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thanergetic-hyperlinks · 7 months ago

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Tamsyn Muir's writing beyond The Locked Tomb

Y'all, turns out there's lots of imagery and themes in TLT that Muir was already playing with in her earlier fiction. A lot of it is easily available online, in which case I'll link to it. (The short stories that aren't can also be easily read if googled, to be quite honest—that's how I read The Deepwater Bride and Why the Mermaids Left Boralus). • The House That Made the Sixteen Loops of Time (2011)

5K. Short sort-of-cozy romance (?) with (you guessed it) a time travel loop. Explores a very queer potential relationship. CamPal enjoyers might find a similar sweetness.

• The Magician's Apprentice (2012, Lightspeed Magazine)

5K. This is the one that stopped me dead on my tracks. It features an older, male mentor figure called John (a “very ordinary man” with “dark eyes”) who introduces the young, female main character to magic that has a terrible cost—and to literature such as Lolita. This excellent post by @familyabolisher does an incredible job of analyzing the very deliberate intertextual links between TLT and Lolita.

• The Woman in the Hill (2015, Lightspeed Magazine, originally for Dreams From the Witch House anthology of Lovecraftian horror by women)

4K. Possibly my favorite! It's a straightforward Lovecraftian horror, centered on the image of the woman (is it human though?) trapped in an unnatural pool inside a cursed cave. Chain imagery too. It does something different from Alecto, mind, but you can see links, ways of playing with facets of a strong central image. It's fun to consider how reliable the two narrators are. Here's an analysis and afterthought from Reactor Mag.

• Chew (2013) 4K. Zombie abuse and cannibalistic revenge story ft. an uncanny woman revenant, told from the eyes of a traumatized German boy. I was strongly reminded of Harrow's conversations with the Body. Tamsyn gave an interview on the themes and her intentions. Interesting to read in light of Alecto, I think, although I don't think she's going the same route in TLT: “the idea of post-war rebuilding connecting to rebuilding the body of the zombie; a Frankenstein who once rebuilt doesn’t act as planned or desired. […] I love cannibalism […] it’s innately spiritual […] any afterlife she goes to, he’s going too.”

• Apothecia (2014, published on Tumblr and tapas.io)

Short webcomic where an alien monster tries to corrupt the ruthless human girl who holds it captive. Musings on responsibility and murder, mention of child abuse. The alien's speech patterns remind me of a Resurrection Beast. You get wonderful dialogue like “Murder is a profession. Job. Employment, you tiny leg dog. There you are, walking along. Walk walk walk. Now you are a walker. Good job. Special child. Murder is like this.” Art by Shelby Cragg.

• The Deepwater Bride (2015, Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine)

The opening line is: “In the time of our crawling Night Lord's ascendancy, foretold by exodus of starlight into his sucking astral wounds, I turned sixteen and received Barbie's Dream Car.” Need I say more? Extremely fun. A novelette where a young queer girl from a clairvoyant family struggles with an apocalyptic event while being annoyed by another very plucky girl. Lots of descriptions with nerdy marine zoology terms. Close in tone to Gideon. In the background, someone dies EXACTLY like that one death at the end of Gideon, which makes me wonder what happened to make Tamsyn interested in this particular image. I also liked that Tamsyn is aware of Nightwish. No link, but you'll get a PDF immediately if you Google.

• Union (2015, Clarkesworld Magazine)

5.5K. Very weird, extremely Kiwi story about a town that gets sent lab-grown wives by the government, but they're not made the usual way so they're Weird and people have feelings about it. Fascinating and eerie description of non-human (in some people's eyes, sub-human) women (?) who cannot be observed to have recognizable feelings or thoughts, yet have some sort of inner life. Quite touching, very uncanny.

• Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower (2020)

Short novel (~200 pages). Very funny. I was reminded of Coronabeth because the whole plot is “princess finds herself branching out into decidedly non-princess-like activities”, but other than that—this is a fairytale for adults about people who make eachother worse. No particular links to TLT but a very fun read with some gut punches. Extremely Tamsyn through and through, what with the dubious morality and all.

• Why the Mermaids Left Boralus (2021, in Folk & Fairy Tales of Azeroth by Blizzard Entertainment)

Set in the World of Warcraft universe. Haven't read this one yet, will report back lmao. As with The Deepwater Bride, no link but I easily found a PDF of the entire compilation. It's illustrated!

• Undercover (2022, from Into Shadow, Amazon Original Collection)

Haven't read it either. Will edit once I do.

#TLT #TLT meta #The Locked Tomb #Tamsyn Muir #TLT analysis #Chew #The Magician's Apprentice #The House That Made the Sixteen Loops of Time #Why the Mermaids Left Boralus #Union #Undercover #Princess Floralinda #Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower #The Deepwater Bride #The Woman in the Hill #Alectopause #Tamsyn #tazmuir #Apothecia

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ninsiana0 · 6 months ago

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"The 2024 edition of Some of the Best From Reactor is out today! This [FREE] bundle features just some of our favorites from the thirty-five original stories published on Reactor in the past year."

