witchhkitty222

[witchhkitty222]

Masterlist

Marvel masterlist ➵ (on going)

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F1 masterlist ⚑ ⚐ (coming soon)

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Football masterlist ⚒ (coming soon)

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[witchhkitty222]

Me every time I think about writing smth for Tony mf Stark aka my fav playboy

[witchhkitty222]

Arrest me, Captain - oneshot

Steve Rogers x reader

summary: Amid the fierce Civil War clash between Avengers teams, your confrontation with Steve Rogers — your boyfriend and current enemy — ignites with raw sexual tension and suppressed emotions. Despite being on opposite sides, passion and desire explode into an intense, steamy encounter that challenges their divide. A love tested by war, with heavy consequences, "nice catch" - "nice ass"

warnings: explicit content / sex scenes (oral, penetration, dominance, spanking, breeding kink), strong language and adult themes, intense emotional conflict and sexual tension between rivals, consensual power dynamics in a romantic relationship, war and violence backdrop (Marvel Civil War context)

wordcount: 1.3k

The sun scorched the tarmac at Leipzig-Halle airport, the heat rising off the concrete matching the fire in your chest.

Two lines of Avengers stood face to face. All former teammates. Now… opponents. The Civil War had officially come to a head.

You stood just behind Tony, spine straight, heart hammering. The red tint of your HUD reflected in your eyes, but you didn’t need tech to feel the crackling energy building.

Your powers — your ability to control minds and move objects with sheer thought — pulsed like a heartbeat just beneath your skin.

Across from you… Steve Rogers. Your boyfriend. Your current enemy.

He looked ridiculous in that damn blue uniform. Ridiculous and infuriating and hot as fuck.

He hadn’t said a word to you since this mission started — since the teams were drawn, and you made your choice.

You chose Tony. You chose accountability. And Steve… didn’t.

But none of that stopped the way your stomach flipped when his eyes finally locked on yours. Wide shoulders, jaw clenched, mouth tight like he wanted to say something but wouldn’t. He looked at you like he hated that he still wanted you.

Good. You hated that you still wanted him too.

"You sure about this?" Rhodey murmured beside you, nodding toward Cap’s team.

You didn't take your eyes off Steve. “He’s the one who should be sure.”

And just like that, the fight exploded. Wings, webs, shields, repulsors — it was chaos in motion.

You ducked a flying drone and launched yourself forward, twisting through smoke and yelling. You reached out with your powers, lifting a cargo container into the air like it weighed nothing.

And with a flick of your fingers — you hurled it straight at him.

Steve turned just in time, shield raised, catching the full weight of the container like the super soldier he was.

Show-off.

You smirked and called across the battlefield, loud and cocky: “Nice catch.”

Without missing a beat, he shouted back — “Nice ass.”

“Are you kidding me?” Natasha shouted over comms.

"Not the time for flirting!" Sam groaned as he dodged a blast from Vision.

“You two gonna make out or actually fight?” Clint chimed in, somewhere off to the left.

You just grinned, your eyes never leaving Steve. “Can’t help it if your team leader’s obsessed with me.”

Steve was already moving, bulldozing through the chaos like a man possessed. You could feel the shift in him — the way his focus snapped entirely to you. Not Bucky. Not the mission.

You.

“Careful, Rogers,” you called, backing toward the terminal, lips curling. “You look like you're about to forget which side you’re on.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he growled. “You have.”

You laughed — light, dangerous. “Maybe I’m just tired of following orders.”

You didn’t wait for him to reach you. You turned, sprinting toward the edge of the runway, weaving through debris with deadly precision. You could’ve flown — could’ve used your powers to keep distance — but you wanted him close.

You wanted him desperate.

Let him chase you. Let him burn.

You felt his footsteps pounding behind you. Felt the storm building in his chest, the mix of anger and longing twisting in the air like lightning.

You rounded a corner and slipped into a dim service hallway just outside the terminal — the chaos of the fight muffled behind you.

And then — BAM. A rough hand caught your wrist. The other pinned you against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

Your back hit the concrete. His chest hit yours.

Steve Rogers was in front of you, breathing hard, shield still gripped in one hand, eyes wild.

“You don’t get to do this,” he snapped, voice low and shaking.

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do what, babe?”

“Act like you don’t know exactly what the fuck you’re doing.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Then arrest me, Captain.”

His jaw flexed.

Your thighs clenched.

And everything went silent except your heartbeats slamming in unison.

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

His grip tightened on your wrist, not enough to hurt — just enough to remind you who you were dealing with. The shield clattered to the floor, forgotten, as his other hand braced against the wall beside your head.

His face was inches from yours.

“I should put you in cuffs,” he growled.

Your lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “You always did want to see me in restraints.”

His breath caught. Just for a second. That was all it took.

You leaned in, the tip of your nose brushing his. “Do it then. Arrest me, Captain.”

Steve’s jaw ticked. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m literally on Team Iron Man. I’m the enemy. What’re you gonna do about it?” Your voice dropped, sultry and wicked. “Spank me for treason?”

His mouth crashed into yours like a detonation. No warning. No hesitation.

Just heat. Hunger. Months of tension exploding all at once.

You moaned into him, arms flying up around his neck as he shoved you harder into the wall, tongue claiming your mouth like he had every right to — like he owned you, even now, even on the wrong goddamn side of a war.

“You think I give a shit what team you’re on?” he panted between kisses, hips pressing between your thighs. “You’re mine.”

You gasped as he gripped your ass, yanking you up so your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Then show me,” you dared. “Prove it.”

His mouth found your throat, teeth grazing that sweet spot just under your ear. “You’ve been brattier than usual, sweetheart.”

“You love it.”

He slammed you into the wall again and grinned darkly. “Unfortunately for you… I do.”

His hand slid up under your suit, fingers trailing over your stomach, down between your legs. When he felt how wetyou were, he froze.

“Jesus Christ.” He looked up at you with fire in his eyes. “You came out here like this?”

You smirked, breath shaky. “It’s the suit. Tight as hell. Gets me worked up.”

He growled low in his throat. “You wore it knowing I’d see you.”

“Maybe I wanted a reaction.”

“Well, you’ve got it now.”

In one swift motion, he spun and carried you across the corridor, kicking open the nearest service door. It slammed shut behind you — a dark utility room, dusty and unused.

Steve tossed you down on a crate, yanking the zipper of your suit down roughly. His fingers were already undoing his own belt, his cock already hard, leaking.

You licked your lips. “You gonna fuck the defiance out of me, Captain?”

He grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. His voice was low. Deadly serious. “I’m gonna fuck you until you remember who you belong to.”

You didn’t even have time to gasp — his mouth was on yours again, hands tugging your suit down, exposing your chest. His kisses were bruising, desperate, full of everything he’d been trying not to say for weeks.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he hissed, biting your lip. “Always mouthing off. Always testing me.”

“‘Cause you like it,” you whispered, gasping when he shoved two fingers inside you, no warning.

Your back arched. “Steve—”

“You know better than to go against me,” he growled into your neck, curling his fingers. “But you wanted this. Didn’t you?”

You nodded, panting. “Yes—fuck, yes, I did—”

“Say it.”

“I wanted you,” you whimpered, “wanted you so bad—”

“Even while you were fighting me?” He slipped his fingers out and rubbed them over your clit, slow and punishing. “Even when you turned your back on me?”

“Yes—god, Steve—”

“Then take it,” he snapped.

And then he was inside you — deep — all at once, no hesitation, splitting you open in a way that made your eyes roll back.

You cried out, nails digging into his back as he set a brutal rhythm. Each thrust drove the air from your lungs, each growl in your ear made your walls clamp tighter around him.

“You’re mine,” he snarled. “No matter what team you’re on. No matter how much you fight me. You fucking belong to me.”

“Yes—yes—I’m yours—” you gasped.

He fucked you harder, his hands gripping your hips so tight you’d have bruises.

“Always so fucking cocky,” he panted. “You need to be reminded who you obey.”

He slapped your ass, hard, and you moaned, head falling back. “You like this, don’t you? You like being punished.”

“Only when it’s by you,” you said, grinning breathlessly.

He leaned in, lips to your ear. “I’m gonna fill you up.”

Your stomach clenched. “Yeah?”

“Gonna come inside you,” he growled, hand between your thighs again, rubbing your clit as he pounded into you. “Wanna watch it drip out. Wanna make you mine again.”

You sobbed — so close, so overwhelmed, body on fire.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say you want it.”

“I want it—want your cum—want you to fill me up—”

“You want me to breed you, baby?” he whispered, dark and possessive. “Fill you so deep you can’t even think about Tony’s side again?”

You screamed — body locking up, pleasure ripping through you in waves. He felt your walls clench and snapped, burying himself to the hilt and groaning as he emptied into you, thick and hot.

Your bodies trembled against each other, breathless, tangled in sweat and lust and the aftermath of war.

Silence settled.

Except your heartbeat.

Except his.

Still synced. Still one.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes. “Guess you really don’t want me defecting.”

He gave you a cocky, exhausted grin. “Not when you look that good in my cum.”

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

The only sound in the dim utility room was your breath catching and Steve’s heartbeat hammering against your chest.

You were still wrapped around him, your bodies pressed together, slick with sweat and cum, his hands clutching your waist like he couldn’t let go. Like if he did, you’d vanish.

And maybe you would.

Maybe he would.

“…Fuck,” you whispered, voice hoarse and small. “That was…”

“Insane?” he offered, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Insane. Desperate. So fucking good.”

Steve laughed softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was still buried inside you, still hard, still holding you like the world outside that door didn’t exist. But it did. And you both knew what was waiting when you stepped back out there.

War.

Sides.

Choices.

You shifted your hips, letting him slip out of you gently, both of you wincing at the sensitivity. His cum dripped slowly from your core, and you felt him glance down at the sight — pupils dilating again — but he didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

You sat up, legs trembling, running a hand through your messy hair. “You’re really gonna go back out there and fight me after that?”

Steve’s expression changed.

Pain.

Real, raw pain.

“I don’t want to,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to be against you.”

You swallowed, heart tightening.

“Then why are we?” you asked quietly.

He looked at you like it shattered him. “Because I have to protect Bucky. And you have to protect Tony. And neither of us are willing to let the other one get hurt.”

Silence.

Just the two of you breathing, just the truth hanging in the air like a weight on both your shoulders.

“You think I don’t lie awake every night wondering if we’ll survive this?” he murmured. “Wondering if I’ll lose you over something we can’t control?”

You stared at him.

Steve.

The man who held your heart. The man who just wrecked your body. The man who would never stop fighting for what he believed in, even if it meant tearing you both apart.

“Don’t say that,” you whispered. “Don’t say ‘lose me.’ I’m right here.”

