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mostly-marvel-musings · 5 days ago

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Chapter 7 - Terms and Conditions

A/N: Here we go! We are progressing 🫶🏻

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: none! Slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

You weren’t supposed to hear it.

The night had been still; quiet enough to hear Dum-E’s soft paws on the floor behind you as you carried a mug of tea back to your room. But then you heard it: a low sound, barely there, threading out from the slightly ajar door to Tony’s bedroom.

A whimper.

You hesitated for a moment. You weren’t supposed to cross that line, this whole arrangement had been carefully, coldly outlined. Separate rooms. Separate lives. But that sound—it cut right through all of it.

The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open. The hallway light fell across the bed in fractured shadows, and there he was—tangled in the sheets, chest rising and falling in uneven, panicked gasps. A soft, strangled noise caught in his throat. His fists clenched.

“Tony,” you said quietly, stepping closer. “You’re having a nightmare.”

Another whimper. His head jerked to the side like he was trying to escape something you couldn’t see. You set the mug down without thinking and moved to the edge of the bed.

“Tony, wake up.”

You reached out, hand hovering over his shoulder before gently pressing down. His skin was clammy, muscles tense beneath your touch. When you said his name again—softer this time—his eyes flew open.

Panic. Disorientation. Then something almost worse, shame.

“I’m fine,” he rasped, voice rough like gravel.

“You’re shaking,” you replied gently, not letting go.

He didn’t look at you. Just turned his face away and scrubbed a hand over it, trying to steady himself. “It’s just a dream.”

“Still real enough to leave you gasping.”

That made him pause.

You shifted, moving around to face him. You didn’t push, just sat there, watching him carefully, offering your presence like a peace offering. When you reached for his hand again—slowly, giving him the chance to pull away—he didn’t.

“You don’t have to explain,” you said. “But you also don’t have to go through it alone.”

Tony didn’t say anything. He looked down at your hands, at the way his fit against yours like it was unfamiliar. Eventually, his head dropped forward, resting against your shoulder with a barely-there sigh.

You wrapped your arm around him without a word, feeling the tension bleed out of his body piece by piece. His breathing slowed. The arc reactor dimmed back to a quiet glow. He didn’t say thank you, but he didn’t have to.

You sat there with him until he fell back asleep—this time, steadier. And you stayed until you were sure he was okay.

The next morning, your office buzzed with a kind of chaos you were learning to expect.

Post-marriage attention had done wonders for your company, even if you hadn’t asked for any of it. Your assistant rattled off metrics: website traffic skyrocketing, stockholders suddenly interested again, tech blogs frothing at the mouth with theories.

You took it all in stride, answering questions, redirecting spin, and crafting responses that toed the line between “no comment” and “we’ll circle back.”

In the middle of reviewing a proposal, your phone buzzed.

Tony Stark [10:03 AM]:

Didn’t mean to keep you up last night. But…thanks.

Also, your tea smells like wet leaves. Upgrading your taste buds ASAP.

You smirked despite yourself.

You [10:04 AM]:

You’re welcome. And hands off my tea. It’s calming. Unlike you.

A pause.

Tony Stark [10:06 AM]:

Bossy. I like it.

Don’t let the corporate vampires drain you today.

You pocketed the phone with a smile that no one saw, and returned to work.

Last night wasn’t something you planned on. But it happened. And you didn’t regret it.

Something had changed.

And for once, it didn’t scare you.

Back home you were in the living room, sipping your now-infamous wet leaf tea and scrolling through a project brief, when the elevator door pinged open and a familiar voice echoed through the penthouse.

“Permission to enter the lair of egos and espresso machines?” Rhodey called out.

You looked up, surprised. “Rhodey?”

“In the slightly underappreciated flesh.” He strolled in with a box in his arms and that grin that always promised at least mild embarrassment for Tony.

Tony hadn’t mentioned he was visiting. Not that he mentioned much lately. You walked over, eyeing the box as Rhodey set it on the coffee table like it might explode.

“Stark Senior’s estate finally coughed up some storage junk from Malibu. Figured this one needed personal delivery.”

You arched a brow. “What’s in it?”

“Just a little gift from the ghosts of Tony’s past. You’re gonna love it.”

That was warning enough.

You opened the box carefully, old notebooks, a few scattered gadgets, and right on top… a photo album. Chunky. Plastic-covered.

You opened it—and instantly snorted. There, in glorious vintage color, was toddler Tony Stark, entirely nude but with a bucket on his head, covered in mud, and mid-sprint across what looked like the backyard of an expensive estate. Possibly being chased by a very tired butler.

