heygoodgirly

[heygoodgirly]

Elden Henson in Daredevil S01E01

[heygoodgirly]

Stark men gossiping about their sex lives? Yes, please! We definitely need this ☝🏻

Maria and reader out for shopping 🛍

Stark men gossiping 💅

“The Stark Men Talk Too Much”

A/N: Surviving the Starks continues...let me know your thoughts!

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader, Howard x Maria Stark

Warnings: none!

Surviving The Starks

.

The afternoon sun filters into Stark Manor like a spotlight on decadence, gilding the room in gold and legacy. The drawing room smells faintly of oak, leather, and recklessness, two-thirds of that thanks to the father and son occupying it, sprawled like a pair of well-fed lions in a whisky den.

Howard Stark, in a pressed suit and a smug expression that suggests he’s just remembered a particularly scandalous memory, leans back in his armchair with the elegance of a man who knows the power of posture and bourbon. Across from him, Tony Stark young, smug, terrifyingly brilliant, slouches with the kind of practiced nonchalance that makes it very clear he’s pretending not to enjoy this.

You and Maria are away; or rather, the two women who make these men behave like respectable human beings have escaped.

Maria dragged you into the city hours ago, the phrase “quick shopping trip” tossed over her shoulder like confetti. Which means, as far as Howard’s concerned, he has at least three uninterrupted hours to ruin his son’s psyche with fatherly wisdom and unfiltered reminiscing.

It starts harmlessly enough. Whiskey is poured, cigars lit. A few barbed compliments exchanged, as is the Stark family tradition. But then, as it always does when testosterone and legacy ferment too long in one room, the conversation takes a detour straight into too much information territory.

The topic? Women.

More specifically: you. And Maria. Both brilliant. Both terrifying in heels. And both blissfully absent.

Which means, obviously, it’s the perfect time for gossip so inappropriate it might be classified as psychological warfare.

Howard strikes first, offering up a story so wildly unsuited for daylight that it should’ve come with a health warning. Something about the French Riviera, a gala in 1963, and Maria in a backless dress that caused international tension.

Tony, to his credit, looks mildly disturbed. Not enough to change the subject, of course. Just enough to top off his glass and say something along the lines of please never say the phrase “sensual espionage” again.

But then it happens. Howard asks the question.

“So,” he says, swirling his drink like it holds the answers to the universe, “how serious is it?”

Tony doesn’t respond right away.

That’s the problem with falling for someone who doesn’t just challenge you but sees through you. He’s always thought that kind of vulnerability was a liability. But now, with you? It feels like something else. Something permanent.

So naturally, he deflects.

“She has excellent taste in liquor and questionable taste in men,” he says. “What more do you need to know?”

Howard just laughs and leans forward like he’s about to share the meaning of life. Instead, he says, “The ones that make you feel like you’re not the smartest person in the room? They’re the ones who wreck you. In the best way. You’ll see.”

Tony’s smirk falters a little.

Jarvis, who has been quietly dusting the fireplace mantel with the resigned patience of a long-suffering saint, clears his throat.

“Would you gentlemen prefer I schedule confession now, or after dessert?”

No one answers. They’re too busy exchanging war stories, Howard with his romantic conquests before Maria, Tony with the way your laugh makes something ancient and armored inside him soften like wax.

The conversation gets steadily worse (and louder), until Jarvis finally retreats to the kitchen with a tray and a muttered prayer.

.

Meanwhile, in the city, chaos of a more elegant nature unfolds.

Maria Stark walks, her heels ticking out a rhythm of dangerous elegance. You move beside her with a quieter kind of power, the kind that makes shopkeepers straighten their posture and assistants forget what they were doing.

Between the two of you, you’ve already decimated half of Fifth Avenue and terrorized three boutique managers with a single look.

Maria is mid-rant about the limitations of men left unattended, specifically her men, when she pauses to admire a pair of silk gloves that will probably double as weapons before the year’s out.

“Left them alone for an afternoon,” she mutters. “Odds they’ve devolved into bragging about how many women used to throw themselves at them?”

“I think Tony once compared your marriage to a Cold War truce.” You arch a brow.

Maria snorts. “He’s not wrong. I’ve seen less negotiation in NATO summits than in our first year.”

You two laugh, knowing and private, the kind of laugh that says you’re both intimately familiar with loving men who are brilliant, impossible, and emotionally constipated.

But beneath the cashmere, the champagne, and the clinking of credit cards, there’s something unspoken. A flicker of warmth. The kind that comes from knowing you’re loved by complicated, infuriating men who somehow manage to be yours.

.

Back at the manor, the Stark men are still drinking. Still sharing too much. Still toeing the line between familial bonding and absolute emotional catastrophe.

It’s at precisely the moment Tony starts describing what it feels like when you look at him, really look, that the front door opens.

He doesn’t finish the sentence. The smirk drops clean off his face.

“Should I be worried that the house smells like cigars and poor judgement?” Maria’s voice rings out through the hall, cool and lethal as a loaded pistol.

Howard turns pale while Tony bolts upright.

Jarvis, from the hallway, mutters something that sounds like, “Thank God.”

And you? You step around Maria into the room with a stack of shopping bags and the exact smile that makes Tony nervous. The kind of smile that suggests you’ve already heard everything.

“Nice to see the Stark Men’s Sensitivity Hour is still on schedule,” you say, one brow lifted, eyes twinkling.

Tony looks like a man reviewing every decision he’s ever made in his life. Slowly. Backwards, while sweating.

