you.

"Ah, Y/N! Always the bridesmaid, but never the bride," Tony slurred, a sardonic grin on his face, as he hooked his right arm around your shoulder and squeezed you into his side so that you were forced to listen to his remarks.

Your cheeks flushed a mix of embarrassment and hurt flooding in. Forcing a laugh, hoping to brush off his comment. "Well, someone's gotta support our happily ever afters, Tony."

Tony's gaze sharpened, and he took another swig of his drink. "You know, it's a shame, really. All that unrequited love you've been harboring for Wanda."

“Tony.” Natasha warned after hearing what was being said through earshot.

Your heart stopped, panic gripping tightly around your neck. How could he know? You had kept your feelings buried so deep, you could argue that sometimes you even forgot they were there.

The party around them seemed to fade into the background as Tony's words hung in the air. Your mind raced, searching for a way to salvage the situation, to hide the truth that had been laid bare.

But Tony wasn't finished. "Oh, come on. The way you've always dropped everything to be there for her, the way your eyes follow her whenever she's in the room and shy away under her glance. It's obvious."

“Tony, Enough!” Natasha said much louder, garnering more attention than she had hoped for.

Your world shattered. Someone you had trusted, one who promised to be on your side, had just exposed your most guarded secret. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly lost.

Wanda approached after hearing Natasha raise her voice, concern in her eyes as she noticed you in distress. "Hey, what's going on? Is everything ok?"

Tony smirked, his voice dripping with malice. "Just having a little heart-to-heart about our dear Y/N’s feelings for you."

Wanda's gaze turned to you, a mixture of surprise and confusion in her eyes. Your heart raced and your throat constricted with a flood of emotions you couldn't put into words. You could feel the tears start to well in your eyes even if they hadn’t become noticeable yet. The embarrassment was gobbling you whole at this point, the only thing you could think to do was run, you didn’t want to sit there and see Wanda’s reaction. You couldn't. You didn’t want her pity, her anger, her disgust, whatever lay beneath her gorgeous green eyes. You couldn’t wait around for it, so you flung yourself and weaseled out from Tony’s far too tight grasp and booked it.

“Tony, What the fuck!” Natasha scolded him as Wanda chased after you, still in her wedding dress and heels.

“What? We were all thinking it. Someone had to say it.” He brushed off with no remorse.

“You’re unbelievable, keep this up and you won’t have any friends left, Stark,” Nat spat back.

Eventually, your running ceased as you fell to your knees in the garden behind the reception and past the courtyard. Your tears became uncontrollable as you sat there sobbing as quietly as you could, hoping you had run far enough away that Wanda wouldn’t find you. The feeling of embarrassment still replaying in your brain on repeat along with thoughts swirling around in your mind that Wanda would hate you for what Tony said. How could she be your friend after that? You hadn’t known life without her for quite some time, and before her, it was all terrible. The only joy you ever found in life came after she lit up your world. How could you go back to that?

It didn’t take long for Wanda to find you, she could read you like a book. As soon as she spotted you sobbing on the ground, she immediately ran up to you and knelt down to wrap you in her arms to try and stop your sobbing, “Y/N, shh, it’s ok,” she whispered in your ear as she gently rocked you.

Once the sobbing slowed you attempted to break your silence, "Wanda, I..." you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

But Wanda held up a hand, stopping you. Her expression was a complex blend of emotions – surprise, curiosity, and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

"Wanda, I never meant for you to find out like this," you managed, your voice trembling.

Wanda's gaze softened, and she dipped her head down closer, reaching out to cup your cheek. "Y/N, you've always been a constant in my life, a rock when everything else was uncertain. I've leaned on you, and I hope you know that you mean the world to me."

Even though the sobbing had slowed, new tears began to well in your eyes, a mix of relief and regret flooding you. "I- I didn't want to complicate things. I cherished our friendship more than anything, and I never wanted to put you in an uncomfortable position."

Wanda smiled a sad but genuine smile. "Love is never something to be regretted, priyatel'. You’ve been my go-to, my best friend, the one I can share my good days and bad days with. Soulmates aren’t just lovers."