FRIDAY’s voice piped in with impeccable timing. “Boss, your wife has just located the ‘Stark: Ages 0 to 5, Unfiltered’ album. Currently open to Page 3. Initiate panic?”

From somewhere deeper in the penthouse: “FRIDAY, don’t you dare—”

Then came the footsteps.

Tony Stark burst into the living room in full crisis mode—hoodie half-zipped, barefoot, wild-eyed. “Put that down.”

You held it up like it was a court exhibit. “You never told me you were a bucket kid.”

“I had creativity,” he snapped, lunging for it. You dodged him easily, holding the album behind your back.

“Rhodey!” he shouted. “You were supposed to destroy this!”

Rhodey flopped onto the couch, looking entirely too pleased. “And miss this show? Not a chance. This album’s gold.”

You flipped another page. “Tony. Is that you in a diaper… with a red cape… standing on a table?”

Tony groaned. “This is slander. I was a visionary.”

“Visionary with diaper rash,” Rhodey added, already filming on his phone.

Tony turned to you, half-whispering through clenched teeth. “Play it cool, please. He thinks this whole arrangement is real. If he sees you laughing too hard, he’s gonna start asking questions.”

You smirked. “Relax. We’re the picture of domestic bliss.”

“No kissing though,” Tony added quickly. “We’re not that method.”

You rolled your eyes. “Trust me, I’m a very committed non-kisser.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That sounded like an insult.”

“Because it was.”

Tony had just snatched the album from your hands, holding it at arm’s length like it might combust if you turned another page, when FRIDAY chimed in again—casual, almost smug.

“Oh, and would you like me to play the audio file that accompanied the album, Boss? It’s labeled ‘Tony’s First Solo: Twinkle Twinkle But With Dramatic Flourishes.’”

You choked on a laugh. “I need to hear that.”

“You don’t need to hear that,” Tony barked.

Rhodey, nearly doubled over on the couch, waved a hand. “Oh, come on, play it. I haven’t heard that since MIT—he used to do this voice—”

“No, no, FRIDAY, override!” Tony yelped.

Too late.

A crackling recording began to play through the speakers. A younger, high-pitched Tony Stark filled the room:

“Twinkle… TWINKLE… little staaaaaar… how I… WONDER… what you… AAARE—”

—with dramatic pauses, vibrato, and what sounded like someone clanging pots together for backup percussion.

You covered your mouth, trying to be respectful of the absolute humiliation happening in real time. But Rhodey wasn’t even trying.

“I can’t—he added a bridge. He added a jazz bridge,” Rhodey wheezed.

Tony dropped onto the armrest of the couch, album still clutched to his chest like a wounded soldier. “I’m surrounded by traitors. Literal betrayal by artificial intelligence. This is how Skynet starts.”

You offered him a deadpan look. “This might actually be worse than Skynet.”

He looked at you, eyes narrowed, like he was mentally calculating your weakness for citrus desserts and plotting vengeance accordingly.

Rhodey finally sat up, wiping tears from his eyes. “Man, you really married a brave woman. She’s got access to all of this and still stuck around.”

You gave Rhodey a diplomatic smile. “Let’s just say… the entertainment value is extremely high.”

Tony groaned. “This is my villain origin story.”

FRIDAY chimed in again. “Noted, Boss. Compiling footage for future documentary: ‘The Rise and Fall of Anthony Stark: From Bucket to Billionaire.’”

The recording finally died down, leaving Tony looking emotionally winded, Rhodey still grinning like a man who’d just won five separate bets, and you—trying not to look too charmed by the sheer chaos of it all.

Tony shoved the album back in the box and kicked it gently under the coffee table like it might crawl out.

Rhodey leaned back, arms folded, watching you both with a thoughtful expression that made your spine straighten instinctively.

“You know…” he said slowly, and Tony immediately stiffened like a cat.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect when I heard about the whole… surprise marriage thing. I thought maybe you’d lost another bet, or Stark Industries had finally bribed someone into taking you off the market.”

“Wow,” Tony muttered. “Touching.”

“But seeing you two now?” Rhodey continued, ignoring the protest. “It just feels… natural. Like you’ve been doing this for years. The banter, the inside jokes, the way you look at each other when the other’s not paying attention—yeah. It’s solid. Real.”

You swallowed. That word hit a bit harder than expected.

Rhodey smiled at you, warmer now. “I’m just glad. You know? I’ve seen Tony go through a lot of… well, let’s call them spectacularly bad decisions, but this? You? You look good together. Happy. Finally.”