Howard lifts his glass, utterly unrepentant.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We only said good things.”

“You talked, didn’t you?” Maria sniffs.

“Of course I did.” Howard grins.

You catch Tony’s eye. He doesn’t say a word, but his gaze is all apologies and panic.

You lean over, press a kiss to his cheek, and murmur, “You’re lucky you’re adorable.”

Jarvis, entering discreetly with a new tray of drinks, says, “I shall go prepare the emotional damage report.”

And somewhere deep inside Tony Stark’s mind, one singular truth echoes like a warning flare:

He is so screwed.

[heygoodgirly]

The truth is…I am Iron Man.

IRON MAN (2008) dir. Jon Favreau

[heygoodgirly]

You think you can awaken some buried spark of decency in me? Is that how you “help your helpless”? I am not helpless.

[heygoodgirly]

Chapter 10 - Terms and Conditions

A/N: There we are! The next chapter of this series. Hope y'all like it.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: slow burn

Terms and Conditions

.

It was the cold that woke you first.

Not biting, not freezing, but sterile. Industrial. Clean in a way that felt wrong, like everything had been scrubbed of humanity.

Your head throbbed as you sat up slowly, wrists aching from the restraints. You were on a cot. No windows. Just white walls and a single strip light overhead humming with a relentless buzz. You tugged instinctively, and the shackle at your ankle scraped against the concrete floor.

Fantastic.

There was a camera in the corner. Watching. Recording.

“Morning, sunshine.”

The voice slinked in before the door even opened.

Aldrich Killian stepped through, hair slicked, eyes glittering with calculated glee, he wore a tailored suit like it was battle armor.

You met his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Should’ve guessed it was you. Who else would mix science, ego, and kidnapping so elegantly?”

He smirked. “You always had flair, Dr. Y/L/N.”

You clenched your jaw. “It’s Mrs. Stark.”

Killian chuckled and leaned against the table with ease. “You know what your problem is? You’re brilliant. But too noble for your own good. Tony found that charming. I find it… annoying.”

He tapped a remote. A projection lit up against the wall, schematics, heat maps, bio-enhancement models. All Extremis. But this wasn’t the unstable version that turned veterans into bombs. This version looked sleeker. Smarter. Scarier.

“You see, Extremis 2.0 is almost there. But we need clean, sustainable cellular regulation. Controlled oxygenation under duress. Guess which company figured that out for smart structures and clean-core buildings?”

You said nothing.

“Don’t be shy,” he crooned. “You know what you built. Novastem’s oxygen-sequencing algorithm, the self-healing latticework tech, it could fix Extremis.”

“I built that tech to heal people. Stabilize environments. Not turn them into weapons.”

“Yeah. That’s why it’s poetic.”

He knelt beside you, voice dropping to a whisper laced with venom. “You married a man who once sold weapons. And now you’re going to help me perfect one.”

Your glare sharpened. “Not in this lifetime.”

He sighed. Then signaled to someone outside the door.

Two guards entered.

And then the real nightmare began.

They didn’t beat you. That would have been too blunt.

They used pressure points. Cold shock. Lights too bright. Buzzing frequencies that rattled your skull until your teeth hurt. Medical tools that hummed low before they pierced skin. They monitored your vitals. They asked questions while you were disoriented, weak, trembling. About Novastem’s systems. Fail-safes, remote access points.

You never answered.

Later, agonisingly later, you were back on the cot, wrists aching. Lips split. Breathing ragged. You counted the seconds by the drip of condensation down the wall across from you. Still no answers.

Then boom!

You jolted. It wasn’t in your room, not nearby, but close enough that the ground shook. A low rumble of chaos followed. Distant shouts. Screaming. Metal twisting.

Another explosion. Louder. Closer.

You sat upright as best as you could manage, eyes wide and red strobes pulsed across the room.

He was here. Tony Stark.

Your husband had found you.

A crash. Two guards at your door rushed out. The door slammed shut again, but not for long. Ten seconds later, it exploded inward in a fiery blast that scorched the walls and sent smoke and sparks flying.

A glass wall behind you lit up, a voice crackling over a speaker above.

“You really are predictable, Stark.”

Tony froze mid-step, shot gun aimed, ready to fire until he saw who was speaking.

Aldrich Killian.

Smirking. Confident. Holding a gleaming syringe between two fingers, tapping it lightly like a conductor about to cue an orchestra.

Tony’s voice cut like steel. “Step away from her.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me and risk hitting her?” Killian grinned, stepping inside a side door with infuriating calm. “You’re a genius, Tony. But you’ve always been too emotional to win the game.”

Tony started toward you, fast, but not fast enough. And Killian turned, grabbed your chin in a swift, practiced motion.

You struggled, bucked, cried out, “Tony—!”

Tony fired but Killian was already plunging the needle into your neck.

The pain was instant.

Your body jerked, fire flooded your veins. Your back arched as the Extremis serum lit your nerves on fire.

Every breath felt like it could set the room ablaze.

Your eyes rolled back, and the last thing you heard was Tony calling your name, just once before the world started to dissolve.

But the screaming didn’t stop.

He charged, shot after shot, the sound of metal tearing, flesh sizzling, a sickening crack of bone. You managed to see his face long enough for you to see the fury twisting his features as he grabbed Killian by the collar, slamming him into the wall so hard it left a crater.

“You son of a bitch!” he roared, voice splintered. “She’s not your test subject. She’s my wife. And you just made the worst mistake of your life.”