#reactor magazine #Reactor #tordotcom #formerly tordotcom #Some of the Best from Reactor: 2024 #free ebooks #free ebook #book tumblr #book covers #book #books #booklr #i read books #readers on tumblr #readers of tumblr #books and reading

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carpenterswife · 1 year ago

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HALF OF ME (ii)

SUMMARY: When Soldier Boy doesn’t return from Nicaragua, Vought creates a bullshit lie, talking him up as a hero who died in a devastating, world-saving accident. You’re handed down the mantle of leader as Payback, and spend your time trying to live up to how Ben had lead them, while also attempting to figure out what truly happened to him.

WORD COUNT: 2945

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Vought’s corrupt behaviour, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, death, gore, vomit, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sexual content, smut; descriptions of sex.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Ben didn’t come home from Nicaragua.

Blown to pieces by some Russian laser weapon (what the fuck?), the.. chunky remnants of his body were taken away in a helicopter. Presumably to be experimented on.

It made you sick. Ben might’ve been an asshole, a deep rooted cunt, but he didn’t deserve to have his corpse be defiled like that. Maybe you’d just gone soft for him, that’s all. Maybe his hushed, sweet words and gentle touches, in his last few days, had softened your heart.

But you spent nights grieving your loss, hyperventilating in your room as you felt his fingers tracing your hips again. If you closed your eyes tight enough, you could see him.

You’d never planned for Ben to die. Hell, he hadn’t even planned to do. He was supposed to be ageless; a man who didn’t die. Vought would hide him away when it became suspicious, and he’d live peacefully… as peaceful as he could get, anyway. That was what was supposed to happen.

But his guts were strewn across the base camp in Nicaragua, and you’d never see him again.

It only took Vought three months to create a bullshit cover story.

After all, they couldn’t tell America their beloved Soldier Boy was actually at the site of a cocaine smuggling operation when he was blown to bits. No, that’d taint his image that Vought had spent literal decades moulding. He needed to die a hero. A man that would live gloriously in textbooks and stories.

A nuclear reactor meltdown is what they came up with.

Fucking bullshit, really.

The man was practically immortal (which did raise the question of, how the hell did the Russians kill him in the first place?). Some radiation wasn’t going to take him out. You’d watched him take two full magazines from an assault rifle, and get back to his feet like nothing happened.

And now he was dead. You didn’t know how. You wished more than ever that he’d let you accompany Payback on this godforsaken mission. Because you were utterly clueless as to what had gone down, and no one was answering your questions, tearing up whenever you mentioned the place.

You wanted — needed — to know how this was possible.

You knew Ben, better than anyone else on the team, even Crimson, who stood up on stage, talking about how good of a man Ben was.

Ben was a good man — to those he thought deserved to see that side of him. He was reserved and harsh and rude. And, yes, he was naturally an asshole. But, there was a part of him capable of respect and kindness and love. It was just stuffed deep within.

You’d been drawing it, slowly and carefully. You’d dug your hand in and grasped onto it, worming that side of him out of his heart with every night you’d spent cuddled into his chest. And he’d been warming. His touches had been gentler, his words softer, his eyes more admiring. You’d made him that. You were the only one he’d deemed worthy of his love and trust and respect.

Crimson had never seen that side of him. She’d never even come close to opening him up, seeing who he truly was.

As she talked fake stories of their blinding romance, about how he was such an incredible boyfriend, you just rolled your eyes in the audience. The only time Ben spent with Crimson outside of the public eye was when he was balls deep inside of her. And, even then, he liked to say she was a terrible fuck.

He also liked to say you were a good fuck. It was his favourite compliment; as funny was that was. As he railed you against his mattress, his hands keeping you firmly where he wanted you, he muttered praises.

That was different to the Ben the other women got. He’d degrade them: call them every name under the sun as he practically broke their pelvises. With you, sure, he was rough, but he complimented you; whispering and grunting softly, making sure you felt pretty and loved as he violently fucked you into unconsciousness.

And he always made sure you were okay afterwards. Ben giving aftercare was not something you’d expected, but he was damn good at making you feel safe and secure. He was a man of many talents.

The country was honouring him, as you begged for any kind of rational answer from Payback, from Edgar, from Vought. You were close to falling to your knees and pleading. But they didn’t care. Too busy basking in the boost of popularity that came from Ben’s death.

So, they upped their game.

And, when Vought erected a statue of Ben outside of Vought Tower, you threw up in the bathroom. The night you were named the new leader of Payback, you threw up again.

Apparently, it’s what Ben wanted. Which was bullshit. He wanted you in his kitchen with a dinner plate (lovingly, he’d told you that night. How could something like that be a compliment? You didn’t know, but it was Ben, so you guessed it was possible). But, you couldn’t fight it. So, nearly exactly three months after the last night you saw him, you took his place.