Tony didn’t say anything. Just sat there staring at a fixed spot on the wall.

You gave Rhodey a tight smile, forcing it to hold despite the sudden, lead-heavy weight of guilt settling in your chest. Because it wasn’t real—not entirely. Not yet. What he saw as genuine was built on a contract, on mutual benefit and corporate mergers, not on love or impulse or fate.

But the worst part?

You wished it was real. Just for a moment.

You glanced sideways, expecting Tony to jump in with a sarcastic deflection, a sharp jab, anything. But he was still quiet.

Rhodey got up to grab a bottle of water from the bar. “Seriously, man. Happy for you. For both of you.”

Tony muttered a quiet, “Thanks, pal,” but you could hear the hesitation under it.

You sat there for a beat longer, eyes locked with Tony’s across the space between you. And for once, there was no smirk, no armor, no quip.

Just the both of you, pretending not to flinch under the weight of a truth you couldn’t admit yet.

The Emerald Future Gala was held in a glass-domed venue nestled on the edge of the Hudson, the kind of place where billionaires sipped expensive champagne and made promises they’d pay other people to keep. You arrived solo, greeted with flashes of cameras and murmurs about your surprise marriage still rippling through high society like scandal-shaped confetti.

You were dazzling in green silk—a not-so-subtle nod to the eco-conscious theme and you knew you looked good. Powerful. Untouchable. Except you weren’t. Not really.

Tony showed up forty minutes late, because of course he did, and made a statement just by existing. He walked in like the room owed him rent, in a black-on-black suit and that signature Stark smirk—cool, collected, impossible to ignore.

And for a while, you kept your distance. Polished conversations, air kisses, champagne. You were CEO first, wife second. If anyone asked, you played the part. But the air shifted when you caught him laughing with a model-turned-tech-philanthropist whose hand lingered too long on his arm.

You didn’t even look jealous. But you did laugh a little louder with the French investor who’d been circling since cocktails. You leaned in, smiled, touched his arm with the kind of casual grace that said, I know exactly who’s watching me.

And of course, Tony noticed.

You met him near the balcony when the air got too tight, when too many eyes and too many unspoken things pushed you out into the night. The city sparkled below like it had secrets too.

“You having fun?” Tony asked, voice deceptively light. “He seemed very into your business model.”

You crossed your arms. “He’s funding climate tech, not flirting.”

“Sure,” he said. “And I came with her because I value her insights on offshore wind farms.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Deflect. Pick a fight because you saw someone else treat me like I’m not just your boardroom bargaining chip.”

Tony stepped closer. “I’m not deflecting.”

You folded your arms, unwilling to give him ground. “Then what are you doing?”

He looked at you, long and hard—eyes darker now, less shielded. “Trying really hard not to say something I can’t take back.”

That made your breath hitch. Just slightly.

“I don’t care about anyone else,” he added, voice low and honest in a way you weren’t ready for. “But watching you tonight… I realized I’m starting to care way too much about what you think of me.”

You blinked, the weight of it sinking in.

Neither of you moved. Not really. But gravity shifted. Space folded. His hand brushed against yours, barely there.

Tony’s eyes locked onto yours, and the air between you was charged—no, crackling—with something unspoken, volatile, and very, very real. Neither of you moved, but the distance was shrinking anyway. He looked at you like the rest of the world didn’t matter—just you, this balcony, and whatever the hell had been building between you from the moment you said “I do” in that cold, perfect boardroom.

You could feel his breath now. Just inches away.

And for a second—just a split second—you let yourself believe it was going to happen. That this charade was about to blur into something too real to fake. His expression softening, walls cracking—

“Tony.”

The voice sliced through the moment like glass.

You flinched back, your spine straightening with practiced grace.

Tony’s jaw tightened before he turned. “Pepper.”

She stood at the doorway, tablet in hand, the sharp click of her heels matching the precision of her timing. Her gaze bounced from him to you and back again, professional and utterly unreadable.

“We need you inside. There’s a press inquiry about the new energy initiative and the CFO’s trying to field it, but they’re asking for a quote.”

Tony didn’t respond at first. Just exhaled, slow and disappointed, like the moment had been a dream he was now waking from.

He looked back at you. Not a word. Not a smile. But the look said everything.

You stepped aside before he could say anything else.

“Of course,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Can’t keep the press waiting.”

And just like that, he was gone.

You stared after him for a second too long, heart still thudding, something bitter blooming beneath your ribs. Another moment lost. Another truth shoved back down where it couldn’t hurt anyone.

The Morning After

You didn’t sleep well.