The words echoed in your ears like a lullaby or maybe a siren, as the serum took hold and everything faded to black.

[heygoodgirly]

BLACK WIDOW 2021, dir. Cate Shortland

[heygoodgirly]

wold you write Tony stark with new avengers she having Electrokinesis power and she needs to learn how to controlling

Static Affection

A/N: Hope this one is what you were looking for :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x New Avenger!Reader

Warning: none really!

Word count: 1.5k

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

You sneeze one day and the toaster explodes.

Not a metaphor, it quite literally explodes. One second there’s a perfectly innocent slice of sourdough mid-toast, the next there is shrapnel and smoke and Tony Stark leaning against the doorway in full I-can’t-believe-this-is-my-life posture.

“Bless you,” he says dryly, waving away a puff of smoke with the back of his hand.

You flinch. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Blow up a toaster? I know. That poor appliance just couldn’t handle your radiant personality.”

You look down at your sparking fingertips and wince. Your hands still twitch involuntarily sometimes, like your body hasn’t figured out you’re not a Tesla coil.

“That’s the third one this week,” you mutter.

“Fourth,” he corrects, walking past you to inspect the toaster’s smoking remains. “Fry one more and you unlock a secret achievement. I think it comes with a plaque.”

“I suck at this.” You groan and bury your face in your hands.

Tony’s voice softens just a touch, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you’ve learned the subtle inflections. “Hey. You’re not failing. You’re just…seasoning the Tower with a bit of electricity. Keeps the rest of us on our toes.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “You mean keeps you caffeinated out of pure survival instinct.”

“That too.”

.

You didn’t mean to zap him during training. Honestly? he was just too close, and you were focused, and the punch was supposed to go around him, not through him.

But instead of yelling, he just staggered back and looked at you like you’d offered him a surprise foot massage.

“Well,” he said, blinking, “that was intimate.”

“Are you okay?! I didn’t mean to—”

“—jolt me like a car battery? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I needed a recharge anyway.”

You gape. “You could’ve died!”

He tilts his head. “I’ve had worse shocks trying to shave in the Mark IV. Don’t beat yourself up.”

You try not to notice how he grins at you after, like it’s charming that you can accidentally electrocute people. Like you’re not dangerous. Like he sees something more than static.

And that makes it harder to breathe than your power ever has.

.

He starts showing up to training in rubber-soled boots.

“You’re mocking me,” you say, watching him clomp around the gym like a rich Roomba.

“I’m adapting.” He grins, twirling a screwdriver in one hand. “Unlike your sparks, I enjoy self-preservation.”

“Did you build yourself a grounding bracelet?” You raise a brow.

He flashes the techy black band on his wrist. “Stark Industries patent pending. Might start marketing it as ‘For When Your Crush Could Accidentally Kill You.’”

Your face burns without your permission.

“You think I’m your crush?” you blurt, instantly regretting every life decision that’s ever led to this moment.

“I said your crush. Projecting, are we?” His smirk widens.

You short-circuit the punching bag in retaliation. He takes it as a win.

.

You try to cook him breakfast to apologize.

Keyword being try.

Eggs turn out fine. Bacon? Perfectly crisp. The moment you try to toast the bread because obviously the toaster is back from the dead, you fry the entire circuit.

All the lights in the kitchen die.

And then the rest of the floor goes with it. You stand there, holding a smoking piece of bread like a sad statue, when Tony walks in completely unfazed and flicks the light switch.

Nothing.

“Did we get attacked by rogue EMPs again, or is this just your version of mood lighting?”

You sigh. “I was trying to be nice.”

Tony leans against the counter, examining the half-cooked breakfast like it’s a war crime.

“Aw, kid,” he says, ruffling your hair like you’re a puppy who peed on the rug. “You’re lucky I’m into electrical hazards.”

“You are?” You look up.

His gaze holds yours a beat too long.

“I’ve dated worse.”

.

You find yourself spending more time in his lab. Not because you’re helping frankly, you’re banned from touching anything labeled “experimental” or “fragile” or “explosive-ish.” But because he lets you be there and because even when your power flares and his screens flicker, he doesn’t flinch.

“You know,” you say once, watching him work while your fingers spark against your coffee mug, “you’re not exactly making me feel dangerous.”

“Good,” he murmurs, not looking up.

“I should scare people.”

“You don’t scare me.”

The words are quiet, but they land hard. You watch him, this impossibly handsome man and wonder if he knows how often you think about what it means that he trusts you not to hurt him.

“You should be scared,” you whisper.

He finally looks up, eyes are warm, but sharp, like he sees everything at once.

“I’ve built bombs, loved monsters, and flown a nuke into a wormhole, sweetheart. If I was scared of a girl who zaps her toaster, I’d retire.”

You smile before you can stop yourself.

.

You fall asleep in the lab one night. Again.

It’s the warmth that wakes you, or maybe the smell of coffee or maybe it’s the quiet hum of someone adjusting the blanket over your shoulders.

You blink groggily and find Tony standing over you, a cup in one hand, the other pulling back from where he’d tucked you in.

“Didn’t want you to freeze,” he says softly. “Or get electrocuted in your sleep. Again.”

“That happened once.”

“Twice.”

You sit up, and for a second your fingertips brush his wrist, a spark snaps between you.

He doesn’t pull away and neither do you.

There’s a beat.

“Tony…”

“Yeah?”

“I think I might fry your heart one day.”