“For now,” he said bitterly. “But when this is over… what then?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I do know this—”

You crawled back into his lap, cupping his face with shaking fingers.

“I’m still yours,” you whispered. “Even when I’m fighting you. Even when I’m pissing you off. Even when I’m wearing the wrong colors or standing next to Tony instead of you—I’m still yours.”

Steve’s eyes glistened.

He leaned into your touch like he was starving for it.

“I love you,” he said. “Even when I want to scream at you. Even when you drive me out of my goddamn mind.”

You smiled. It was small, soft, but it lit up his whole world.

“I love you too,” you said, pressing your forehead to his. “More than this fight. More than any side.”

He kissed you again — softer now. No teeth, no bruising, just mouths moving in a slow rhythm, lips memorizing the shape of love in a warzone.

When you finally pulled back, your voice was gentle.

“We should go.”

He nodded reluctantly.

But when you stood, he reached down and tucked himself back in, then pulled your suit gently over your thighs, fingers lingering.

“Next time you try to fight me,” he said, his voice low and teasing again, “you better be ready to deal with the consequences.”

You smirked over your shoulder. “Is that a promise, Captain?”

He stepped up behind you, slid his arms around your waist, and whispered into your ear:

“No. That’s a threat.”

You shivered.

He kissed your cheek once more — then opened the door.

And just like that, the war resumed.

But now?

You were walking back into it with his cum still inside you.

And that? That made you feel untouchable.

[witchhkitty222]

me if being obsessed with older men was illegal

[witchhkitty222]

Made to Fit - oneshot

Tony Stark x reader

summary: After a long, exhausting day, y/n returns to Stark Tower in need of comfort more than anything else. With her energy spent and her body soft with trust, she lets Tony take complete care of her—every touch, every word, every movement a gentle act of worship. When the moment fades into quiet stillness, she asks for something simple and intimate: to stay connected, completely wrapped in him until sleep takes them both.

warnings: mature themes and sensual intimacy, gentle dominant/submissive tone, pronebone/cockwarming, praise kink, aftercare and emotional vulnerability

wordcount: 1.5k

The penthouse was quiet, the city humming softly beyond the windows like a lullaby. Y/n had barely made it to the bedroom before collapsing face-first onto the bed, her body limp with the weight of the day. Her tank top clung slightly to her back, warm from the walk home, and her shorts had already begun to slide up from the way she sprawled out.

Tony leaned in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed, taking in the view. She looked like a painting—soft, undone, everything about her inviting. There was no performance, no effort. Just the real her. And God, did he love her like that.

“You even alive in there?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

A lazy hum came from the pillow. “Barely.”

He stepped closer, letting his hand trail down the back of her thigh, watching as her body reacted—just the smallest shift, a soft little stretch of her toes. No resistance. Just welcome.

“Long day?” he murmured, brushing her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck.

“Mhm,” she sighed, voice all velvet and drowsiness. “My brain’s fried. My legs feel like jelly. I just want you to… handle me.”

That pulled something deep out of him—something warm, protective, and hungry all at once. “Handle you, huh?”

He climbed onto the bed beside her, one hand smoothing down her spine, coaxing her into just the right position. She let him move her, slow and easy, until she was lying fully on her stomach, hips lifted just slightly with a pillow under her, arms folded beneath her head. He kissed the bare skin at her shoulder blade, then lower. His hands worshipped her with gentle pressure, sliding her shorts down inch by inch, revealing her in the dim light like she was something precious he was unwrapping.

“You always let me see you like this,” he whispered, kissing the back of her thigh. “So soft… so good for me.”

She whimpered faintly, still not moving, letting him take the lead completely. He guided her legs apart, settled between them, and dragged his fingertips over the curve of her hips. She shivered under him, even as she melted deeper into the bed.

When he pressed against her, she gave the tiniest gasp—barely audible, just a puff of breath—but he heard it. Felt it.

“You’re already ready for me,” he murmured, more to himself than her. “Just lying there, waiting. Letting me slide right in like you’re made for it.”

And he did—slowly, carefully, his breath catching as her warmth wrapped around him. She clenched faintly, a lazy moan slipping from her lips, so soft it barely broke the silence. Her body took him in completely, like it knew exactly what to do, like it had missed him all day too.

“Jesus, baby,” he groaned into her neck, his hands gripping her hips as he settled deep. “You feel incredible like this. You don’t even need to try… you just are.”

She didn’t answer—just breathed, soft and uneven, pressing her cheek into the pillow, eyes closed, her lips parted. He started to move, slow at first, long and smooth, each thrust pushing her slightly into the mattress. She took it all, effortlessly, her body giving way beneath him like silk.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice thick. “Just like that. Let me do the work. You don’t have to lift a finger, sweetheart.”

Every time he rocked into her, she gave another lazy, helpless little moan—half asleep, half undone. The kind of sound that made his restraint slip, made him want to praise her more, worship her more.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he said, his breath hot against her ear. “My perfect girl. Can’t even hold yourself up, can you? Letting me take care of it… of you.”

His hands kept her steady, guiding every angle with care, making sure every movement drew another soft gasp from her. She arched slightly, hips rising to meet him in slow, instinctive rhythm. She wasn’t moving much—but she didn’t need to.

Tony was the one in control, and he was gentle but firm, relentless in the way he gave to her. He whispered things into her skin—how beautiful she was like this, how proud he was of her, how he loved it when she just let go and let him give her everything.

“Mine,” he whispered. “All mine. I’ll always take care of you, even when you’re too tired to ask for it.”

And when he felt her pulse tighten around him, her breath hitching in that telltale rhythm, he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close, anchoring her against the pleasure rolling through both of them.

She gasped his name, finally, voice low and breathless—then collapsed fully, sinking into the mattress like a ragdoll, completely spent.

Tony stayed with her, still inside, still holding her like she was something delicate and divine.

“Got you,” he whispered, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “You don’t have to do anything, baby. I’ve got it all.”

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

The room was quiet now, the only sound the low hum of city traffic below and the faint, steady rhythm of their breathing.

Y/n lay utterly still, skin damp with the warmth of everything they’d just shared, her face turned into the pillow. She was soft and flushed, her body completely relaxed, boneless in that post-release haze that made her feel like she could melt straight into the mattress.

Tony hadn’t moved much either. He was draped over her from behind, his chest against her back, one arm wrapped protectively around her waist, the other tucked under his head. His breathing was slower now, deeper, but his grip on her was still firm—like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

She blinked slowly, not really awake but not ready to sleep either.

“Water?” he murmured eventually, voice thick and sleep-rough.

She didn’t answer right away. Then, finally, her hand reached back, fingers curling lazily around his wrist. “Don’t go,” she mumbled. “Just… stay.”

“I’ll just be two seconds,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her shoulder.

But she shook her head, still clutching his wrist. “No. Stay like this. Exactly like this.”

There was a pause—then the softest exhale from him, touched with amusement and affection. “You want me to stay in you.”

Her face warmed, but she didn’t move. “Mhm.”

He shifted slightly, the smallest movement—enough to remind them both that they were still connected, his body still nestled inside hers, soft now but fitting like a missing piece. She gave a quiet sound, half contentment, half sigh, burying her face deeper into the pillow.

Tony leaned in, nuzzling into the back of her neck. “You really are the laziest little thing tonight.”

“You like it,” she murmured.

“I love it,” he admitted, brushing her damp hair off her neck so he could kiss the curve of it. “Love how you cling to me like this. Love that you don’t want to let go yet.”

She didn’t reply, but he could feel the smile she was trying to hide.

His hand slid over her stomach, fingers splayed across her soft skin, grounding her as he stayed right where she wanted him. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t move. Just held her, both of them still joined, still wrapped around each other like the moment hadn’t ended—it had only shifted.

“Gonna sleep like this?” he asked, voice warm against her skin.

“If you don’t mind,” she mumbled, already halfway gone.

Tony let out a quiet laugh, not teasing—just full of love.

“I’ll keep you warm, baby. All night.”

And he did.

He stayed wrapped around her, perfectly still, perfectly present. She drifted off with the weight of him still inside her, his body heat curling around her like a blanket, and the steady rhythm of his breath lulling her deeper into sleep.

And even when sleep took him too, his grip never loosened.

[witchhkitty222]

Under His Skin - one shot

Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: Their first encounter is tense, with Y/n pushing Bucky for a connection, but he remains dismissive, hiding behind walls built from his past. After a confrontation where Bucky snaps at her, Y/n pulls back, choosing to ignore him in order to protect herself. But as she distances herself, Bucky’s control begins to slip, and he realizes just how deeply he feels for her. He finally snaps, this time in a vulnerable moment, and goes after her, determined to show her the depth of his feelings. Their bond deepens through quiet, intimate moments: from Bucky’s subtle hand on the back of her neck in the elevator, to playful teasing during training, and even in the kitchen, where their connection is undeniable. In a private penthouse, surrounded by tension, Bucky confesses his love for her, and their relationship shifts from emotional to physical. Their connection is raw, tender, and intense, culminating in a night of passion where Bucky finally gives himself completely to Y/n. Their love, built on trust, acceptance, and care, is a promise neither of them is willing to break.

warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content, mentions of past trauma (Bucky's PTSD and emotional scars), explicit language

wordcounter: 6.3k

The room was quiet, too quiet for a team of Earth’s most dangerous people. The light from the overhead panels hummed faintly, casting long shadows across the steel table where the team sat — Tony tapping restlessly on a StarkPad, Natasha watching like a hawk, Sam leaned back with arms crossed.

Then the door opened.

Bucky stepped in with Steve beside him. Shoulders squared. Expression blank. The metal arm flexed at his side — not threatening, but unmistakably present. His jaw was clenched, like he was daring someone to say something. No one did.

Until her eyes met his.

She sat toward the far end of the table — not completely apart, but not fully folded into the group either. Y/n.

Big, warm light-brown eyes, framed by thick lashes and a pair of faint freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose. Her hair was pulled back, but loose strands curled around her cheeks. He noticed all of it in an instant. But it was the eyes that got him.

They weren’t cold. They weren’t guarded. They weren’t terrified.

They were curious.

She blinked slowly, and something flickered in them — not pity, but something dangerously close to understanding.

Bucky looked away instantly. His jaw tensed.

“This is James Barnes,” Steve said. “You’ve all been briefed, but I wanted to reintroduce him myself.”

“I prefer Bucky,” came the gruff, low voice from beside him.

The room didn’t react much — just some murmured hellos, subtle nods. But Y/n tilted her head, just slightly.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” she said.

He looked back. Her voice had that same quiet warmth as her eyes. It dug into him in a way he didn’t like. She didn’t speak like she was reciting lines for protocol. It felt honest.

And for some reason, that made him feel more naked than the silence had.