Scratch that—you didn’t sleep at all. You spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, replaying that moment on the balcony like your brain was stuck on a scratched record. The way his voice had dipped. The way he’d looked at you like he meant something. The way you’d leaned in, heart on the edge of something dangerous.

And then Pepper.

You groaned into your pillow.

By the time you dragged yourself into your home office, hair twisted up and caffeine levels barely legal, you were determined to act like nothing had happened. Business. As. Usual.

Your team didn’t need to know that your fake husband almost kissed you. They just needed updates on Q1 projections and stock market rebounds now that Stark Industries and your company had merged marital forces like it was some sort of power couple spinoff.

Your CFO was already waiting on Zoom. “Since the press got wind of your marriage,” he said, “our shares have bumped 6%. Investors are calling you both a modern power duo.”

You forced a smile. “Fantastic. Now all we need is matching capes.”

Your phone buzzed.

Tony Stark: Did you sleep?

You stared at the message for a long second.

Short. Simple. But heavy in all the right places.

You didn’t reply.

Not because you didn’t want to��but because you didn’t know how.

A while later, the door to your office creaked open.

“Hey, sunshine.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Happy?” you blinked. “What—why are you here?”

He strolled in holding two cups of coffee and wearing that casual, unbothered look that made you suspect he knew exactly what kind of night you’d had.

“Tony sent me,” he said, handing you a cup. “Said to check if you were still mad at him.”

You squinted. “I never said I was mad.”

“Mhm.” Happy took a sip of his own coffee. “He also said if you threw anything at me, I should dodge and remind you he asked about you this morning. Twice.”

You rolled your eyes, trying—and failing—to hide the tiny smile curling at the corner of your mouth. “Well, I didn’t throw anything, so we’re off to a good start.”

Happy settled into the chair across from your desk. “Look, I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on with you two. But whatever it is? You’re both starting to act less like business partners and more like—”

He trailed off, eyeing you meaningfully.

“More like what?”

“Like two idiots who haven’t figured out that they’re not faking it anymore.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Thought about Tony’s text.

And decided to say nothing at all. Not yet.

You were mid-email—something about projected quarterly growth and a painfully dull pie chart—when the knock came. Not a timid knock, either. Confident. Almost smug.

You glanced at the door. “Happy, if that’s you again with more matchmaking wisdom, I swear—”

The door creaked open.

“Not Happy,” came a familiar voice. “But I come bearing gifts.”

You blinked.

Tony Stark stood in your office doorway holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The kind no one ever remembered, delicate, citrusy blooms with petals like watercolor, the kind that only grew in a very specific European climate and cost an ungodly amount to import. So naturally, he had them in hand like he’d just swung by the farmer’s market instead of clearly arranging this with international precision.

“…What are you doing here?” you asked, rising slowly.

“Well, I was in the neighborhood,” he said with that lazy smirk.

You crossed your arms. “We live in the same house.”

He nodded, stepping in and placing the bouquet gently on your desk. “Exactly. Thought I’d take the scenic route.”

You stared at the flowers, heart annoyingly softening even though your brain was still in a wary mode.

“They’re beautiful,” you muttered.

He gave a small, hopeful shrug. “You didn’t answer my text. I figured showing up in person might give me a fighting chance.”

You raised a brow. “A fighting chance at what?”

Tony rubbed the back of his neck, awkward for maybe the second time since you’d met him. “Okay, so… this thing. Us. Whatever it is. It’s starting to feel less like PR and more like…”

He trailed off.

You tilted your head. “More like?”

“More like something I’d really regret screwing up,” he admitted. “So I thought maybe I could fix it. With flowers. And… an offer.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What kind of offer?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly boyish. “A date. A real one. Not staged. No press. No shareholders. Just us. You pick the place. I’ll even wear something that isn’t designer ego.”

You blinked at him.

He wasn’t being charming for once. Or, well, he was, but not in that “watch me light up a press room” way. This was quieter. Earnest. A man standing in front of his maybe-wife, hoping she’d say yes.

After a long beat, you answered, voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay.”

Tony looked surprised. “Okay?”

You smiled, finally letting yourself feel the warm flutters bubbling up. “Yeah. Okay.”

#tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #tony stark fluff #arranged marriage au #the stark squad #marvel fanfiction #tony stark #mostly marvel musings #iron man #rhodey

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mostly-marvel-musings · 8 days ago

Note

I'm thinking here... Maria and Howard definitely made Tony after a romantic night with wine and love... and Maria needs to mention this to Y/N in their wine-gossip moments 🙂‍↕️

Wine, Winks, and Stark Secrets

A/N: I LOVE this idea!! Hope you like it too :)

Pairing: Young!Tony Stark x Reader

Warning: none! Maria being a chaos queen.