“I’ve got spares.” He smiles.

[heygoodgirly]

Robert Downey Jr as Tony Stark CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR

[heygoodgirly]

[heygoodgirly]

Chapter 9 - Terms and Conditions

A/N: Let me know your thoughts :) and also oops?

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: 18+ slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

.

The soft knock woke you first.

Followed by the distinct scent of coffee, something sweet, and… Tony Stark’s particular brand of mischief.

You cracked open one eye just as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, a tray balanced carefully in his hands.

“Morning, Mrs. Stark,” he grinned, sauntering in like a man on a mission. “I come bearing peace offerings.”

You pushed yourself up against the headboard, the sheets pooling around your waist. Sleep still clung to your limbs, but the sight of him, messy hair, Henley shirt clinging in all the right places—was better than caffeine.

Tony set the tray across your lap with a flourish.

Fresh croissants, a tiny pitcher of honey, butter, a bowl of mixed berries, and a very proud-looking mug of tea sat waiting.

“Did you make these?” you teased, lifting a croissant suspiciously.

He smirked. “I made the call to the kitchen. It’s called delegation, sweetheart.”

You laughed, and he leaned down, snagging a berry right off your plate before you could react.

“Hey!” you protested, slapping his hand lightly.

Tony just popped it into his mouth with zero shame, grinning wide. “Breakfast tax. You know how it works.”

You tried to look stern, you really did, but he just looked so damn pleased with himself.

Still chewing, Tony leaned in, pressing a soft, berry-flavored kiss to your mouth before you could stop him. No teeth brushed, no minty freshness, just pure, sleepy, Sunday-morning him.

And somehow, that made it perfect.

You kissed him back without hesitation, smiling against his mouth.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Good morning, gorgeous.”

“You’re stealing my breakfast,” you murmured.

“Technicalities.”

Tony swiped another berry when you weren’t looking, the absolute audacity of the man shining through even before the first sip of your tea.

You gave him a look, one he promptly ignored, flopping down beside you on the bed without a care in the world.

For a few long minutes, you just… lounged. Eating breakfast out of the same tray, trading lazy comments about whose hair looked worse, kissing between bites when you thought you could get away with it.

(You could not. Tony caught you every time. And somehow, he still kissed you back.)

Eventually, when the tray was picked clean and the tea had cooled to an acceptable lukewarm at best temperature, Tony nudged your shoulder with his.

“Alright,” he announced grandly, “Sunday activities. What’s the agenda, beautiful?”

You grinned, playing along. “First, we get up. Maybe brush our teeth. Possibly change out of pajamas.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” he muttered, already sprawling farther across the bed, his hand creeping toward your thigh in silent protest.

You smacked it, laughing. “Then we cook. Pasta?”

His eyes lit up, mischievous and golden. “You feed me carbs and I’ll love you forever.”

“You already do.”

“Yeah, but now there’s parmesan involved,” he said seriously.

When you finally made it to the kitchen, it was an absolute mess.

You were chopping vegetables with dubious focus while Tony attempted to show off his “impeccable” pasta-twirling technique, flinging half the spaghetti onto the counter in the process.

“That’s… impressive,” you deadpanned, flicking a stray noodle at him.

Tony retaliated by flicking a stalk of celery at you like it was a sword.

You caught it midair, victorious.

“Guess I’m eating healthy today,” you said, dramatically taking a bite and striking a heroic pose.

Tony clutched his heart. “Marry me again.”

You threw the rest of the celery at him.

.

There was a knock at the door.

Tony wiped his hands on a towel, wandering toward the door with all the grace of a man who had definitely just been hit in the face with celery.

“Probably Rhodey,” he called over his shoulder. “I invited him over for lunch.”

“You what?”

Before you could finish, James Rhodes strolled in, sunglasses perched on his head and an easy smile tugging at his mouth.

“Well, look at you two,” Rhodey said immediately, hands on hips, surveying the scene: sauce-splattered Tony, celery-wielding you, general disaster everywhere.

He grinned wider. “Domestic life looks good on you, Stark.”

Tony rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the blush rising to his ears.

You, sensing an opportunity, sidled up and kissed Tony’s cheek in front of his best friend, just to watch him get even redder.

Rhodey laughed, crossing to grab a fork off the counter and stealing a bite straight from the pot. “Man, I gotta say. I’ve seen you build flying suits and break into military databases—never thought I’d see you making pasta in a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron.”

Tony muttered something that sounded like “I’m burning that apron later,” but Rhodey just winked at you.

“You’re good for him,” he said, so simply and sincerely that you felt it in your chest. “Don’t let him mess it up.”

You smiled, squeezing Tony’s hand under the counter. “I’m not planning on it.”

Tony cleared his throat, clearly flustered—and clearly the happiest you’d ever seen him.

Rhodey just laughed again and pulled up a chair. “Alright, lovebirds. Feed me before you make me third-wheel your little rom-com any harder.”

.

Later, after Rhodey left you stood by the sink, lazily rinsing the last of the dishes, still warm from the laughter and teasing over lunch.

Tony sidled up behind you, slow and deliberate, like a cat ready to pounce.

Without warning, his arms slid around your waist, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Rhodey’s gone,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and mischievous.

You laughed, tipping your head to the side. “I noticed.”

“Which means…”

He pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of your neck, making you shiver.

You set the dish down, suspicious. “Which means?”

Tony turned you gently in his arms, hands firm at your hips, the picture of fake innocence.