It felt wrong, and disrespectful, and you were lost and out of place. You had no knowledge on how to lead a team of asshole supes, that didn’t respect you or really like you that much.

Ben did this so easily. He lead Payback like a natural born leader. You lead like a baby giraffe learning to walk.

But you did it anyway.

“Soldier Boy was a national icon.” You held the microphone with shaking hands, willing them to stop, staring out at the gathering of civilians. It was wrong; America was mourning a death they’d all been lied to about. You swallowed your bile and pushed on. “And I am honoured to be taking his place as the leader of our brave and dedicated superhero team, Payback. I will be leading in his image, and his honour, and I hope that my work would make him proud.”

It was all bullshit.

You hadn’t written a word of this shit.

Edgar had shoved it into your hands and pointed you onto the stage. No warning. No cooperation. No opinion. Just… here you go, now go put on a show.

But, the audience was eating it up, and Edgar and your PA were giving you a thumbs up from backstage. They liked your performance. Ben, however, would be gagging in his mouth hearing this. He’d probably mock you, and claim you’d be better off just blowing his dick. He’d be right. Every word that was coming out of your mouth was corporate propaganda.

Your hands curled tighter around the microphones, knuckles whitening. You didn’t want to be here. You wanted to be home, as far away from Vought and these grieving people as fast as possible. “Soldier Boy was a respected, beloved hero, within your hearts, and Vought’s.” God, what cliche, sappy horseshit. “He was a good man, who lost his life saving millions.” You held back your scoff. “Vought will forever live in his shadow. We ask that you give us time and space to grieve our loss. Thank you.”

The audience applauded, loud and roaring, as you walked off stage.

The rage bubbling up in your chest was ready to burst, overflowing. This was all fucking sickening. No one was telling you anything. And they expected you to get on stage and do these speeches? To sit, cry and look pretty as you grieved the mighty Soldier Boy?

Fuck that. You were going to get answers.

There was some dark shit happening behind the scenes, and it had Vought’s grubby handprints all over it. The cover story. Payback’s silence. Edgar’s lack of care. None of it was adding up.

The moment the audience could no longer see it, your mouth curled to a scowl, heels clicking as you stormed up to Edgar. You were going to get answers, even if you had to physically get them. You’d find out what happened to Ben in Nicaragua, even if it cost you your head.

Stan Edgar, despite knowing he was now on the receiving end of your anger, stood tall. Cocky bastard. You could kill him with ease. But, of course, he didn’t care. There was only one person you’d ever seen Edgar cower from — Ben. To be fair with the guy, though, anyone would cower if Soldier Boy was screaming at you, inches from your face.

“What is going on?” Despite your rage, you kept your voice to a low hiss, not wanting to attract attention to your anger and frustration. “Can someone fucking explain to me, what is happening?” He began to walk away, and you followed. your words still flying out. “Why am I taking Ben’s place? How did he even die? You were in Nicaragua — what happened? Why did it take you so long to come up with that shitty reactor meltdown story?”

He turned to face you. You abruptly stopped, almost smashing into his chest with the suddenness of it, taking a stumbling step backwards. “I understand you’re upset.” You rolled your eyes at his professional tone, hands linked behind his back. Typical. “But I cannot answer those questions.”

“No, I deserve to know” You demanded. It was a losing battle, and you already knew that, but it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t try your hardest. “What. Happened?”

You weren’t getting an answer from Edgar. And that became clear when he turned his back to you, engaging in a conversation with his secretary, and leaving you in the dust. Glaring at the back of his head, you muttered obscenities.

If you weren’t getting it from Edgar’s lips, you’d get it another way.

Namely, breaking into his office that evening.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Now, you weren’t a seasoned criminal, but Ben had taught you a thing or two. He was, very much, a criminal, and knew things you were never too curious to ask about. Like picking locks. Which was the most normal of his odd knowledge. (The fact that man has known the recipe to make a bomb was… terrifying.)

Picking a lock wasn’t in your expertise, but you remembered enough from what he’d shown you. Enough to kneel down in front of Edgar’s office door, and use a bobby pin to turn the lock until it clicked.

You grinned, internally thanking Ben for his… strange teaching techniques. Glancing down the hallway, both ways, you ensured it was empty; that no one was about to see you going against every rule in the book. Once it was cleared, you slipped inside the door with practiced ease, and shut the door behind you.

The sun was setting over the horizon — the golden hour hue lighting up the room enough for you to make your way over to Edgar’s shelves. You were determined to find something. Anything.

Something was going on. Something sketchier than Vought’s usual dirty work. And you were going to figure it out.

Your index finger skimmed the folders, peeking at the names. Until you found Ben’s — a cream folder with ‘SOLDIER BOY’ written across the front. Pulling it out, your eyes locked onto the bright red ‘DECEASED’ stamped under his name, your heart squeezing.

Swallowing thickly, uncertain, you flipped it open. Reasons over the contents, your eyes narrowed in concentration and then narrowed further in frustration.

It was nothing you didn’t already know. His past. The human trial experiment. Comp V. Ben had already told you all of this.