Surviving the Starks

Maria topped off your glass with the grace of a practiced sommelier-slash-agent-of-mischief. The dark red swirled like velvet all expensive, decadent, and definitely strong enough to start confessions neither of you planned.

“You’re good for him, you know,” she said casually, eyes twinkling over the rim of her glass.

You smiled, slightly shy. “Tony would probably argue I’m a walking complication.”

Maria scoffed. “Sweetheart, if Tony didn’t love complications, he’d have become an accountant. No, you—you’re different. You challenge him, but you don’t break him.”

You blinked. “That’s…surprisingly poetic for the fourth glass.”

Maria grinned, sipping again. “Oh, honey. I invented poetic drunk. Now, speaking of Tony—”

You braced yourself. This was the tone of a woman about to say something you’d absolutely never be able to un-hear.

“Do you know,” she began, setting her glass down with dramatic flair, “your charming little genius boyfriend was conceived after a very romantic night. Italian wine. Rain on the windows. Frank Sinatra on the record player. My hair was phenomenal.”

You choked. “I—what?!”

“Oh yes,” Maria said with a smirk that could slice glass. “Howard had just gotten back from some deal in Zurich. I was wearing this emerald silk robe—he still brings it up. We danced in the kitchen, spilled a bottle of wine, and somewhere between arguing about Eisenhower’s foreign policy and the second chorus of Fly Me to the Moon, boom. Tony.”

You stared, mouth open, brain refusing to form words. “That is…more detail than I expected.”

“Darling, if you’re going to marry into this family, you should know what you’re dealing with.” She clinked her glass against yours. “Starks don’t just arrive. We storm in—usually nine months after a jazz playlist and poor life choices.”

There was a long silence, broken only by your slow, horrified laughter.

“You’re evil,” you whispered.

Maria smiled like a cat with cream. “I’m delightful. And trust me, he gets it from me.”

At that exact moment, Tony walked in, eyes squinting suspiciously at the two of you. “Why do I feel like I’ve just been slandered in abstentia?”

Maria stood, kissed your forehead, and breezed past him with a wink. “Ask your girlfriend about Zurich Sinatra Night, darling.”

Tony looked at you. “…What the hell is Zurich Sinatra Night?”

You took a long, long sip of wine.

“I’m going to need more Bordeaux before I answer that.”

…

Howard Stark walked into the kitchen, pausing only long enough to glare at the espresso machine like it owed him money.

“Why are you both looking at me like that?” he asked, voice rough with morning grump and existential dread.

Tony, bleary-eyed but energized by the opportunity for petty vengeance, grinned over his mug. “Oh, nothing. Just reminiscing about Zurich Sinatra Night.”

Howard visibly choked on air.

Maria, seated at the breakfast bar with a mimosa and a newspaper she wasn’t reading, didn’t even blink. “Oh, that night. Mmm. Good wine. Great acoustics.”

Howard’s eyes bulged slightly. “Maria. Why.”

“I told them the origin story,” she replied sweetly. “You know. You, me, that very enthusiastic dance in the kitchen, and the second-best bottle of 1952 Barolo.”

Tony’s coffee mug hit the table. “SECOND-best?!”

Howard spun on him. “Why are you reacting like that? You weren’t even born yet!”

“Yeah, well, now I have to live with the knowledge that I was jazz-scored into existence while Frank Sinatra crooned and you two—Ugh, mental bleach, please.”

You, caught somewhere between a spit-take and a wheeze, covered your face.

Howard groaned. “I cannot believe you told them. That night was supposed to be—private.”

Maria turned a page in her newspaper. “Oh, come now. They deserve to know that their genius boyfriend came into this world because I looked amazing in silk and you got emotional about international trade.”

Tony made a strangled noise. “I hate everything.”

Howard threw up his hands. “You know what? I’m going back to bed. Wake me up when people stop weaponizing my romantic history.”

Maria raised her mimosa. “Not likely, darling.”

Howard grumbled something about betrayal, jazz, and filing for a new family.

Tony stared at you. “Do you see what I live with?”

You leaned into his shoulder with a smile.

“You were made with wine, jazz, and love, Tony. No wonder you’re such a masterpiece.”

#young!tony stark x reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #maria stark #howard stark #the stark squad #anon asks #marvel fanfiction #tony stark #tony stark fluff #mostly marvel musings

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