“I believe you promised me dessert,” he said gravely.

You raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you already ate all the cake.”

He tsked. “Not that kind of dessert.”

And then, because of course he would, he kissed you—really kissed you before you could sass him back.

It was slow at first, lazy like the afternoon, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your brain fog deliciously. His hands slid under your shirt, not rushing, just memorizing the feel of you, the warmth of your skin.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back just as slowly, tasting the faintest hint of wine and strawberries still clinging to his mouth. When you finally pulled back, a little breathless, Tony was grinning at you with that particular Stark smirk that usually meant either genius or absolute chaos.

“Bedroom?” he suggested casually, like he was asking if you wanted another cup of coffee.

You bit your lip, heart pounding, nerves buzzing under your skin. “Tony…”

He immediately sobered, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

“Only if you want to,” he murmured. Soft. Sincere.

Like he was offering you the entire world and waiting patiently for you to say yes or no.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt.

“I do,” you said, voice steady despite the wildfire in your chest.

His smile, this time, was different. No smirk, no swagger. Just… happiness. Quiet and unguarded.

Tony took your hand—gentle, always gentle with you—and without another word, led you down the hall, leaving the sunlit kitchen and the lazy afternoon behind.

Sunday could wait.

You had a new chapter to start.

…

The late afternoon light filtered softly through the curtains as you lay tangled together in the sheets, skin warm against skin, breath slowing into something steady, something shared.

Tony’s fingers traced light patterns along your back, absent-minded but full of meaning, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Like his body just needed to touch you, to reassure itself that you were real and still here.

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the faint, familiar scent of him, cologne and metal and something purely, inescapably Tony.

For a long, perfect moment, neither of you said anything. The world outside could have stopped spinning and you wouldn’t have noticed. Wouldn’t have cared.

Finally, he broke the silence, voice low and a little hoarse.

“You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”

You smiled against his skin. “You were already halfway there.”

Tony huffed a soft laugh, arms tightening around you just slightly, like he was worried you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“And you love it,” you teased.

“Yeah,” he breathed, without hesitation. “Yeah, I really do.”

Somewhere down the hall, Dum-E gave a sleepy meow from her chosen sunspot, as if offering her official feline blessing.

Tony chuckled. “Even the cat’s in on this conspiracy.”

You tilted your head up just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw, your lips brushing against the stubble there.

“We make a good team,” you whispered.

His hand splayed protectively across your back. “Best damn team I’ve ever been on.”

And there, wrapped in each other, hearts pounding the same soft rhythm, you let yourselves simply be.

No past regrets, no future fears.

Just this.

Just you and him, and the beginning of everything that mattered.

.

The workday wait was inevitable. Despite the softness of the morning, Monday and responsibilities loomed just around the corner.

You both got dressed, Tony disappearing into his walk-in closet like a tornado and emerging looking like a billion dollars, while you fumbled through trying to find matching socks.

The texts started even before you left the house.

Tony [9:04 AM]: Miss you already, Mrs. Stark. Come home early. We’ll play hooky.

You [9:05 AM]: I know that’s code for ‘lab work’ disguised as cuddles.

Tony [9:05 AM]: Incorrect. This time it’s cuddles disguised as lab work.

When you got to your office, another message buzzed through:

Tony [9:17 AM]: Send pictures. Of you. Being the boss. Suit porn is real and I’m suffering.

You laughed out loud in the middle of the hallway, earning a few curious glances.

.

Around 3 PM

You were just wrapping up a meeting when your assistant poked her head in.

“Hey, uh… something just got delivered for you. No return address. Just… this.”

She handed over a slim envelope, heavy, almost expensive-feeling.

On the front, in elegant calligraphy:

Compliments of A.I.M.

You frowned.

A.I.M.?

The name tickled something at the back of your mind, but you couldn’t place it. A new client? A rival tech company? Some boutique PR firm Tony had charmed?

You flipped it over. Nothing else. No hint of what it was.

Your assistant hovered. “Want me to get security?”

You shook your head, curiosity outweighing caution. “No, it’s fine. Probably just another weird vendor pitch.”

You slipped it into your bag and packed up for the day, determined to look it over properly once you got home.

.

The elevator dinged and you stepped out, scrolling distractedly through Tony’s latest string of texts—something about setting up a “mandatory snuggle quota” in your household.

You were still smiling when the first hand grabbed your arm.

The world spun in a blur.

Rough cloth over your mouth—

The tang of chemicals.

A shout muffled against the inside of your head—

And then…

Nothing.

.

Tony arrived minutes later, humming something, still tasting you on his lips. The flowers were still on the table. The lights were on.

“Hey?” he called out. “Did I… forget a kiss goodnight?”

Silence.

Then his eyes landed on the coffee table.

One of his old business cards.

Charred at the edges. Singed just enough to whisper: This is personal.

His voice dropped. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Where is she?”

A pause. Then: “I… can’t locate her.”

And the world…his world crashed down.

[heygoodgirly]

[heygoodgirly]

Hi gorgeous, can you make a tony stark x yn clingy and cuddles 😍 please

Human Cling-wrap

A/N: GIF is for ref purpose only! Hope you like this!

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warning: none! Floof.

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

Tony wakes up to a problem.

Not the normal kind—like a reactor glitch or Pepper’s polite-but-murderous “We need to talk” tone. No.

This problem is you, wrapped around him like a human koala with attachment issues and exactly zero shame.