You glared at the deceased marker on the front of it, and then slid the folder back into the right spot. Alphabetical order, you noticed. You continued flicking through the files, trying to find something that could be labelled as suspicious.

Your ears perked at the sound of sudden buzzing from across the room. Like a dog to a squeaky toy, you rushed over, watching a piece of paper print out of the fax machine.

You snatched it up the moment it came out.

BCL-RED was the title word.

What the fuck was that?

You’d never heard of it before. It had to be an acronym, but your mind came up blank, as you racked it for any familiarity. Cursing internally, you scowled — damn fucking code words.

Before you could read ahead, a voice floated into the office from outside.

“Shit.” You hissed under your breath, suddenly very panicked. Returning the paper to the machine, you dashed for the door, poking your head out just enough to peek down the hall. You spotted Edgar just a ways down, facing away from you, talking to Black Noir. Quickly and silently, with expertise learnt on the field, you crept out of the office, taking off down the hallway in the opposite direction.

All the way back to your room, you muttered the words to yourself.

BCL-RED.

… BCL-RED.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

It wasn’t in any folders documents anywhere. Not even your PA knew what a BCL-RED was.

You felt like a dog chasing its tail. Going in circles, trying to find any clues as to what happened to Ben. Every day your suspicions rose. Something wasn’t right. Edgar was having hushed conversations. Payback was having meetings that excluded you.

Your trail lead you to Grace Mallory.

The young woman handed you a cup of coffee, hands scarred and calloused from her days at war. Quietly, you thanked her, sat comfortably on her sofa, cradling the coffee. “I have to respect your strength. Putting up with Soldier Boy every day.”

You cracked a smile, sipping the steaming coffee. “He was a… acquired taste.” Your laugh was breathy and quiet, thinking back to Ben and his unique personality. “What happened in Nicaragua?”

Grace sighed as she settled back. She was pretty. No doubt Ben tried to get in her pants while he was there. “It happened quickly.” Your brows furrowed, sitting forward, elbows on your knees. “We were ambushed. Your team couldn’t find their guns from their asses.”

“Sounds about right.” You murmured. “I told Ben he needed me out there. The stubborn dick wouldn’t listen. Looks like it bit him in the ass, eh?”

“Big time.” Grace agreed. “There was an explosion. It knocked me out.” You listened attentively, frequently sipping the coffee. “When I came to… your team were in ruins. Half of ‘em were dead, the other half injured.”

You chewed your lips for a few beats. “Black Noir still hasn’t recovered. Doctors said he’ll never be able to talk again.”

Solemn, she nodded. “Not surprised. His face was more hole than it was skin.” You grimaced at the imagery. “Crimson Countess told me Soldier Boy was dead. He’d been killed by some… laser, his body taken by a helicopter.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You sat back. “Huh.” You murmured. “She’s lying.” You decided. The story wasn’t right. Sure, it was feasible, under different circumstances. But, in battle? When Ben was on his A-game? No way.

Grace looked confused. After all, why would Crimson lie about something like that?

You didn’t know.

But you were going to fucking find out.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

That night, you didn’t return to your room. Instead, you slipped into Ben’s in the dead of night. It hadn’t been touched since he left for Nicaragua. Since he’d railed you against the mattress and left you bed-bound for two days.

The air was musty, with dust covering each surface. Crawling onto the bed, you tugged open the curtains, letting sunlight in for the first time in months.

Every surface was covered in dust. And there were still drugs laid about. Half snorted lines of cocaine on the coffee table. Empty pill bottles decorating the floor. An ash tray that reeked of marijuana. God, this man had been like a teenage boy.

Flicking on the light, you gathered your bravery, and spent a few hours cleaning his room up. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to feel closer to him. Feel like you were doing something for him. Ben hated it when things were messy. And he loved it when you cleaned up after him. You hated feeding into that old, sexist mindset he had.

But, god, you’d do anything right now to hear him demand you fetch him a drink.

After you cleaned his room, you stripped his sheets, gagging at the old stain. Definitely your cum. And his. Gross. You stuffed it into a basket, kicking it away from you.

Okay… remember to not touch that again without gloves.

As you finished the last, final touches, a glint of metal on his bedside table caught your attention. Curious, you padded over, expecting a pistol.

Instead, you found a chain.

Your heart leapt into your throat. Delicately, you placed the necklace in the palm of your hand, brushing your thumb over the metal surface.

His WW2 dog tags.

Swallowing thickly, you blinked back your emotion. Why the fuck were even so sad? You weren’t even dating the man. Sure, you’d been his friend for years. You’d been protecting him. He’d been protecting you. You’d been his right-hand man practically.

But, still!

With a lump in your throat, you carefully placed the dog tags over your head. The dog tags were cold against your chest. You tucked them under your shirt, inhaling shakily.

With one last look around the room, you turned around and walked out, with a basket of laundry balanced on your hip.

You weren’t going to rest until you found out the truth. That was for sure.