The meeting continued. Steve ran through updates, ops briefings, rotating assignments — Bucky barely heard any of it. He kept feeling her eyes brush across him. Like she was studying him. But not like a scientist examines a specimen — more like an artist sketching something they want to understand.

When it was over, chairs scraped and people filed out. Bucky lingered in the corner, half in shadow, pretending to examine the wall monitor.

He could feel her behind him.

He turned.

“Hey,” Y/n said. Her voice was softer up close, but not unsure. “You settling in okay?”

He stared at her. “What do you want?”

She blinked — surprised, but not shaken. “Just checking in.”

“I don’t need checking in on.”

A beat of silence.

She didn’t walk away.

“I didn’t say you did,” she replied, with a tiny shrug. “But… I know what it’s like to walk into a room where everyone’s already decided what you are.”

Her words hit him harder than he let show.

He looked at her again — really looked. And her eyes? They were raw with honesty.

She didn’t know him. But somehow, she saw him.

He swallowed thickly and nodded once, then turned and walked away without saying anything else.

Behind him, Y/n’s gaze stayed locked on his back — and even though he wasn’t looking, he could feel it. Warm and steady. Just like her eyes.

And that haunted him more than any Hydra nightmare ever could.

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

Bucky didn’t seek her out.

But somehow, Y/n always ended up near him.

In the gym, she trained when he did. Sometimes in the same space, sometimes across the mat — but she was there. And she never stared, never hovered. But her presence wrapped around him anyway. Quiet. Gentle. Consistent.

And those eyes. Christ.

Every emotion that moved through her flickered right there in the amber warmth of her gaze. Determination when she sparred. Frustration when she couldn’t land a hit. Satisfaction when she cracked open a code in ops. Joy when Sam made her laugh mid-mission brief.

And every time her eyes found his, even for a second, Bucky felt the same pressure in his chest.

Like someone had reached inside and pulled on something still healing.

She was dangerous. Not because she was stronger or smarter or more skilled — though she was all of those things — but because she was patient. Consistent. Kind.

He hadn’t had that in… ever.

He caught her watching him spar with Sam one afternoon. Her hands were tucked into the sleeves of a sweatshirt, her eyes glued to the mat as Bucky moved like a storm — swift, brutal, efficient. Sam had started talking shit halfway through, laughing through his breathless grunts as Bucky swept his leg and pinned him.

“Jesus, Barnes, ever think about therapy instead of body-slamming your way through trauma?” Sam groaned.

From the sidelines, Y/n snorted. Just a quiet, amused sound.

And Bucky’s eyes shot to her — like a magnet. She was smiling. Not mockingly. Not mean. Just entertained. Relaxed. Warm.

Sam followed his gaze and raised a brow, but Bucky ignored him.

Later that day, he caught her in the hallway. She was walking with a tablet tucked under one arm, absently chewing on the end of a pen.

“Hey,” he said before he could stop himself.

She blinked up at him. “Hey.”

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Why do you keep talking to me?”

That made her pause.

“I talk to a lot of people.”

“You talk to me more.”

Y/n tilted her head again — that same quiet curiosity in her eyes that made him feel skinned.

“Maybe because I think you need someone to.”

His jaw worked, but he didn’t respond.

She stepped a little closer. Not enough to crowd him, but enough to make him feel it.

“You don’t scare me, Bucky.”

“You should,” he said flatly, voice low.

She smiled — and it wasn’t pity. It was something stronger.

“Maybe,” she said. “But I don’t.”

Then she walked away, braid swaying against her back, eyes bright with something he didn’t want to name.

From that day on, she was everywhere.

Partnered with him for field missions. Assigned to decrypt HYDRA logs with him in ops. Paired for training. She was relentless — not in a pushy way, but in a steady, stubborn way that wore him down.

He started expecting her.

He started craving the sound of her laugh from two rooms away. The way her voice dipped when she was focused. The way she’d glance at him and smile like it meant something.

She started leaning closer when they talked.

And once — just once — during a sparring session, she flipped him with a slick hip throw and straddled him across the mat.

Her hair had slipped from its tie, curling around her cheeks. She was breathing hard, a grin on her lips. But her eyes?

They were wild. Lit with triumph, yes — but also something else. Something crackling and warm and bold.

He stared up at her, frozen.

She didn’t move.

He didn’t either.

For three whole seconds, they just breathed. Together.

Then he shoved her off — maybe too roughly — and rolled away, grabbing his towel and walking out without a word.

Later, alone in the shower, he leaned his forehead against the tile and cursed himself for how badly he’d wanted to stay underneath her.

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

The walls were too close.

Too white. Too sterile. Too clean for the blood he could still feel under his fingernails.

Bucky jolted awake with a sharp, gasping inhale. His skin was slick with sweat. Chest heaving. His metal arm thrummed, twitching with phantom electricity. His fingers clenched around a non-existent trigger.

His heart wouldn’t slow down. Couldn’t.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, breathing like a man drowning on dry land. The dream had been bad — brutal, vivid. Not just memories, but feelings. Commands he couldn’t resist. Screams he couldn’t block out. Faces he didn’t want to remember.

He didn’t even bother trying to sleep again.

The hallway was quiet as he made his way to the kitchen, the metal plates of his arm catching faint reflections from the night-lights along the wall. It was still dark outside. 4:12 a.m., maybe 4:30. He didn’t check.

He just needed coffee. Something solid. Something real.

But when he stepped into the kitchen — barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a dark gray shirt damp with sleep — he wasn’t alone.

Y/n was already there.

She was standing at the stove, barefoot too, with an oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder and sleep-flattened curls pulled into a messy bun. Her body was swaying lightly to music playing low from her phone. Something soft and jazzy.

There was a pan on the burner. Eggs. Toast popping from the toaster.

She turned at the sound of his steps, smiling — easy, like it was nothing, like this was normal.

“Hey,” she said, voice warm with sleep. “I couldn’t sleep either, so I figured I’d make breakfast. I was actually hoping you’d come down. You looked rough yesterday.”

He froze in the doorway.

Her eyes caught the light — big and golden and goddamn open. Always open.

She plated the food, walking toward him with a quiet kind of confidence.

He didn’t move.

“You okay?” she asked, soft, stepping closer, holding out the plate with one hand.

And then, her other hand brushed his.

Metal.

The edge of her fingers grazed his vibranium arm — just a light touch. Maybe accidental. Maybe not.

And something in him snapped.

“Don’t—!” he barked, voice harsh and loud and cutting.

Y/n jerked back like she’d been struck.

The plate clattered to the counter.

Her eyes widened — not from fear, not exactly. But from hurt.

And then, right there in front of him, they glassed over. Big, shimmering, wide with the sting of what she hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t mean to—” she started.

“I said don’t touch me,” he hissed. It wasn’t her fault. God, it wasn’t her fault. But the dream was still on his skin, in his blood. He felt filthy. Like poison.

Her face crumpled.

Just slightly. Just enough.

And those eyes… they broke him.

“I was just trying to help,” she whispered. Her voice cracked.

“Y/n—” He stepped forward, hand half-reaching, regret hitting him like a truck.

But she shook her head, already backing away, hiding the tears that slipped free with a quick swipe of her sleeve.

“No, it’s okay. I get it,” she said quietly. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he said, voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Seriously,” she said, louder now, eyes still glassy but harder. “It’s fine. I should’ve known better. I know you’re—”

She stopped herself.

Broken.

He could hear it, even if she didn’t say it.

“You’re not broken,” she added, almost like she’d read his mind. “But I get it. I pushed too hard.”

She walked past him, her shoulder brushing his chest lightly, and this time it was him who flinched.

“Y/n,” he tried again, desperate.

She paused. Just for a second.

Then, softly, without turning around: “Get some rest, Bucky.”

The door clicked behind her a moment later, and Bucky stood there, trembling — not from rage. Not from pain.

From shame.

Because he had seen it.

In her eyes.

He had hurt her.

And he hated himself for it.

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

He felt it immediately.

The absence.

Not dramatic. Not explosive. Just… quieter. Like a song he didn’t realize he’d memorized suddenly cut off mid-verse.

Y/n didn’t stop showing up. She was still at briefings. Still on comms. Still present. But everything about her was careful now. Measured. Mechanical.

She didn’t meet his eyes.

Not really.

Not like before.

Where there used to be warmth, curiosity, that burning light behind every glance — now there was a wall. A polite smile. A nod. Nothing more.

And it hit him in the chest every damn time.

She still sat near him in ops, but her body shifted slightly away. Her answers to his questions were short, efficient. No teasing. No lingering.

She was still her — brilliant, quick, capable — but all the softness she used to offer him? Gone. Withheld.

And he deserved it.

He had replayed that morning in the kitchen a hundred times. The way her smile had dropped. The way her eyes had shimmered — not with anger, but hurt. Deep, shaking hurt.

It haunted him more than the nightmare.

“Dude,” Sam said one afternoon, catching him watching Y/n as she walked across the gym, head down. “You gonna mope forever, or are you gonna fix this?”

Bucky scowled. “It’s none of your business.”

Sam snorted. “You keep watching her like a kicked puppy and everyone’s gonna start taking bets on how long before she slaps you or kisses you.”

Bucky’s glare sharpened, but Sam held up his hands.

“Look, I don’t know what happened. But if she’s acting like that, it’s because she gave a shit. And you hurt her. Whether you meant to or not.”

“I didn’t,” Bucky muttered. “I just… I was—”

“You were scared,” Sam finished quietly. “Yeah. I get it.”

Bucky didn’t respond.

But that night, when Y/n passed him in the corridor and gave him a tight, impersonal smile, he felt the cold of it settle deep in his bones.

She used to look at him like he was someone.

Now, she looked through him like he was anyone.

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky realized he missed something.

He missed her.

Not her voice or her smile or even her kindness — though God, he missed those too.

He missed how she made him feel seen.

He missed how her eyes used to soften when they landed on him. Like he wasn’t a monster. Like he wasn’t a ghost.

He needed to fix this.

Somehow.

He started small.

He brought her coffee one morning and left it beside her tablet before she came into the ops room. She thanked him without looking up.

He held a door open, cracked a dry joke, even complimented her on a clever bit of code she cracked — she smiled politely, thanked him, then left the room before he could say anything else.

Nothing broke the wall.

Until one night, he found her sitting alone on the roof of the compound — her knees pulled up to her chest, head tilted back as she watched the sky.

He stood in the doorway, watching her silhouette framed by the city lights.

“I know you’re there, Bucky,” she said without turning around.

His throat tightened.

He took a breath.

“Can we talk?”

A long silence.

Then finally — “That depends. Are you going to yell at me again if I breathe wrong?”

The jab wasn’t cruel. It was tired. Wounded.

He stepped onto the roof, slowly.

“No,” he said quietly. “I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Still, she didn’t turn around.