You’ve got a leg thrown over his hip, your cheek smushed against his arc reactor, and both arms tucked under his shirt like you’re trying to merge with his soul via osmosis.

He’s trapped. And weirdly okay with it.

Tony exhales. “You do realize I have meetings today.”

You grunt and pull him closer.

He looks down. “You’re literally inside my shirt right now.”

“Mmhmm,” you mumble. “Warm.”

“Oh my God, you’re a cat.”

He shifts slightly, and your grip tightens like a sleepy python.

Tony winces. “Okay, ow. That’s a rib. I need that one. It’s sentimental.”

You finally peek one eye open and give him the world’s sleepiest glare. “Shhh. Cuddle hours. You can billionaire later.”

He opens his mouth to argue. Stops.

Stares at your ridiculously adorable pout and the way your fingers start tracing lazy circles on his back.

“…You weaponize this,” he mutters. “You know you do.”

You don’t answer. You’re already drifting back to sleep.

Tony sighs and grabs his phone off the nightstand, one hand awkwardly scrolling while you remain wrapped around him like emotional cling film.

[Text to Pepper]: Cancel everything until noon. Maybe two.

[Follow-up]: She’s in koala mode. I fear for my ribs. Also my heart.

.

Later, when you finally wake up, still latched on like you’re worried he’ll float away, Tony brushes your hair from your face and murmurs,

“You’re lucky you’re cute. And soft. And borderline feral when denied affection.”

You yawn and nuzzle into his neck. “You love it.”

And he grins, because yeah.

Yeah, he really, really does.

.

Later in the day-

Tony tries. He really does.

He settles on the couch with his StarkPad, a coffee, and the deeply delusional belief that he’s about to get through at least three items on his to-do list.

You, however, have other plans.

Specifically: being horizontal and in his lap immediately.

You flop dramatically across him like a starfish that’s lost its will to ocean. Head on his thigh. Legs tucked under a blanket. Fingers immediately worming their way under his hoodie.

Tony pauses mid-keystroke. “You good there, octopus?”

“Mmm,” you hum, turning your face to nuzzle into his leg. “You smell like espresso and ego.”

He snorts. “That’s because I’m the whole café and the brand.”

You peek up at him from his lap. “You working?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Trying.”

Pause.

“You’re making it very difficult.”

Your response? You grab the hem of his hoodie and tug it, not up—but down, like you want it to drape over your face. Like he’s a tent. Your human-shaped cuddle fort.

“Are you seriously hiding under my—ow, okay, that’s my stomach, sweetheart, not a pillow—”

“Shhhhh,” you say, voice muffled by his hoodie. “This is my comfort zone now.”

Tony stares blankly at the ceiling. “I used to be feared in congressional hearings.”

“Now you’re my emotional mattress,” you murmur. “Embrace your destiny.”

And the worst part is?

He does.

He puts the StarkPad aside, rakes a hand through your hair, and mutters something about how you’re lucky you’re adorable and how he was just about to solve cold fusion, but fine, this is fine.

You sigh contentedly as he starts lazily stroking your back, all pretense of productivity melting faster than your resolve when he smirks in that post-cuddle-glow way.

.

Thirty minutes later, FRIDAY’s voice pipes in:

“Boss, your board meeting—”

“Tell them I’m busy,” he says without opening his eyes.

“Shall I inform them you’ve been kidnapped by a clingy cuddle beast?”

You grin into his hoodie.

Tony groans. “Snitch.”

[heygoodgirly]

CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR

[heygoodgirly]

Chapter 8 - Terms and Conditions

A/N: Their first date!! Let me know your thoughts :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

.

You were still pinning your earrings when you heard a soft knock at your bedroom door. Not the usual Stark-knock that came with a sarcastic remark or some dramatic declaration—just… quiet.

“Can I come in?” His voice was softer than you expected.

You opened the door to find Tony standing there, looking devastating in tailored navy and an almost-nervous smile on his face. He held out your favorite flowers, freshly arranged and probably couriered in from some ridiculously overpriced boutique.

“For the lady of the house,” he said, a playful bow following.

You tried not to smile, failed miserably. “You’re picking me up from inside the same house?”

He offered his arm. “Chivalry’s not dead. Just very rich and slightly sarcastic.”

You let him escort you down the stairs where the Audi R8 waited in the driveway, sleek and gleaming under the soft glow of dusk. He even jogged ahead a step to open the passenger side door.

“Seriously?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

“Let me have this,” he murmured. “I’m trying to make a good impression on my wife.”

The drive was quieter than usual, none of the usual back-and-forth banter. Just you, the low hum of the engine, and the occasional glance from Tony when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

Dinner was tucked away in a private rooftop garden, one of his properties, probably, but disguised under strings of fairy lights and the smell of citrus trees in bloom. It was cozy, understated. There were no paparazzi, no menus with unpronounceable ingredients. Just food you liked, wine that didn’t need a ten-minute explanation, and conversation that came easier than you expected.

He told you about MIT, about the coffee addiction that nearly derailed his GPA, about the time he blew out the power grid of an entire dorm building trying to cook toast with an arc prototype. You laughed, told him about your company’s early chaos, and how your first investor thought “machine learning” meant literal robots taking night classes.

He laughed. You laughed. And the space between you got smaller.

Later, walking along the edge of the rooftop, you paused near the railing. The city glittered below like static, and his hand brushed yours. Once. Twice. Then stayed.

You turned toward him.

“I’m glad we did this,” you said, honestly.

His thumb traced your knuckles. “Me too.”