A/N: sorry for the lack of soldier boy in this chap :( he makes his grand return next chapter !!! in all his sexist glory lmao. he’s so fun to write, tho i do feel like a horrible person writing some of the shit he says. definitely fun to explore this universe and all its fucked up possibilities. thank you guys for the support on chap one :’) <3 next chap will also be longer promise

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#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #the boys tv #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #half of me

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witchhkitty222 · 2 months ago

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Built for Pink (mini series)

Tony Stark x reader

Chapter 1 - Pinkie Pie

summary: Y/n Y/l/n is a pink-obsessed, genius energy engineer who just landed a dream job at Stark Industries… and possibly a bigger mess than she’s ready for. Between teasing banter, tension-laced stares, and Tony Stark clearly trying (and failing) to resist her charms, it’s obvious that their lab partnership is headed somewhere dangerously electric. Pink may be her color — but trouble looks good on her too.

warnings: age-gap dynamic (Tony is older, Y/n is 22), heavy sexual tension and innuendo.

wordcount: 1.3k

If there was one thing Y/n was absolutely sure of, it was that she did not belong here. Not because she wasn’t qualified — she was. Brilliant, even. Top of her class, finished university two years early, and managed to create a revolutionary micro-energy cell that could, in theory, power an entire city block for a month without recharge.

No, she didn’t belong here because this was Stark Industries. And standing at the glass entrance, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, Y/n felt like a little girl showing up to a kings' castle.

Her bright pink hair tie probably wasn’t helping.

She smoothed her palms down her pale pink blouse — nerves, excitement, and a dangerous kind of thrill all buzzing in her stomach — and pushed through the doors.

Inside, everything gleamed. Glass walls. Silver floors. Holographic screens everywhere. It felt like stepping straight into the future.

And then, of course, there he was.

Tony Stark.

Realer, hotter, and even cockier in person than on every magazine cover. Perfectly tailored black suit. Sunglasses perched low on his nose. Goatee sharp enough to kill a man. He looked up from the tablet he was studying — and his gaze sliced right through her.

For a second, Y/n forgot how to breathe. It was one thing to know he was handsome. It was another thing entirely to have Tony Stark looking at you like he was trying to solve a very sexy math problem.

"You must be Pinkie Pie," he said, mouth curving into a grin.

Y/n blinked. Then snorted. "Not even close, old man."

Tony’s grin widened. Oh, he liked her already.

"Feisty," he said approvingly, tossing the tablet to a passing assistant without even looking. "You’re hired."

Y/n arched a brow. "You didn’t even interview me."

Tony leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret. "I already read the file. You’re smarter than half my R&D department. You built an energy cell in your dorm room. You win."

She smirked, cocking her hip. "Winning’s kinda my thing."

His eyes did a slow, lazy sweep down her body — lingering, appreciating, maybe even savoring — before snapping back up to her face. Fast enough that she could pretend she hadn’t noticed. But she had.

Oh, she had.

"Alright, Pinkie," he said. "Let’s get you to work."

And just like that, Y/n Y/l/n , twenty-two years old, pink-obsessed, and possibly a little reckless, became Tony Stark’s newest recruit.

------------

Later That Night — Stark Tower

"So," Tony said, pouring himself a scotch as Y/n leaned over a workbench, pink socks peeking out from under her jeans. "Tell me again why you insist on wearing that color?"

Y/n didn’t even glance up. "Because pink is a lifestyle, Tony. Not a color."

Tony chuckled lowly, sipping his drink, watching the way she bit her lip while adjusting some wires. Completely unaware that the simple action made something deep in his gut twist and heat.

Too young, Stark. Don’t be a creep.

He dragged a hand through his hair, turning away. But then Y/n said, "Besides, I like being a contradiction."

Tony turned back, curious despite himself.

"I mean," she continued, grinning wickedly, "I can rewire a nuclear reactor while wearing glittery pink nail polish. It drives old men crazy."

Tony nearly choked on his drink.

Y/n smirked at him, sweet and dangerous all at once.

Yep. He was so, so screwed.

-------------

It started small.

A roll of Y/n 's eyes here. A snarky comment there.

But somewhere between fixing the Arc Reactor core and installing new AI modules, the teasing escalated into... something else.

"You know," Y/n said one afternoon, balancing a screwdriver between her fingers as she leaned on Tony’s pristine lab table, "for a fossil, you move pretty fast."

Tony didn’t even look up from the welding torch he was using. "Careful, princess. I might accidentally deactivate your access codes."

Y/n snorted. "You like me too much for that."

The words slipped out — casual, teasing — but there was a split second where neither of them spoke.

Something heavier than air curled between them, smoky and dangerous.

Tony’s head tilted slightly, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Don’t flatter yourself, Pinkie."

But he turned back to his work too fast, too defensive. And Y/n noticed.

Oh, he definitely liked her. He was just trying really, really hard not to.

Which, honestly, only made her want to push more.