“I know,” she said. “You’ve said it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

Another silence.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said. “I just… I was in my own head. And you touched me and it was like I wasn’t here anymore, and I panicked. It wasn’t you.”

Y/n let out a breath — not quite a sigh. She finally looked at him.

Her eyes.

Still too expressive. Still too raw.

“You scared me, Bucky,” she said softly. “Not because I thought you’d hurt me. But because I thought maybe I’d pushed you too far. That I wasn’t helping. That maybe I just made things worse.”

He walked closer, stopping a few feet from her.

“You didn’t. You never made things worse. You were the one thing that… felt okay.”

The wind shifted her curls. She blinked, something flickering in her gaze.

“You’ve got a hell of a way of showing it,” she said, but her voice had lost its edge.

“I know,” he said. “Let me show you better.”

And for the first time in days, she didn’t walk away.

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

When Y/n opened the door to the quinjet, she wasn’t sure what to expect.

He hadn’t said much. Just a quiet: “I want to show you something,” and the look in his eyes had told her it mattered.

So she followed.

She always had.

They landed in a clearing a few miles off the main road, surrounded by tall pines and quiet shadows. The sun was just beginning its descent, spilling golden light through the trees like liquid fire.

Bucky walked ahead of her, silent but not tense. The air between them was clearer now — not fully repaired, but gentler.

After a short hike, the trees opened up to a small, slow-moving river, its water glassy and dark with reflections. Smooth stones lined the edges, and tall grass swayed in the breeze.

It was beautiful.

Peaceful.

“I found it on a recon run a while back,” Bucky said, coming to a stop near the edge of the water. “It reminded me of something.”

She stood beside him, watching how the light touched his profile, how his shoulders seemed a little less burdened out here.

“Of what?” she asked softly.

“Of back then,” he said. “Before the war. Before everything. There was a creek behind the house I grew up in. Me and Steve used to sit out there, skip rocks, talk about the future. This is the first place that’s ever made me feel even a little like that again.”

Her chest ached, hearing the way he said it — low, distant. Like he was speaking to a ghost.

He crouched down and picked up a smooth stone, tossing it across the river. It skipped once. Twice. Sank.

“I don’t sleep much,” he said, not looking at her. “When I do, I see them. The people I hurt. The things I did. I feel it — like I’m still in it.”

Y/n sank to sit beside him, curling her legs beneath her. She didn’t speak. Just listened.

He threw another rock.

“HYDRA didn’t just control my body. They rewired me. I couldn’t tell where I ended and the Winter Soldier began. It was all… blurred. Blood and commands and cold floors. And then suddenly I was free, and everyone expected me to just… know how to be a person again.”

His jaw tightened. She watched the shadows shift across his face.

“I don’t talk about it. Not because I don’t want to. But because when I do, people look at me different. Like they’re trying not to flinch. Even when they’re kind — it’s there. The fear.”

He finally turned to her.

But her eyes — God, those eyes — didn’t flinch.

They didn’t pity.

They didn’t waver.

She looked at him like she always had. Like he was worth hearing. Worth knowing.

“You don’t look at me like that,” he said quietly.

She smiled, just barely. “Because I don’t see what you see.”

He blinked.

“I see someone who got dragged through hell and is still trying to be better. Still trying to protect people. That’s not a weapon, Bucky. That’s a survivor.”

A lump formed in his throat. He didn’t speak.

“And I never pushed,” she added gently, “because I thought I could fix you. I pushed because I wanted you to know someone cared. That someone was willing to fight for you.”

Her voice faltered just a little. “Even when you didn’t know how to let them.”

He exhaled, ragged.

Then he sat beside her fully, knees brushing, their reflections stretching across the river.

“I don’t know what this is,” he said, voice low. “But I know that when I wake up and you’re not around, I look for you. I know that when I see your eyes, I feel like maybe I’m not alone in my head. I know that I think about touching you more than I probably should.”

She swallowed, throat working.

“And I know I don’t want to lose this. You.”

For a beat, neither moved.

Then Y/n leaned slightly into him, shoulder against his arm, skin brushing vibranium.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

The breeze moved around them. Soft. Slow. Steady.

And when he turned his face toward her — close now, so close — he didn’t kiss her.

But his hand reached behind her neck, fingers threading into her curls, metal cool against her skin.

Not possessive.

Not forced.

Just… there.

Protective.

Intentional.

Her breath hitched — just slightly.

And Bucky’s lips quirked, the hint of a smile ghosting across them.

He dropped his forehead to hers, eyes closed, and stayed there.

For a long, long time.

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

It started small.

A glance held a beat too long.

A smirk when their fingers brushed as they passed a file.

Her laugh, a little breathless, when he said something dry and unexpected.

It was different now. Easier. Heavier.

Y/n had always been warm around him — but now, the warmth crackled. Now, every shared look came with something underneath it. Something neither of them had quite said, but both of them felt. Tension, sure, but also understanding. Intimacy.

Flirting.

And the arm.

God, the arm.

The first time it happened, they were walking through the compound toward the briefing room. The hallway was busy, voices bouncing off metal walls, energy buzzing after a successful training run.

She didn’t notice at first — just felt a firm, gentle pressure at the back of her neck, guiding her slightly left, out of the way of a passing cart.

It wasn’t aggressive. Wasn’t urgent.

Just… Bucky.

His vibranium hand, cool against her skin, fingers resting just beneath the curve of her hairline.

She froze for half a second — not because she was afraid, but because she felt it everywhere. The chill of the metal, the heat beneath it. The intimacy of it.

He didn’t move it quickly. He kept it there as they walked — guiding her, shielding her just slightly from the chaos of the hallway.

Like it was instinct.

Like it was his way of saying, You’re safe.

After that, it became a habit.

Every time they walked side-by-side — in the gym, on the way to briefings, through the street during missions — his metal hand would settle at the back of her neck or her shoulder. Sometimes light. Sometimes firm.

Always grounding.

Always possessive, in a way that made her breath catch and her stomach tighten.

One afternoon, Wanda caught them walking down the corridor, Bucky’s hand a lazy drape against her spine. Y/n caught the smirk Wanda sent her and rolled her eyes.

Later, in the mess, it was Sam who called it out.

“You know, most people just walk side-by-side like normal human beings,” he said, nodding toward Bucky’s hand, now resting just at Y/n’s shoulder blade as they waited for coffee to brew. “Not like some vibranium border collie.”

Y/n didn’t miss a beat. “He’s just protective of our friendship. Thinks it’s tactical awareness or whatever.”

“Mmhmm,” Sam said, clearly not buying it. “Sure. Real tactical, the way his thumb’s brushing your neck like that.”

Bucky didn’t even glance up from the mug he was stirring.

“If you’ve got a problem, Wilson, take it up with the arm.”

Sam just laughed, shaking his head.

But the truth was — that touch meant something. To both of them.

She never flinched from it. If anything, she leaned into it. Let herself feel the safety in it. The care.

And he never explained it.

Never apologized.

But Y/n noticed the way his gaze would flick to her whenever someone new walked into a room. The way he positioned himself slightly in front of her during field training. The way his voice dropped a notch lower when he spoke to her.

He had never been so open — and yet, there were still things left unsaid.

Words that hovered just behind the touch. Behind the look.

But she could feel it building.

Every lingering glance.

Every brush of fingers when he handed her gear.

Every time his voice dipped close to her ear when giving instructions.

It was coming.

Something was going to give.

She just didn’t know which one of them would break first.

The lab, late evening.

Y/n’s leaned over a console, tapping at a holo-display, trying to isolate the data stream from the last mission. Bucky walks in quietly behind her, pauses for half a second, and then places his hand gently at the back of her neck.

“Still at it?” he murmurs.

His thumb lazily strokes just beneath her hairline. She hums in response, not looking up. “Just finishing logs. You?”

“Checking the reports.” But he doesn’t move.

Bruce walks in, does a double take, glances at Tony. Tony, without looking up, mutters, “He’s been doing that all week. It’s like watching a wolf pick a favorite.”

Bruce sips his tea. “Should we be worried?”

Tony: “Only if she ever wants it to stop.”

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

The elevator, early morning.

They’re standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Y/n’s sipping coffee, hair tied up in a loose bun. Bucky’s hand drifts up and rests against the back of her neck, thumb moving in slow, unconscious circles.

Steve steps in and freezes. Glances down. Glances up.

Raises an eyebrow.

Says nothing.

But when Y/n steps out at her floor, Steve turns to Bucky and deadpans, “You’re not subtle, you know.”

Bucky just smirks. “Never claimed to be.”

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

Training floor, afternoon.

Sparring drills are wrapping up. Y/n’s laughing, sweaty, flushed from exertion. Bucky steps behind her, towels in one hand, and rests the other on her neck to guide her toward the bench. It’s casual. Familiar.

Natasha arches an eyebrow from across the mat. “Cute move, Barnes.”

Y/n glances over. “What move?”

Nat: “The one where you touch her like she’s yours.”

Bucky just hands Y/n a water bottle. Doesn’t even blink.

Y/n’s ears turn pink.

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

Common room, movie night.

The team’s scattered across couches and chairs. Bucky’s behind the sofa where Y/n’s sitting. No one notices at first, but then Sam glances over.

Sees his arm draped over the back — fingers resting at the base of her neck.

“Bro,” Sam says, squinting. “You watching the movie or giving her a neck massage?”

Bucky: “Do you ever stop talking?”

Sam: “Not when I’m right.”

Y/n, trying to hide her grin: “It’s nothing, Sam.”

Sam, smug: “Sure it’s not, sunshine.”

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

Kitchen, late.

She’s stirring cocoa at the stove, hair loose around her shoulders.

He walks in, quiet. Steps up behind her.

His hand goes to her neck — slow, instinctual. Thumb against the dip of her spine. She doesn’t even flinch. Just leans into it.

Wanda walks by the doorway. Pauses. Then calls back, sing-song: “Don’t forget protection spells!”

Bucky groans. Y/n chokes on her laugh.

In all of it, it’s never overt. Never spoken.

But it’s there.

A constant.

The way his hand always finds her. The way she lets him.

The way every Avenger knows exactly what it means.

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

The penthouse was quiet. High above the city, the skyline flickered through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting slanted shadows across marble and velvet. One of Stark’s more absurd hideaways — sleek, modern, sterile. Nothing like them.

They were there for a low-profile recon run, staying out of sight. Just the two of them.

And for the first time in weeks, the space between them was too close, too quiet, too heavy with everything unsaid.

Y/n was barefoot in a T-shirt that wasn’t hers — gray, worn, definitely Bucky’s — sitting on the couch with her legs pulled under her. She wasn’t reading the tablet in her lap anymore. Not really.

She could feel him behind her. His presence had weight now. Every time he was in the room, it was like gravity shifted.