You didn’t know who leaned in first, but it didn’t matter. The kiss was slow, warm, and far too short. When you pulled away, your breath caught in your throat because he looked so…

Stunned.

Tony blinked, touched his lips like they weren’t quite real, and then, just barely audible, he whispered, “I just kissed my wife.”

And then, because this was Tony Stark, he immediately added, “I think that means I owe you half of everything I own.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Oh, you’ll definitely be paying alimony someday.”

He grinned,

“Maybe I’ll try not to screw this one up.”

You didn’t answer. You just took his hand, let him lead you back to the car.

It was a perfect night.

.

You unlocked the door while Tony lagged behind to take a call, promising he’d be right there.

You stepped inside, still smiling like an idiot, setting your purse down.

A knock.

You turned, already teasing, “Changed your mind about round two?”

But it was him—this time balancing his phone under one arm, a takeaway cup in one hand, and a tiny, mischievous grin playing on his mouth.

“Figured I’d bribe my way inside,” Tony said, holding up the cup like an offering. “Your favorite. One sip and you’re legally obligated to let me stay.”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “You’re already married to me, Stark. Not sure how much more legally bound we can get.”

He shrugged, stepping inside and toeing the door shut behind him. “Never hurts to have a backup plan.”

You plucked the cup from his hand, amused. It was warm against your palms, and when you inhaled, the familiar scent of your favorite tea wrapped around you like a hug you didn’t know you needed.

Tony didn’t hover. He just wandered a few steps in, casual, like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe, just maybe, tonight he did.

You perched on the armrest of the couch, sipping. He dropped onto the cushions beside you with a sigh, stretching out his long legs. There was a moment—soft and slow, where you both just existed. No press. No expectations. Just breathing the same quiet air.

And then, of course, Dum-E sauntered into the room with all the dignity of a queen inspecting her court.

She leapt up onto the back of the couch with a precise little bounce, curling herself just behind your head like a judgmental halo.

Tony chuckled, reaching up to scratch behind Dum-E’s ear. “Traitor. I bring you snacks and you still pick her.”

Dum-E blinked at him in the feline version of “You’re lucky I tolerate you.”

You leaned into the cushions, swirling your tea lazily.

“So,” you said, voice light but inviting, “this a social call or did you need something?”

Tony hesitated—only a beat, but you caught it.

The slight tightening of his jaw, the way his hands fidgeted with a loose thread on his sleeve.

“I just…” he started, then exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to tell you something.”

You stayed quiet, sensing he needed the space to get there on his own.

“My parents,” he said finally, voice low, “died when I was about nineteen. Car crash.”

The words weren’t sharp or emotional, they were matter-of-fact, worn smooth from being carried too long.

“I didn’t even say goodbye properly. We were… fighting. Me and my dad.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “Shock, I know. Howard Stark? A perfectionist? Who would’ve guessed?”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his arm in silent support. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned slightly into the touch.

“I always thought there’d be time, y’know? That I’d… I don’t know. Prove something. Fix it. Be the son he actually liked.”

You didn’t rush him. Dum-E purred behind you like a little vibrating motor, a soft undercurrent to the room’s heavy quiet.

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “And then one day, they’re just… gone. No do-over. No extra innings. Just a pile of regret and a company I wasn’t ready for.”

You put your tea down and shifted closer, your knee brushing his.

“Tony,” you said gently, “you were a kid.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Tell that to the board members who wanted to tear me apart in the first six months.”

You smiled sadly. “Bet they regret it now.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Some days I do too.”

For a beat, you just looked at each other.

Past the sarcasm, past the armor.

He was breathtaking like this in all his rough, cracked places.

And somehow, still Tony Stark through and through.

Without thinking too hard about it, you slid your hand into his. His fingers tightened instinctively around yours, like he’d been waiting for permission.

“You’re doing better than you think,” you whispered.

Tony’s mouth quirked, half-smirk, half-something softer.

“That why you married me? For the potential?”

You grinned. “That and the real estate.”

He laughed—a real one, low and warm and then he leaned in, bumping his forehead gently against yours.

Dum-E meowed once, as if giving her official approval from the peanut gallery.

“Thanks for letting me… ramble,” he said.

“Anytime,” you promised. “Even if it’s three AM and you come armed with nothing but bad jokes.”

Tony tilted his head, pretending to consider. “I’ve got a stockpile, you know. Years worth. You sure you’re ready for that level of commitment?”

You leaned back just enough to look him in the eye, mock-serious.

“Hit me with your worst. I dare you.”

He smirked and kissed your forehead, feather-light and fleeting.

“Not tonight,” he said softly. “Tonight’s about good things.”

And maybe, just maybe, this counted as one of them.

[heygoodgirly]

Black Panther (2018) dir. Ryan Coogler.

[heygoodgirly]

Chapter 7 - An Affair to Remember

A/N: This is it. The end of this series 🫶🏻 it has been fun writing for these two. Hope you’ve enjoyed it too!

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warning: none.

An Affair to Remember

.

The city pulsed with sirens and tension, the skyline painted in red warning lights. Stark Industries’ tower loomed above it all normally a symbol of innovation. Tonight, it was a war zone.

You clutched the stolen security badge tighter, ducking behind a shattered wall of glass as the ground shook. A thunderous metallic stomp followed.

Then you saw it.

Iron Monger.

A hulking, brute-force nightmare of steel, growling as it moved, shoulder cannons gleaming. In its chest: a stolen arc reactor, Tony’s original.