-----------

Two nights later. It was late. The Tower was almost empty.

Tony was pretending to read reports; Y/n was sprawled on one of the lab couches, tinkering with a mini drone.

Her legs were bare.

Just a pair of tiny pink shorts, an oversized white t-shirt slipping off one shoulder, and pink fuzzy socks. A look that was casual. Harmless. Innocent.

But to Tony? It might as well have been lingerie.

He was a grown man. A mature adult. He had fought wars, built an empire, outwitted gods.

And yet here he was, sweating because a twenty-two-year-old in pink socks had tucked one leg under her, giving him a perfect view of smooth thighs and soft skin.

He cleared his throat loudly. Y/n looked up, wide-eyed, too pure to be real.

"Problem, Mr. Stark?"

His jaw clenched.

Problem? Yeah, the problem was that he was about two seconds away from forgetting the age gap, the rules, the reasons why this was a very bad idea.

"You’re..." He gestured vaguely at her. "Distracting."

Y/n blinked innocently. "Me? I’m just working."

Tony shot her a look. "In shorts the size of a handkerchief?"

She grinned — slow, wicked.

"Would you prefer I work naked, boss?"

Tony turned away so fast he almost tripped over a tool cart.

"Jesus Christ, woman."

Behind him, Y/n laughed — bright, wicked, and dangerously pleased.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

And Tony Stark was so goddamn doomed.

Chapter 2

#marvel #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #smut #steve rogers imagine #mcu #loki #loki odinson #thor #thor odinson #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #peter parker #tony stark #iron man #imagine #series #tony stark x reader

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mostly-marvel-musings · 2 months ago

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Chapter 4 - An affair to remember

A/N: After a sabbatical? A loooooonngg one. Let me know your thoughts.

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ angst.

Word count: 2.7k

An Affair to Remember Masterlist

Tony’s POV

Six times he had called. And not once was his call answered.

His fourth cup of coffee sat on his work station, right leg tapping insistently while he threw his phone away, rubbing a hand down his face.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was about to break it off with Pepper for good. And now he’d just had an argument with his ‘fiance’ for releasing the news to the media without checking with him. Her only words were, ‘it was bound to happen someday, better now than later’. Not giving him much else, Pepper had flown out of the city to visit her parents, leaving a frustrated Tony at home.

One conversation with Natalie let him know that something wasn’t right. She seemed hesitant to tell the details, even to him. Frightened. Tony was sure she was threatened by someone.

Could it be Pepper? He wouldn’t really put it past her. It could be anyone from the staff acting as her eyes and ears as well. The amount of people he could truly trust was reducing now more than ever. It was moments like these where he wished his mother were still alive. She would know what to do, if nothing, she would be there to ease his racing mind.

If he had had even the slightest inkling about what was about to happen, he would’ve informed Y/N. She deserved to know the truth. The whole truth that was hidden from the world.

Maybe if he went over to her place and tried to explain…

Hearing his lab door slide open, Tony composed himself and saw Obadiah Stane walk in with a big grin on his face, his arms outstretched.

“Congratulations are in order, Tony! It’s good to see you.” his full belly laugh echoed in the walls of his lab as Obadiah pulled him in for a hug.

Ever since Tony’s return, the man had been trying his level best to get him to reveal how he escaped. His behavior seemed off ever since Tony had returned from Afghanistan, Obadiah was getting desperate.

“I thought we were going to wait on the announcement.” Tony muttered, covering the models he was working on by some papers that were lying around.

“I don’t see the point in waiting around for nothing, Tony. It was time. And let’s face it, no one’s getting any younger.” he waved a hand dismissively, squinting his eyes to get a better view of the contents on Tony’s desk.

“What is that?”

“Nothing important. Just sketches I had drawn up.” Tony shrugged, letting out a sigh when his business advisor reached for the papers anyway, examining them with a frown.

“Are you serious? The arc reactor tech again? Tony, it was a publicity stunt.” Obadiah bunched the papers in his hands, ready to throw them in the trash before Tony stopped him.

“What if it wasn’t? What if I told you it works?”

“What are you saying?”

Letting out a breath, Tony figured it would work better if let Stane in on his little secret. He had been a close family friend and a stand-in CEO since Howard died, that was until Tony assumed his position and stepped in. After Rhodey, he had trusted Obadiah the most.

Tony peeled off his sweater to reveal the miniature arc reactor to him, explaining his escape from the caves. The gears in Stane’s head were turning but he kept an understanding facade up, showing his support and concern for the man. Confirming that he would take care of everything, Obadiah instructed Tony to hold a press conference to officially announce his engagement.

Little did Tony know everything was about to go to shit for him.

It had been two weeks since you last saw Tony.

It was a little hard to avoid him since he was all over the news and a hard copy of the magazine you had shot for was delivered to your apartment. The photos were amazing, you had to admit. He looked dashing. Your father had called to compliment you on them as well. Usually his quips made you laugh but even those weren’t getting you out of your sour mood. You brushed it off as just being tired but he could sense something was wrong.