He walked past her in a dark shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows, barefoot like her. Hair loose. He poured a drink, didn’t say a word. Just leaned against the counter, watching her.

The silence stretched.

Her throat tightened. “You’ve been staring at me like that all night.”

His voice, low and smooth, cut through the quiet like silk. “Can you blame me?”

Her gaze flicked to his.

He looked dangerous in the soft light. His jaw was tense. His eyes dark.

“You drive me crazy, Y/n,” he said, stepping closer, voice still low but threaded with something rougher now. “You know that?”

Her pulse jumped.

“You walk around in my shirt, in my space, lookin’ at me like that, and expect me to keep pretending I don’t want you?”

She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He was in front of her now, towering, his metal fingers sliding under her chin, tilting her face to his.

“I’ve tried to hold back,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Tried to do the right thing. Be soft. Give you space. But I’m done pretending.”

His thumb brushed her bottom lip.

“‘Cause the truth is… you get me. In ways no one else ever has.”

His voice dropped, and the sound of it was almost a growl — reverent, claiming.

“My good little doll,” he murmured, thumb tracing her jaw. “So sweet. So damn patient with me. You’ve earned all of me.”

He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

“And I’m gonna give it to you.”

Her breath hitched. Her hands curled in the fabric of his shirt.

“You want that?” he asked, pulling back just enough to see her eyes — but his hand stayed on her throat, warm and firm, not squeezing, just… grounding.

She nodded, breathless.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I want it. I want you.”

That was all he needed.

In a blink, she was in his lap, straddling him on the couch, his hands gripping her thighs like he’d waited years for this. His vibranium arm curved behind her, that signature touch — palm resting at the base of her neck, claiming her gently, fully.

Their mouths collided.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft.

It was weeks of tension and aching and everything they hadn’t said crashing together. His teeth grazed her bottom lip, his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth, like he was learning her. Devouring her.

She melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, nails dragging lightly across the back of his neck.

And all the while, his hand never left her throat.

“You feel that?” he rasped against her lips, grinding against her, breath ragged. “That’s what you do to me.”

Her body trembled.

“You let me see the worst of myself,” he murmured, “and you didn’t run. You looked at me like I was something worth loving.”

Her hips rolled against his.

He groaned — dark, deep.

“You take all my edges and make me feel human again.”

His forehead rested against hers.

“You’re mine,” he breathed.

And there was no hesitation in her voice, not anymore.

“I’ve always been yours.”

They didn’t speak for a moment.

Just breathing.

Just hands.

Just the heavy weight of everything they finally let themselves feel — lingering in every brush of skin, every low sigh.

Her fingers slid down his chest, slowly, reverently, mapping him like he might disappear if she didn’t commit every inch to memory. And his hands — both of them — explored her like prayer. One warm, one cold. Both trembling slightly.

“You always do that,” she whispered, still breathless, lips near his jaw.

“Do what?” His voice was low, gravel wrapped in velvet.

“Hold the back of my neck… when we walk. When we’re close.”

He didn’t answer right away. His lips touched the shell of her ear.

“It’s instinct,” he admitted. “Part habit. Part need.”

Her brow furrowed gently, and he shifted, nudging her back so he could look at her fully. She straddled him still, knees at his sides, T-shirt hanging loose on her frame — but her eyes, those big, soft, knowing eyes, were what undid him all over again.

“It’s the only way I know how to say ‘you’re mine’ without scaring you off,” he said. “It’s… control. But it’s care, too. It’s wanting to know exactly where you are. That you’re close. That you’re safe.”

She swallowed hard, emotion catching in her throat.

“You don’t scare me, Bucky.”

He let out a breath, something heavy leaving his chest.

“I used to think I couldn’t have this,” he murmured. “Couldn’t want things like this. Not after everything.”

His thumb traced her cheekbone, soft. Slow. “But you make me greedy, doll. You make me want to be more.”

She leaned into the touch. “You already are.”

He pulled her down again, this time not kissing her mouth — but her temple. Her forehead. Her cheek. Soft, sacred places.

Then his lips returned to her ear, and the sound of his voice dropped lower — pure smoke.

“You take me so well. Every piece. Every scar. Every damn shadow I carry.”

He kissed her jaw, lips dragging.

“Good girl,” he breathed, like it was a truth, not a reward.

Her body responded before her voice could — breath catching, thighs pressing tighter around his hips, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt again.

“You were made for me, weren’t you?” he whispered, dragging his lips down her neck. “My perfect girl. My pretty little thing.”

He nipped at her collarbone, and she gasped — soft, involuntary.

“You don’t even realize how much I’ve been holding back,” he said against her skin. “How many nights I’ve stared at the ceiling, thinking about this. About you.”

His hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt on her body, gripping her waist, grounding them both.

“You give me peace,” he whispered. “And now I’m gonna give you everything.”

And when he finally lifted her in his arms and started toward the bedroom — her legs wrapped around his waist, her lips brushing his — the only thing left between them was need.

Not desperation.

Just belonging.

A quiet, feral, aching kind of love — the kind that doesn’t ask permission anymore.

The kind that claims you, completely

The bedroom was dim, washed in the golden spill of city lights through sheer curtains. The bed, wide and untouched, sat at the center of it all — clean lines, crisp sheets, and too much space.

Until he carried her into it.

Until they filled it.

Bucky didn’t rush. Didn’t fumble. He laid her down like she was something sacred, something he’d dreamed of too long to ruin now with haste.

His body hovered over hers, taut with restraint. Every inch of him buzzed with the tension he’d buried for weeks. But now there was no reason to hold back. Not when she was looking up at him like that — lips parted, cheeks flushed, her eyes pleading and sure all at once.

“You sure?” he asked, voice rough, trembling at the edge.

She cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the faint scar at his temple. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

His mouth crashed into hers, but it wasn’t just lust — it was relief. The kind that shook him.

Clothes came off slow, but deliberate. Every inch revealed was kissed, praised, claimed.

By the time he settled between her thighs, both of them were breathless, lost, pulsing with heat. His vibranium hand gripped the headboard above her. His other arm curled beneath her shoulders, pressing her chest to his.

And then he pressed into her — deep, slow, inch by inch, until he was completely buried inside.

Her gasp was swallowed by his mouth.

His body shuddered.

“God,” he groaned into her neck. “You feel… fuck. You feel so perfect.”

Her hands clawed at his back, anchoring him there, urging him deeper.

He started to move — slow and reverent at first, like he was memorizing the feel of her, the shape, the way she fit around him like she was made to.

And then something in him snapped.

His pace shifted — deeper, harder, desperate.

“You’re mine,” he growled, over and over against her skin. “You take me so well. You were made for me.”

She moaned his name, over and over, fingers tangled in his hair, her body trembling beneath him.

“You feel that?” he rasped, thrusting into her harder, every movement soaked in need. “That’s how bad I needed you. How long I’ve been waiting.”

Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, hips rising to meet him with every thrust.

“Say it,” he begged. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped, eyes glassy. “Only yours.”

That did it.

His head dropped to her shoulder as he buried himself deep, again and again, like he never wanted to leave. Like the world could fall apart around them and he’d still be chasing the way she felt — the heat, the stretch, the perfect fit.

And when she came undone beneath him, sobbing his name, body clenching around him like she never wanted to let go—

That was it.

He broke.

He surged into her with a raw, desperate sound — hips stuttering, arms trembling, his body pressed tight to hers like he could fuse them together and keep her inside him forever.

And as they both lay there, tangled in sweat and breath and praise, he held her face in his hands, kissing her forehead like a promise.

“I’m not letting you go,” he whispered. “Ever.”

And she smiled, exhausted and blissful.

“Good,” she breathed. “I don’t want you to.”

[witchhkitty222]

Same Stars, Same Fire- oneshot

Tony Stark x reader

part 1

Part 2 | Held by the Man, Not the Machine

request: (part 2 to previous request) Hey I have another request that I would like you to do, if that’s okay for a request that’s for for a Tony Stark x female reader, who is also best friend of Tony Stark before he came Iron Man, but she was born in the same day as him “May 29th” but Tony Stark is also older by a couple or a few years older then her “Your choice I don’t mind” but She also has similar personality traits as Tony Stark and she is highly intelligent but also she has an Artistic where she can draw or sketch with perfect detail as well and Musician side where she can play any instrument especially with the guitars as well and she is has high medical skills as well but also an Avenger who is selfless and protective of the people she loves especially when it comes to Tony Stark, but she suffers from insomnia, anxiety and panic attacks as well, but she has been by his side through everything as well especially with during his Party and Playboy times as well and she went with him and James “Rhodey” Rhodes in Afghanistan where Tony Stark became Iron Man and she also helped Yinsen with his first Arc Reactor in that cave as well But it’s a fluff and smut ending where Tony and his girlfriend are on their anniversary trip that Tony Stark planned with a surprise proposal which “Y/N doesn’t know about”, during their trip Tony spontaneously and meaningful said “Marry” which catches off guard and makes her panic and everything goes wrong as she panics which sets her anxiety and panic attacks off, but Tony knows what to do when she panics as, and he calms her down for a moment as he reminisces and remembers when they first met, and them being best friends instantly after they first met, and the party he throws, and his playboy area before they got together which kinda upsets her because she has always been self conscious around the girls that he bought home and ended sleeping with anyway but she always helped Pepper cleaned after him which she didn’t mind even though it was in Pepper’s job description, but Y/N Brushes it off like it was nothing but Tony Stark saw it and he reassures as well, as he moved on to when he remembers Afghanistan and what happened especially when she saved him with Yinsen and his first Arc instead of helping herself as well in that cave, he starts remembering good times and bad times of their relationship with each other as he says words that he always wanted to say but never had the chance to, So he goes down on one knee as he says her full name as he says the meaningful words as he says his loves her as proposes to her again which Y/N thought about for a while as she happily agrees and she kisses him as she accepts his proposal as well and then Tony Stark and Y/N celebrates together with having “Sex” as well.

warnings: anxiety / panic attack, mentions of PTSD / past trauma, smut (18+): oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, praise, emotional intimacy, soft dom!Tony, angst with comfort

word count: 3.2k

The island Tony picked was private. Secluded. Beautiful.

He’d rented the entire place, of course. It was classic Stark—over the top, extravagant, and perfect. The sunset painted the sky in shades of gold and lavender as the two of you walked along the shoreline barefoot, your hand in his, your sketchbook back at the villa with half-finished drawings of him asleep.

You’d both been quiet for a while. But it was a comfortable silence. Familiar. Safe.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, turning to face you. The wind tousled his hair, and the glow of the arc reactor beneath his shirt shimmered like moonlight.

You smiled. “Yeah?”

His eyes searched yours. “Marry.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Marry me.” His voice was low, rough, and unshakably sincere.

You froze.

Your heart began to race.