Your heart ached with a bittersweet blend of emotions. You had lost your chance, but at least you hadn't lost your friend. Wanda's acceptance meant more to you than you could even express, “I’m sorry,” you said as you dipped your head away from her gaze.

“Knock it off, priyatel'. None of this is your fault.” Wanda assured you as you both stood from the ground.

“Your dress is ruined and your wedding night, all because of me,” you noted.

“Y/N, you’re worth so much more to me than some stupid dress, and the night is still young.” she said extending her hand for you to grab as she escorted you back to the party.

“Come on, lets at least get your dress cleaned up,” you said taking her hand.

As the venue emptied and the night drew to a close, you found yourself sitting alone on a quiet balcony, the stars above offering a soothing embrace. Wanda joined you, the sound of her footsteps soft against the night.

"Mind if I join you?" Wanda asked, her voice gentle.

You shook your head, managing a small smile. "Of course not."

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the weight of the unspoken conversation heavy in the air.

"I'm sorry I never realized," Wanda finally said, her voice tinged with regret.

You looked at her, your heart aching for the pain you saw in Wanda's eyes. "Wanda, please don't blame yourself. My feelings were my own to bear, and I never wanted to burden you with them."

Wanda reached out, taking your hand in her own. "But you're not a burden, Y/N. If anything, I regret not seeing the depth of your feelings sooner. You've been a constant in my life, and I should have understood what that meant."

Your heart swelled at her words, as you squeezed her hand. "Wanda, you've given me so much already. I'll always cherish our friendship, no matter what."

Wanda's gaze was intense, her eyes searching yours, "And I'll cherish it too, Y/N. You're a huge part of my story, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Tears welled in your eyes, as you took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. "Wanda, you mean everything to me. Seeing you happy is all that matters."

Wanda reached out, gently wiping away a tear from your cheek. "And your happiness matters to me too. Life is full of unexpected twists, Y/N. Who's to say what lies ahead?"

As you both sat there, hand in hand, bathing in the moonlight, you realized that perhaps love didn't always have to be romantic to be meaningful. The love you held for Wanda, while unrequited, had shaped you into the person you were now, and that was a story worth telling.

And so, in the quiet moments of that night, two hearts found solace in the understanding that friendship, even when mixed with unspoken emotions, could be a powerful and beautiful thing.

The night wore on, the moon casting its silver glow over the Avengers' compound. The celebration had shifted into a quieter phase, with small groups of friends and family gathered around, reminiscing and sharing stories. You found yourself engaged in a conversation with Clint and Nat, both of whom had been part of your journey since the early days of being rescued.

"Hey, Y/N, remember that mission in Budapest?" Clint chuckled, a nostalgic glint in his eye.

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. "How could I forget? That was the mission that involved the cat, right?"

Natasha smirked, her gaze thoughtful. "Ah, yes, the infamous cat incident. You've always had a way of turning the most serious situations into something memorable."

You grinned, the warmth of their camaraderie washing over you. Despite the turmoil of your own heart, you were grateful for these connections, these moments that had shaped your life.

As the night continued, Your gaze kept drifting toward Wanda, who was surrounded by well-wishers and friends, her laughter ringing through the air. The sight was both heartwarming and heart-wrenching, a reminder of what she now had and what you could never have.

Tony, his previous intoxication now replaced by solemn sobriety, approached you, his gaze apologetic. "Hey, you, about earlier..."

You held up a hand, your expression softening. "Tony, it's okay. I know you were just speaking your mind."

Tony sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I should have been more careful with my words. I didn't mean to hurt you."

You smiled, offering him a reassuring pat on the arm. "Don't worry about it, Tony. Water under the bridge."

“Oh Y/N, you let him off way too easily,” Natasha teased.

As the night drew to a close, the guests slowly began to disperse, their laughter and conversation fading into the background. It was bittersweet, being part of this day, surrounded by happiness and love, yet feeling an ache deep within.

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