Thankfully, Izzy was back. And you had plans of meeting her and Sebastian at the Blarney Cove for a catch up. It would be good for you, you thought.

And it was. Time spent with your friends always cheered you up, no matter what shit life threw your way. Isabelle never brought up the Tony subject in front of Sebastian, that you appreciated.

Maybe it was time you forgot about the whole thing anyway? It was a good thing that lasted for a blink. Maybe it was too good to last and too complicated. Maybe…

“So, Y/N…I had tickets to this opera next week and I wanted to take you. What do you say?” Sebastian had slid closer to you, his lips dangerously close to your ear as he spoke.

Izzy nodded at you, giving you an encouraging smile. You agreed to go on a date, much to Sebastian’s delight, thinking if nothing, at least you’d be in the company of a friend. And the guilt of turning him down yet again would eat you alive if you didn’t. For the rest of the night, you pushed thoughts of Tony Stark away as best as you could.

Sebastian was right on time for your date while you put finishing touches on your make-up. It was a snazzy event at a well-renowned venue that required you to dress up. Deciding on a flowy blue dress, you curled your hair to perfection and slipped on a pair of uncomfortable heels before greeting him outside your apartment.

Sebastian, in a sleek black tux with a navy satin lapel, gave a low whistle the moment he saw you.

“Wow. If the opera doesn’t steal my breath, you just did.”

You smiled, accepting the arm he offered, trying to let his presence anchor you in this new narrative you were trying to write for yourself—one where Tony Stark was just a passing chapter.

The venue was grand, all golden balconies and crystal chandeliers. The kind of place where money whispered rather than screamed. You were scanning the space, marveling at the opulence, when your eyes landed on him.

Tony.

In a dark three-piece suit, with a tie just slightly loosened, standing beside Pepper. Her red hair was pinned into a precise twist, her dress classic and calculated. She was speaking to someone but Tony—Tony was staring right at you.

It was like all the noise faded. You forgot what opera you were even there to watch.

“Y/N?” Sebastian’s voice brought you back. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” you lied. “Just… this place is something else.”

Tony didn’t look away. Not even when Pepper touched his arm to bring his attention back. Not even when you did.

You tried to enjoy the performance. You really did. But halfway through, Sebastian reached for your hand, and the contact only made you more aware of the ache in your chest.

When the show ended and people were starting to leave their seats, you excused yourself to go to the restroom, needing air more than a mirror. You weren’t expecting Pepper to be the one waiting by the ornate sink, checking her lipstick in the golden-edged glass.

She noticed you behind her.

“You’re the photographer, right?” she asked, not unkindly, just… cool. Controlled.

You nodded, clutching your tiny clutch tighter.

“Stark couldn’t stop talking about the shoot,” she said, snapping the lipstick shut. “You must’ve made quite the impression.”

You said nothing, unsure of what game she was playing.

She glanced at your reflection. “What is it with men and their need to feel young again, huh?”

Then she turned, smiling with all her teeth. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, sweetheart.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Outside the restroom, you barely registered walking back into the lobby when someone caught your wrist.

Tony.

His grip was gentle, but his eyes were urgent. “Please. Just give me a minute.”

You looked around. “Here? Are you insane?”

“I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t explain.”

“Don’t you have a fiancée to get back to?” you snapped.

He flinched like you’d slapped him.

“Please, Y/N,” he said again, softer this time. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

You pulled your hand back. “And whose fault is that?”

You walked away before he could answer.

You weren’t sure if it was the violins that were slightly out of tune or your nerves that were making your skin crawl, but something about this night felt off. Sebastian had been charming and warm as always, offering you a drink at intermission and making light conversation about the eccentric performers. But your mind? It had a terrible habit of drifting.

To him.

You were trying. God, you were trying to move on. To push Tony Stark and his stupidly perfect smirks and heartbreak eyes into the deepest, most unreachable corners of your mind. And you were doing okay—until the second act opened.

Because that was when you saw them.

Two rows ahead. Center box seat. Tony and Pepper.

Your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, your body betrayed you entirely, frozen like prey in the sightline of a predator.

He hadn’t seen you yet. But she had.

Pepper turned slightly, offering a polite smile—one that didn’t quite meet her eyes. The smug twist to her lips was almost imperceptible. Almost. You stared back, refusing to flinch.

Sebastian leaned in. “You okay?”

You nodded once, jaw clenched tight. “Need some air.”

You practically fled, ignoring the hush around you and Sebastian’s confused whisper calling after you.

You barely made it out of the opera house before the tightness in your chest became unbearable. The cool night air hit your flushed skin like a slap. You ripped your heels off the moment you reached the sidewalk, standing barefoot in your stupid pretty dress like a painting undone at the frame.

Sebastian had called after you once, then again. You didn’t answer.

Because that image—it was burned into your mind. Pepper’s hand on his arm. Tony’s face half-shadowed in stage light, like a stranger you almost recognized. Like someone you used to love.