“Wait, what are you—?” Your breath hitched. You felt your chest tighten, air slipping through your lungs like water through cracked glass.

Tony’s face shifted immediately. “Hey, hey—breathe. You’re okay.”

“I—no, I didn’t know, I wasn’t—” You stepped back, hand trembling as you clutched your chest. “I can’t—I didn’t see this coming, Tony, I need—just—”

He was already there, steady arms catching you as your knees buckled. You pressed your forehead to his shoulder, panic crashing down hard.

“Shh,” he whispered, hands stroking your back. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Inhale. One, two, three... hold. Exhale.”

You obeyed, barely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to ruin—”

“Stop.” His voice was gentle but firm. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

You shook your head, still spiraling. “I just—I didn’t expect it. And I’m not good with surprises, and I panicked, and—”

He pulled you down onto the sand, wrapping his arms around you.

“Remember when we met?” he murmured, nose brushing your temple. “You were fifteen. I’d snuck onto the rooftop to ditch another one of Dad’s parties. And there you were, charcoal-streaked and sketching like you were trying to decode the universe.”

You laughed weakly through your tears. “And you told me my drawing looked like it had a god complex.”

“And you told me I sounded like I’d been drinking since breakfast.”

You nodded, breath finally evening out.

He continued, “You were the only one who didn’t care that I was a Stark. You rolled your eyes at me, called me an idiot, and still offered me half your sandwich.”

“Peanut butter and honey.”

“God, that was terrible.”

“You loved it.”

He smiled softly. “I did.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you.

“You were there when I was drunk, when I was reckless, when I was stupid. I dragged you through hell, through blood and sand and nightmares. And you never left.”

“You needed me,” you whispered.

“I always did. Still do.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face. “And I saw it—the way you looked at the women I brought home back then. The way you helped Pepper clean up after my messes like it didn’t break you every time.”

You looked away. “It wasn’t your fault. I knew who you were.”

“But I hated myself for making you think you weren’t enough. That I didn’t see you.” His voice cracked. “I did. God, I did. I was just too much of a coward to face what you meant to me.”

You stared at him, heart aching.

He took a shaky breath. “You could’ve let me die in that cave. You should have helped yourself. But you didn’t. You chose me. Again.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “Of course I did.”

“I’ve been in love with you since that rooftop. I just didn’t know what to do with it.” He pulled a small box from his pocket and got down on one knee in the sand. “Y/N Y/L/N. You are my genius, my artist, my music, my conscience, and my heart. You see every broken piece of me and never look away. And I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt your worth again.”

He opened the box. A simple but stunning ring. Elegant. Unmistakably you.

“Will you marry me?”

You laughed through your tears. “You idiot.”

He grinned. “That’s a yes?”

You nodded, voice breaking. “Yes. God, yes.”

You kissed him, deep and desperate, fingers buried in his hair. The tension, the panic, the fear—it all melted away in his touch.

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

Later that night, back at the villa…

Back at the villa, the door hadn’t even clicked shut before Tony had you pinned against it. His mouth crashed onto yours with a hunger that had simmered for years — patient, restrained, aching — and now finally free.

You gasped as he kissed you deeper, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift you, holding you against the door like you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging with need.

He pulled back just long enough to whisper, “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you breathed.

He groaned, mouth finding your neck, trailing kisses along the skin he knew like a map. “God, I’ve wanted to hear that for years.”

He carried you to the bedroom, lips never leaving yours. When he laid you down on the bed, it was slow, reverent — like you were precious cargo he didn’t dare drop. He stood over you for a moment, just looking.

“What?” you asked, flushed.

He knelt between your legs, voice rough. “I’ve pictured this. A hundred different ways. But nothing compares to this. You—laid out for me, mine.”

You pulled him in by his open shirt, fingers gliding over the arc reactor beneath his chest. “Then stop picturing and touch me, Stark.”

That did it.

His shirt was gone in seconds. Your dress slipped down your shoulders and pooled at your waist, exposing your bare chest to his eyes.

Tony paused, gaze dragging slowly across your body like he was imprinting every detail. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in teasing circles until they hardened under his touch. You arched into him, breath catching.

“You’ve always had steady hands,” you whispered, voice shaking. “But this feels… different.”

He kissed down your sternum, then lower. “Because this matters.”

His tongue circled your nipple before he sucked gently, lips warm and wet against your sensitive skin. You whimpered, threading your fingers through his hair as he gave each breast equal worship.

Then his hands slid lower.

He kissed down your stomach, biting gently at your hip. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you gasped. “All of you.”

He hooked his fingers in your panties and slid them down slowly, kissing the inside of your thighs, teasing you as you trembled beneath him.

Then he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe through your folds — and your hips bucked. His tongue was hot, thorough, exploring you like you were a melody he was composing note by note.

“Oh—Tony—” Your fingers gripped the sheets, gasping as he found your clit and circled it with just enough pressure to drive you wild.

“God, you taste so good,” he groaned against you. “I could stay here forever.”

But you were already unraveling, and he knew it. One hand splayed across your stomach to keep you grounded, the other gently stroking your thigh as he brought you to the edge with his mouth. You came with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head.

He kissed your inner thigh, then crawled back up, licking his lips with a smug smile.

“You okay?”

“I might be dead,” you panted. “And you’re the devil.”

He chuckled, then kissed you breathless again. “Not done yet.”

He shed the rest of his clothes, and your breath hitched at the sight of him — strong, toned, scarred, and entirely yours.

When he positioned himself at your entrance, he paused.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter now. “If we do this—there’s no going back.”

You cupped his cheek. “I don’t want to go back.”

He slid into you slowly, watching every inch disappear inside you, his jaw clenched tight. You gasped, stretching around him, your body adjusting, your heart aching with how right it felt.

“God—you're perfect,” he groaned, bottoming out and stilling as you clung to him.

You pulled him down into a kiss, deep and slow. “Move, Tony. Please.”

And he did. At first, slow and sensual, rolling his hips in a rhythm that had your toes curling and your name falling from his lips like a mantra. Each thrust hit deep, deliberate, and loving.

He cradled your face, never looking away. “You feel like home,” he whispered.

Tears prickled at your eyes again — not from pain, not from fear — but from the overwhelming, devastating intimacy of the moment.

“I love you,” you gasped again, hips rising to meet his every thrust. “I’ve always loved you.”

“Say it forever,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Say it every day.”

“I will. Forever.”

He picked up the pace slightly, hips slapping against yours, your bodies slick with sweat, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Your second climax built slow and hot, pressure curling low in your belly.

“Tony—” you gasped.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, gripping your hand tight. “Come for me, baby.”

You shattered around him, crying out his name as your body pulsed and clenched around him. The sensation dragged him over the edge with you, and with a guttural moan, he spilled inside you, hips stuttering as he buried himself deep.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the distant hush of waves beyond the open windows.

Then he collapsed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms.

You curled into his chest, fingers tracing the arc reactor’s glow.

“You good?” he asked softly, brushing a kiss over your temple.

You nodded, boneless and blissed out. “More than good.”

He tilted your chin up. “That’s how it’s going to be for the rest of your life, Mrs. Stark.”

You smiled against his lips. “Not yet.”

He kissed you again. “Soon.”

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

Much later, wrapped in silk sheets and soft moonlight:

You curled into him, ring glinting on your hand, heart full.

Tony brushed a kiss against your forehead. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy almost wedding,” you murmured, smiling sleepily.

“Yeah,” he whispered, eyes closed, a rare peace on his face. “We’re gonna be okay.”

And for the first time in a long, long time— you believed it too.

Feel free to send any requests u would like, thank u for reading!!!!!

[witchhkitty222]

Built for Pink (mini series)

Tony Stark x reader

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 - Built for You (final)

summary: Y/n wakes up wrapped in Tony Stark’s sheets — and something has changed. Their slow-burn tension has finally cracked open into something terrifyingly tender. Tony has a surprise waiting, and when he unveils a custom pink Iron Man suit designed just for her, it’s clear: he’s not just infatuated, he’s in love. Between declarations, luxury, and pleasure, the lines between adoration and obsession blur as Tony shows her what it means to truly be his — in every way.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+): detailed smut, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected PIV sex, overstimulation, praise kink & possessiveness: lots of “my girl,” “Mr. Stark,” ownership themes

wordcount: 1.4k

Y/n woke up tangled in Tony's expensive sheets, sunlight spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. She stretched, the silk gliding against her skin, and immediately felt Tony's hand slide up her thigh.

"Good morning, pink princess," he murmured, voice gravelly with sleep, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Y/n  giggled, pushing back against him. "Good morning, Mr. Stark."

He growled low in his throat. "You're gonna kill me saying that first thing in the morning."

Tony pulled away just long enough to sit up against the headboard, grinning down at her. His hair was a sexy, tousled mess. He tapped her nose playfully.

"Get dressed," he said. "Something pink. I have a surprise for you."

Her eyes lit up instantly. "Something pink? Oh, you know me so well, sir."

Tony smirked, watching her saunter into the closet in nothing but one of his shirts.

When she emerged, she was breathtaking.

Pink mini dress. Pink heels. Pink diamond earrings. Her hair in soft waves, lip gloss shimmering.

Tony was already struggling to breathe.

"Perfect," he rasped. "C'mere."

He blindfolded her gently, lacing his fingers with hers, leading her through the penthouse and down to the private lab.

"Are you ready?" he whispered against her ear.

"So ready," she said breathlessly.

He pulled off the blindfold.

She gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

In front of her, gleaming under the lab lights, was a fully functional Iron Man suit — but it was PINK. The most gorgeous, metallic, glittery shade. Custom built, light-weight, designed perfectly for her.

"Tony," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "You didn't—"

"I did," he interrupted softly.

He stepped in front of her, taking both her hands in his.

"I built it because…" he started, voice rough with emotion. "Because no one else makes me feel like you do. You’re brilliant. You’re fierce. You’re kind. You're everything good in this world wrapped in a tiny, pink-obsessed package."

He leaned closer, forehead resting against hers.

"You made me feel alive again. Not Tony Stark, the billionaire, or Iron Man, or genius inventor. Just… me. And I've never… I've never wanted anything more than to keep feeling that way."

Tears spilled down Y/n  's cheeks. Tony kissed them away tenderly.

"Be my girlfriend," he whispered. "Officially. Be mine."

She nodded frantically, laughing through her tears. "Yes! Yes, Mr. Stark, yes!"

He scooped her up, spinning her around, both of them laughing like kids, before setting her down in front of the suit.

"Put it on," Tony urged, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Heart racing, Y/n  carefully stepped into the pink armor with Tony guiding her, his hands warm and steady. As the panels sealed around her body with soft mechanical whirs, the suit responded to her instantly, syncing to her movements as if it had been a part of her all along.