Above the chaos, Iron Man descended like a comet of fire and vengeance. His repulsors flared as he landed with a bone-shaking crack, standing between you and the monster with that telltale confidence laced with just enough self-destruction to be sexy.

“You seriously stole my entire aesthetic?” Tony called out, voice amplified through the suit. “What’s next, you wanna date my girl too?”

Obadiah’s voice rumbled from within the Iron Monger suit. “She wouldn’t survive one night with me, Stark.”

You muttered, “Not with that energy, she wouldn’t.”

Tony chuckled. “You heard the lady.”

And then it’s chaos.

Iron Monger surged forward. Fists met metal. Repulsors lit the sky. You moved fast, dodging debris, slipping inside the control room as Tony had instructed earlier.

“J,” you whispered into the comm Tony had given you. “Patch me in.”

“Already done, Miss.”

You punched in commands as Tony distracted Obadiah, flying loops around him, forcing him away from civilian areas.

“I’m overriding his targeting system and scrambling his internal sensors. That should give you thirty seconds of blind fury.”

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do know that. Now kick his ass.”

Outside, the tide shifted.

Tony rocketed up, Iron Monger roaring behind him. At just the right altitude, Tony angled sharply downward, and Obadiah followed—blinded, overheating, disoriented.

The two suits collided in mid-air, then came crashing down onto the rooftop with a resounding BOOM that shook the building’s foundation.

You reached the rooftop just as Tony staggered to his feet, one gauntlet flickering. Iron Monger lay sparking nearby, the stolen arc reactor overloading, pulsing brighter and brighter—

“Tony!” you shouted.

He turned, his helmet retracting as he pulled you into his arms. “I’m okay,” he breathed. “You did it.”

“We did it,” you corrected.

Behind you, Iron Monger’s suit sputtered and exploded, sending a geyser of light into the night sky. The sound was deafening, the kind that echoes in your bones.

Silence followed.

Sirens approached. Helicopters circled.

But none of it mattered because in that moment, Tony Stark wrapped his arms around you, pulled you close, and kissed you like he’d just won the battle of his life. Because he had.

And you? You’d fought it with him.

.

Epilogue

The press conference was standing-room only.

Every major network, every twitchy political correspondent, every corporate vulture with a notebook had shown up like iron filings drawn to a magnetic Stark-level scandal.

The stage was a polished mirror of Stark Industries’ public face—sleek, chrome accents, flawless lighting. Behind the podium, the iconic logo gleamed. And beside it stood Tony Stark.

Black suit. No tie. Sunglasses off, for once. The arc reactor glowed gently through his shirt like a heartbeat. Controlled. Steady. Alive.

You stood off-stage, out of sight, heart racing not from fear anymore, but from knowing what was about to happen.

Tony cleared his throat.

“No teleprompter today,” he began. “I thought about one. But then I figured, if I’m gonna burn some bridges and set the record straight, I might as well do it in real-time.”

There were a few nervous chuckles from the audience.

He grinned. “First things first, Obadiah Stane betrayed this company, this city, and let’s be honest, fashion itself. Guy built a knock-off version of my suit and strutted around like a mech’d-out tax auditor.”

Laughter rippled through the room. You smiled, arms folded, watching him work a crowd like only Tony Stark could.

“But here’s what matters,” he continued, voice sobering. “He weaponized my technology. He lied. And he almost killed the one person I—”

He faltered. Just a second. Barely noticeable.

You knew what it cost him to do this live.

“The person who saved me,” he said finally, eyes scanning the crowd but not quite landing on anyone. “She’s the reason I’m standing here. Literally. She rerouted a neural targeting matrix while being chased by a homicidal warehouse in a tin can.”

Laughter again. Some murmurs. You felt your cheeks go warm.

“She risked everything. For me. For this company. For people who will probably never know her name,” Tony said, voice quieter now. “But I know it. And I’m never forgetting it.”

He glanced sideways. Toward you.

“And before anyone asks—yes. She’s taken. By me. So stop sending fruit baskets. It’s getting weird.”

The room erupted. Flashbulbs went off. Someone shouted a question you couldn’t hear. Tony raised both hands like a rockstar caught mid-encore.

“That’s all for now,” he said smoothly. “No follow-ups. I have a date.”

—

Backstage was quieter. You stood near the supply crates, trying to look normal, even though your pulse was still thundering from hearing your name echoed in implication across every major media outlet.

Tony slipped in through the side curtain and walked straight to you.

“You absolute drama king,” you said, half in disbelief, half in awe.

He tilted his head, smug. “Gotta own the crown, sweetheart.”

You gave him a look. “You called me the one who saved you.”

He stepped closer, voice low. “Didn’t I?”

You blinked, emotion catching in your throat.

“I meant every word,” he added, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You reached for his lapel, smoothing it down. “You gonna keep telling the world I’m yours like that?”

Tony leaned in, forehead almost touching yours. “I’m gonna keep proving it. Every chance I get.”

Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his jacket.

“And the date?” you asked softly.

His eyes gleamed. “Dinner. Rooftop. Your favorite wine, and that camera of yours that makes me look like a spring chicken? Oh and maybe… a new arc reactor design with your initials etched on the casing.”

You blinked. “Tony…”

He kissed you, slow and certain.

“Public declarations are fun,” he murmured. “But the private ones? They’re the ones I’ll never stop making.”

[heygoodgirly]

Robert Downey Jr as Tony Stark

IRON MAN