You started walking. You didn’t know where to. Just away.

Your phone buzzed in your clutch. You almost ignored it.

But it was a name you didn’t expect: Happy.

You opened the message with trembling fingers.

Weird night. Just wanted to give you a heads up—something’s off. Obadiah was snooping around Tony’s lab earlier, and asked about you. Creepy vibe.

Can’t reach Tony. Thought maybe you could?

Your heart stopped for half a second.

You looked up. All around you were people in tuxedos and gowns, laughing like nothing in the world was wrong.

But something was wrong.

You dialed Tony’s number. Straight to voicemail. Again. And again.

Please let this be nothing, you prayed.

But you were already turning, flagging down the first cab you could find.

“Stark Tower,” you said breathlessly, clutching your shoes in one hand like a weapon. “Fast as you can.”

And just like that, you were on your way.

To him. To the truth.

You walked in without thinking, your heels clacking with angry purpose. The place was quieter than usual—eerily so. No Happy at the desk. No security guards wandering the halls. You found that odd.

The elevator pinged open.

“Tony?” you called out as you stepped onto the floor of the lab.

No answer.

Then you heard something crash.

You rushed inside—and your blood froze.

Tony was collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his face. His arc reactor—the glowing blue light at the center of his chest—was gone. Wires hung exposed. His skin was ashen.

“Oh my god—Tony!”

You dropped to your knees, panic flooding every vein. His hand reached for yours weakly.

“H-he took it…”

“Who?! Who did this?”

“Obadiah…”

You felt like the floor had disappeared under you. There wasn’t time to process. Only time to act.

You remembered where the spare was. He’d shown you once—casually, like it was no big deal. You ran like hell, yanking open the cabinet behind his workstation, almost dropping the device in your shaking hands.

“Okay, okay—Tony, stay with me.”

You knelt by his side again, eyes scanning the port in his chest, shaking as you aligned the reactor and pushed it in. His back arched with a gasp as it clicked into place, a soft hum filling the room.

His breathing evened, just a little.

You couldn’t stop the tears that slipped out as you cradled his face. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

He blinked slowly, focusing on you. “You came…”

“You idiot,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Why wouldn’t I? I told you I needed to stay away, and you almost fucking died, Stark.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Missed you.”

You laughed through a sob, brushing his hair back gently. “Shut up and stay awake, okay? You can’t die yet. I have at least four more arguments to yell at you about.”

His fingers gripped yours a little tighter.

Footsteps echoed behind you. You turned, standing in front of Tony instinctively.

It was Rhodey. Thank god.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, rushing over.

“Obadiah,” you said. “He did this. He tried to kill him.”

Rhodey’s jaw clenched. “Help me get him up. We need to move. Now.”

You nodded, wiping your face and slipping under Tony’s arm as you helped Rhodes lift him. Tony groaned but managed to stay semi-upright.

As you made your way out, something inside you snapped into focus. This was bigger than you and Tony. Bigger than any scandal or age gap or secret rendezvous.

One thing was for sure. You had a lot to think about.

The world moved on faster than either of you could.

Tony was recovering—physically, at least. The arc reactor had been stabilized, the tech reclaimed, Pepper had gone silent, and Stane’s public disgrace was making headlines everywhere. But none of that mattered when he walked into the living room of your apartment a week later, and you could barely look at him.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to.

It was that you did. And that terrified you.

He stood there in a black hoodie, eyes tired, hands shoved in his pockets like a teenager unsure of his welcome.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, voice raw. “But I did. And I have no excuse for it.”

You didn’t respond. Not right away. Your arms were crossed like armor, heart pounding beneath your sweater. You’d told yourself a hundred times not to let him in again. But there he was—looking like a man who had lost everything except the one person he’d still crawl across glass to reach.

“I should’ve told you about Pepper. I should’ve told you everything.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “You should’ve.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and aching.

“I love you,” he said finally. No fanfare. No charm. Just the bare truth. “I didn’t know how much until I almost lost everything. Until I realized the only thing I couldn’t lose was you.”

Your throat tightened. “Then why does it feel like you already did?”

He took a step forward, but you shook your head.

“This can’t work,” you whispered. “Not now. Not like this.”

“Why not?” His voice cracked. “Because of the age difference? The world’s opinion? Because I broke your heart before I had the guts to admit I had one?”

“No,” you breathed. “Because I love you, too. And I can’t keep being the exception in your life. I want to be the choice.”

He closed his eyes like your words physically hurt him. Maybe they did.

You stepped closer then, just enough to reach for his hand. He gripped it like a lifeline.

“But maybe,” you said, “Someday. When the dust settles. When we’re not just barely surviving. Maybe then, we’ll be something real.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Someday.”

You kissed his cheek—soft, aching, lingering—and then let go of his hand. It took everything you had to walk away from him.

And it would take everything in him not to chase after you.

But for now, it was enough.

Maybe love wasn’t always about the right time. Sometimes, it was about having the strength to wait until it finally was.

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