She flexed her fingers, the HUD inside lighting up perfectly calibrated for her. She took a step, then another, confidence blooming across her face.

Tony watched her, utterly entranced.

"Alright, pink princess, let's see what you've got," he teased, stepping back.

Y/n  grinned, launching into the air effortlessly, executing a perfect spin before landing lightly on her feet.

Tony's heart nearly exploded in his chest.

"You were made for this," he whispered, half to himself.

She lifted the mask, her bright, exhilarated smile shining through. "Told you I'm a fast learner, Mr. Stark."

Tony crossed the floor in two strides, yanked her helmet off, and kissed her like a man starved, completely overwhelmed by his love and pride for her.

-----------

Back at the penthouse, the celebration got… messy.

Champagne. Kisses. Clothes flying.

Tony pinned her against the glass windows, the city glittering behind her.

"Look at you," he groaned, kissing down her neck. "My girl. My brilliant, gorgeous girl."

He dropped to his knees, spreading her legs wide.

"Mr. Stark," Y/n  whimpered, clinging to the window.

"Say it again," he growled.

"Mr. Stark," she moaned, voice cracking as he dragged his tongue up her thigh.

He ate her out messily, hungrily, pulling orgasm after orgasm from her until she was crying and gasping his name.

Then he flipped her around, bending her over, sliding inside with one brutal thrust.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted. "So tight… my perfect little virgin. Only mine."

He praised her nonstop as he pounded into her, filthy words spilling from his mouth.

"Good girl. My girl. Taking me so well. Made for me, weren't you? Say it, baby. Say you're mine."

"I'm yours, Mr. Stark," she sobbed.

"Fuck, that's it," he growled.

He fucked her through orgasm after orgasm, cumming deep inside her until it was dripping down her thighs, smearing between them.

Oversimulated, she begged him for mercy.

"One more," he panted. "Give me one more, sweet girl."

And she did, sobbing into the glass, shaking violently as he filled her up again.

After, Tony scooped her up, carrying her to the enormous marble tub, lowering her into a hot bath filled with bubbles.

He washed her so gently, kissing every inch of her flushed skin, whispering praises.

"I'm gonna build you a hundred suits," he whispered. "A hundred pink suits. Gonna take you flying around the world. Gonna make sure everyone knows you belong to me."

She giggled, still half-drunk on love and pleasure.

Tony fed her strawberries dipped in chocolate, sipping champagne, both of them naked, tangled up in each other.

"I love you, Mr. Stark," she whispered sleepily.

Tony froze, then smiled so big it hurt.

"I love you too, Y/n  . More than anything."

And he meant every word.

Thank u soooo much for reading!! this is where "Built for pink" ends, I loved making this mini series, hope y'all enjoyed reading it just as much!!

[witchhkitty222]

Built for Pink (mini series)

Tony Stark x reader

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 - Project Pink Phoenix

summary: Tony Stark is absolutely, obsessively gone for his younger, teasing girlfriend — and everyone around him knows it. When Pepper confronts him about their relationship, Tony makes it clear just how serious he is. Meanwhile, Y/n can’t stop teasing him, wearing short skirts, pink socks, and nothing underneath. Between public teasing, risky lab sex, and nearly getting caught, their dynamic explodes into filthy chaos. But underneath it all, Tony’s planning something more permanent… a custom pink Iron Suit and a confession that might change everything.

warnings: 18+ sexual content / explicit smut, oral (fem-receiving and male-receiving), public/risky sex, mild degradation + possessive dirty talk, mild praise kink, teasing/brat behavior, language (strong swearing, graphic dialogue).

wordcount: 2.3k

Pepper cornered him in the hallway.

Tony had Y/n’s pink phone in his hand — she’d left it in the lab again — and he was half-distracted, smiling to himself as he texted her from his own phone.

Come get your toy, baby.

Or maybe I’ll come find you instead.

When Pepper’s voice cut through, sharp and cold, Tony sighed.

"Tony. We need to talk."

He turned lazily toward her, raising an eyebrow.

"About?"

She gave him a look — that disapproving mom look she reserved for special occasions.

"About her," Pepper snapped, glancing toward the hallway Y/n had disappeared down, wearing one of Tony’s hoodies and nothing but those tiny pink socks.

Tony smirked.

"My girl? Yeah. We can talk about her."

"She's a child, Tony," Pepper hissed. "You're twice her age. More! You can't seriously be—"

"I'm serious about everything when it comes to her," Tony cut her off, voice suddenly hard.

Pepper blinked, thrown.

Tony stepped closer, towering over her, his whole body tense and sharp.

"You think I'm gonna let some college boy who can't even find the clit touch her?" he said lowly. "You think I'm gonna let anyone else teach her how she deserves to be loved?"

Pepper gaped at him.

Tony smiled, slow and dangerous.

"Y/n  ’s mine," he said simply. "In every way that matters."

And then he turned on his heel and walked away, still holding her pink phone, texting her again:

Pink socks. Hoodies. Little smiles. Gonna fuck you stupid if you keep looking that cute around here.

Meanwhile, Y/n was doing exactly what she loved doing best.

Teasing him.

She was perched on the arm of the big leather couch in the lounge, nibbling on a pencil, her legs swinging.

Wearing tiny pink shorts — the kind that barely covered anything — and a cropped white top that showed off the curve of her waist.

Tony spotted her the second he walked into the room — and almost groaned out loud.

She looked like a dream. A wet fucking dream.

Pink socks pulled up to her thighs. Loose curls falling down her back. Bouncing her legs mindlessly, swinging them back and forth, the shorts riding higher with every movement.

And worst of all — she was pretending she didn’t notice him staring.

Fucking little tease.

Tony prowled toward her, hands in his pockets.

Y/n glanced up, giving him the sweetest, most innocent look — the look she knew drove him absolutely feral.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," she chirped, voice sing-song and playful.

Tony stopped in front of her, towering over her.

"You’re doing it on purpose now," he said lowly.

"Doing what?" she asked, all wide-eyed.

He leaned down, so close his breath brushed her lips.

"Being a fucking brat."

She smiled, slow and devilish.

"Maybe."

Tony grabbed her chin gently, tilting her head up.

"You have no idea what you’re asking for, sweetheart."

Her thighs pressed together instinctively — and fuck, he saw it.

Tony leaned closer, whispering filth against her ear:

"Pink socks, tiny shorts, sitting there acting like you don't want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you full again. You think I won't?"

Y/n whimpered, barely audible, and Tony smiled darkly.

"That’s what I thought."

He yanked her up, lifting her effortlessly and pressing her against the wall, out of sight from the main hallway but still dangerously close.

One hand under her ass, the other gripping the back of her neck.

"You like teasing your Sir like this?" he growled, rolling his hips against hers, letting her feel exactly how hard he was.

"Y-Yes, Mr. Stark," she gasped, panting.

"Good," he murmured. "Because now you’re gonna pay for it."

He kissed her hard, filthy and deep, grinding against her helplessly.

No one could see them — but it was close. Too close.

And fuck, that only made it hotter.

Tony didn’t fuck her there — not yet.

He wanted her squirming. He wanted her desperate.

He set her down slowly, smirking at her flushed cheeks and trembling thighs.

"Go back to the lab, baby," he murmured against her lips. "I'll deal with you later."

Y/n whimpered, nodding dumbly.

And Tony watched her go, biting his lip to hold back a groan as her ass bounced with every step.

From across the hall, Happy watched the whole thing, nudging Pepper.

Pepper looked like she was about to combust.

"I told you," Happy muttered. "Fucked."

Pepper just glared, speechless.

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

The text came just after Y/n finished her coffee.

➔ Lab. Now. Wear pink. ➔ No panties.

She bit her lip, grinning, already feeling heat pooling low in her belly.

Her pink skirt was barely acceptable for public — short enough that if she bent wrong, Tony would get exactly what he wanted.

Perfect.

She left her room with nothing underneath but a wicked smirk.

When she arrived, Tony was already waiting.

Sitting lazily in a chair by the workbench, arms spread wide, black tee shirt stretched over his chest.

His eyes dragged up and down her body — slow, heavy, possessive.

“Good girl," he murmured.

Y/n smiled sweetly, walking up and pretending to be innocent as she leaned over the table to grab a wrench.

The skirt lifted, flashing him a perfect view.

Tony growled low in his throat.

"You're gonna be the fucking death of me, baby."

He grabbed her in a flash — spinning her around, lifting her onto the worktable.

"Look at you," he rasped, pushing the skirt up. "Fucking dripping, and I haven’t even touched you."

He pressed two fingers against her slick heat, grinning when she gasped.

"Who’s this wet for, princess?" he teased, voice rough.

"You, Mr. Stark," she whimpered.

Tony groaned — fuck, he loved hearing that.

"Say it again."

"You, Mr. Stark," she moaned, louder.

He shoved his fingers deep, fucking her open, messy and rough.

"You’re fucking mine," he muttered against her mouth. "Gonna fuck you so full everyone’s gonna smell me on you."

Tony bent her over the table, tearing open a condom with his teeth.

"Hold on tight, baby," he growled.

And then he was inside her — deep, brutal, messy.

Y/n cried out, clawing at the table as he pounded into her, hips snapping sharp.

Filthy wet sounds echoed off the walls. Tony didn't hold back — hands bruising on her hips, hair twisted around his fist.

"Such a good fucking girl," he panted. "Taking me so good, baby."

Every thrust made her whimper, made her knees tremble.

"You were made for me," Tony growled. "No fucking college boy could ever fuck you like this. Only me. Only Mr. Stark."

"Only you," she gasped.

"That's my girl."

JARVIS’ voice cut through suddenly:

➔ "Sir, Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes are approaching the lab."

Tony cursed, pulling out of her with a filthy wet pop.

"Under the desk, baby," he ordered.

Y/n scrambled under, cheeks flushed, thighs soaked.

Tony barely had time to tug his pants halfway up when Pepper and Rhodey strode into the room.

"Tony," Pepper snapped, all cold fury. "We need to talk."

Rhodey just looked tired.

Tony forced a lazy smirk.

"Talk away, Pep. I'm all ears."

Under the desk, Y/n was already working him back to full hardness.

Her small hands stroking him, mouth trailing kisses up his cock.

Tony struggled to keep a straight face.

Pepper ranted — something about responsibility, about public image — but Tony barely heard her.

All he could focus on was Y/n  ’s hot little mouth wrapping around him, bobbing slow, sloppy, messy.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning.

Rhodey gave him a weird look.

"You good, man?" Rhodey asked.

Tony smiled thinly.

"Never better."

It didn’t take long — Y/n sucked him until he exploded down her throat, trying so hard to stay quiet but failing, a low groan slipping out.

She swallowed everything, licking him clean.

By the time Pepper and Rhodey left — Pepper looking furious, Rhodey just shaking his head — Tony dragged Y/n out from under the desk and lifted her onto the table again.

"You’re such a bad fucking girl," he growled.

"You love it," she whispered, giggling.

"I do," he admitted, kissing her hard.

after:

He cleaned her up gently — soft kisses on her thighs, whispering filthy praise the whole time.

"My girl," he murmured. "My good girl."

Y/n smiled sleepily, cuddling into his chest.

And while she dozed lightly, Tony sat there, stroking her hair, thinking.

Thinking about how she was too good for this world. Too good for him. And how he wanted to make sure she never left.

later that night:

In his private workshop, Tony opened a secret file on his holographic screens.

➔ Project Pink Phoenix.

A custom Iron Suit — light, sleek, agile.

Painted in shimmering metallic pink. Built just for her.

He smiled to himself, heart thudding.

She’s gonna lose her fucking mind.

And when he gave it to her — he already knew exactly what he was gonna say.

Not just "here’s your suit." Not just "you're mine."

But:

"Be my girlfriend officially, baby. Be my everything."

Chapter 7

[witchhkitty222]

Same Stars, Same Fire- oneshot

Tony Stark x reader

request: "Hello, I am wondering if u take request for a Tony Stark x female reader, who is also best friend of Tony Stark before he came Iron Man, but she was born in the same day as him “May 29th” but Tony Stark is also older by a couple or a few years older then her “Your choice I don’t mind” but She also has similar personality traits as Tony Stark and she is highly intelligent but also she has an Artistic where she can draw or sketch with perfect detail as well and Musician side where she can play any instrument especially with the guitars as well and she is has high medical skills as well but also an Avenger who is selfless and protective of the people she loves especially when it comes to Tony Stark, but she suffers from insomnia, anxiety and panic attacks as well, but she has been by his side through everything as well especially with during his Party and Playboy times as well and she went with him and James “Rhodey” Rhodes in Afghanistan where Tony Stark became Iron Man and she also helped Yinsen with his first Arc Reactor in that cave as well But it’s a fluff and a smut as at the end where they both reveal their feelings for each other which they had from the moment they met and they have their first kiss between them as well which leads them to their first time “Sex” together and then also after their first time they both happily agreed to be in a relationship with each other as well but Y/N “The Reader” also likes to call Tony Stark by his last name “Stark” as a nickname for him from the moment they met or just Tony as well."

warnings: mental Health Themes (anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia) PTSD implications, sexual content (NSFW), (one detailed smut scene, loving, consensual, first-time sex)

word count: 2.6k

You were fifteen the first time you met Tony Stark.

You’d ditched a fundraiser your parents dragged you to and climbed onto the rooftop, sketchpad balanced on your knees, charcoal on your fingertips. Your fingers flew across the page, sketching the moon’s reflection in a skyscraper window with impossible precision. You were halfway through shading when—

“You look like you’re trying to draw the damn meaning of life,” came a voice behind you.

You didn’t flinch. “And you sound like you’ve been looking for it in vodka since breakfast.”

A laugh. Warm. Surprised. “Stark. Tony Stark.”

You glanced over your shoulder. The boy standing there had confidence leaking from every pore and trouble in his smirk. “I know who you are. You blew up your dad’s car with a repulsor prototype last week.”

His grin widened. “Legendary, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe if the explosion hadn’t been pink.”

“That was an artistic choice.”

You smirked. “You’re an idiot.”

He stared at you. “What’s your name?”

You told him.

His eyes widened. “Wait—May 29th? That’s your birthday?”

“Same day. Different year,” you shrugged. “You’re what—seventeen?”

“Eighteen. Which means you’re legally required to respect me.”

You raised a brow. “Respect my sketchbook and maybe we’ll talk.”

He laughed again, and somehow, that’s all it took.

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

Years passed.

Tony rose and fell in the press, in tabloids, in bottles of scotch. And you were always there—your genius a quieter kind, poured into surgical diagrams and multi-instrument symphonies. You played piano when you couldn’t sleep. Guitar when your hands shook. Sketched when the world spun too fast.

You matched his IQ, matched his sarcasm, matched his pain.

He used tech to keep his mind busy. You used music to keep yours from breaking.

You were with him and Rhodey in Afghanistan.

You held his bloodied body while Yinsen screamed for gauze. You helped wire the arc reactor. Your hands were steady, your mind sharp—but your eyes stung with tears you didn’t let fall until later.

Tony barely remembered waking up.

But he remembered your fingers in his hair, singing to him quietly in the dark.

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

Months later, you found yourself in his lab again, barefoot and exhausted at 3:12 a.m. You’d had another panic attack—heart racing, chest tightening, unable to breathe. The worst kind.

Tony was bent over a workbench, shirt half-unbuttoned, arc reactor glowing like a tiny moon in the dim light.

“You shouldn’t be up,” he said, not looking up.

“Can’t sleep.” Your voice was thin. “Again.”

He turned at that. His eyes softened. “Come here.”

You walked over, wrapped in his hoodie and carrying your guitar. You handed him your sketchbook. He flipped through it, pausing at one sketch—you’d drawn his hands, precise and graceful and scarred, cradling a tiny broken engine like it was made of glass.

“You see me like this?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Always.”

He swallowed hard.

Sometimes, the insomnia was mutual.

Sometimes, it was music that saved you.

That night, you curled up on the couch in the corner of the lab, strumming your guitar softly while Tony worked. You played something haunting—a melody you’d composed during your third sleepless night that week.

“You need to sleep,” he said.

“I need to breathe,” you whispered.

You didn’t say: because my chest hurts like it’s been crushed by rubble and I can’t stop remembering the cave and the screams and the fire.

But you didn’t need to. He knew. He always knew.

Tony walked over, sat beside you, and pulled you into his arms.

Your hands trembled.

“Panic?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Focus on my voice,” he said. “You’re safe. Right here. I’ve got you.”

His voice was rough velvet. Familiar. Steady.

You closed your eyes and tried to match your breathing to his.

After a minute, you whispered, “I hate this. I hate not being able to fix myself.”

Tony brushed your hair back. “You fix everyone else. Let me carry this one.”

You looked up at him. “Why?”

His jaw clenched. “Because I’ve been in love with you since the day you made fun of my pink explosion.”

You froze.

“What?” you choked.

He stared at you. “You heard me.”

“I thought…” Your throat closed. “I thought you didn’t see me like that.”

He gave a broken laugh. “Are you kidding? You’re smarter than me. Stronger. You’ve held me together more times than I can count. You’re the music in my chaos.”

He paused.

“You call me Stark like it’s a joke, but every time you say it, it sounds like home.”

You kissed him first.

It wasn’t gentle—it was years of silence, pain, love, and fire, crashing into one another all at once. You dropped the guitar. He lifted you into his lap.

His lips moved like he’d dreamed of this—maybe he had.

You gasped as he deepened the kiss, pulling your hoodie off, hands running up your sides like he was memorizing you.

You whispered against his lips, “I love you. I always have.”

“God,” he whispered. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

He laid you down on the couch and kissed every inch of skin like he was catching up on a lifetime of missed chances. Your clothes were gone before you knew it, his touch reverent and aching.

His fingers brushed over the swell of your breasts, your ribs, your hips like you were made of melody and light.

When he slid inside you, it wasn’t fast or frantic—it was slow, like he needed to feel every second. He whispered your name like it was sacred, gripped your hand like he’d drown without it.

You gasped his name.

“Tony—”

“Right here, baby. I’ve got you.”

It was more than sex—it was years of love finally let loose.

You came undone beneath him, crying out as he kissed your neck, your collarbone, your lips.

He followed moments later, holding you like the world might break again.

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

Later, curled up against him with the arc reactor glowing against your back, he whispered, “So… want to maybe be mine? Officially?”

You grinned sleepily. “I’ve been yours since you insulted my moon sketch.”

“Lucky me.”

You poked his chest. “Happy birthday, Stark.”

He smiled. “Happy birthday, baby.”

You kissed his shoulder, then rested your head on his chest, listening to the faint whir of the reactor, the steady beat of his heart, and the silence of your own—for once, finally—at peace.

Feel free to send any requests u would like, thank u for reading!!!!!

[witchhkitty222]

Supernova (series)

Steve Rogers x reader

Chapter 12

Chapter 13 - Sunshine protocol 

summary: As Bruce uncovers disturbing footage and documentation revealing the full extent of Y/n’s emotional conditioning under the codename “Sunshine,” Y/n is forced to confront the horrifying possibility that her feelings may not be entirely her own. Devastated, she begins to question the authenticity of her love for Steve. But Steve stands his ground, offering unconditional reassurance, tenderness, and slow, affirming intimacy that reclaims her agency and redefines their connection. Together, they choose love — not programming.

warnings: trauma / memory tampering (referenced), explicit sexual content, praise kink / affirming language

wordcount: 2.1k

The lab was quiet, except for the faint hum of computers and the occasional murmur from Banner as he worked through the encrypted files. Y/n stood stiffly near the glass wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screen even though she wasn’t reading. She didn’t move when Steve entered.

He lingered in the doorway, watching her.

“She hasn’t said anything,” Banner said softly, without turning. “Not since I opened the first file.”

Steve nodded, stepping closer.

On the screen was a still frame: a girl strapped to a gurney, barely older than a teenager, eyes wide and unfocused. Her hair was tangled. Electrodes lined her temples. The SHIELD watermark stamped across the corner made it worse.

“Is that…?” Steve started.

Banner clicked a key. The footage rolled.

The girl screamed.

Y/n’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t look away.

They watched in silence. Test after test. The girl was given different emotional triggers — fear, desire, grief. Monitors spiked with every surge. Scientists behind glass observed dispassionately. One of them wore a HYDRA pin.

The next file was text-based: a report. Banner translated aloud.

“‘Subject 12 – codenamed Sunshine – continues to respond strongly to emotional conditioning. Despite memory wipes, target retains unconscious attachment patterns. Response to designated romantic anchors is especially potent. Recommend escalation of Protocol V.’”

Steve looked at Y/n. “Sunshine?”

She finally spoke. “That’s what Sitwell said to me. You’re not her. You’re everything, sunshine.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Jesus,” Steve muttered. “They named you that. Designed your attachment profile around it.”

Banner cleared his throat. “I’m still going through the files, but… yeah. It’s not just chemicals. They shaped your memory, your emotional instincts. Your feelings may have been—” He hesitated.

Steve stepped forward. “Don’t say manufactured.”

Y/n didn’t move. “They were.”

“No,” Steve said firmly. “They weren’t. That’s not what makes a feeling real.”

Banner looked between them. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

He exited without another word.

Steve waited. Y/n didn’t speak. She just stood there, face blank, hands trembling.

“You’re not a weapon,” Steve said. “You’re a person. With choices. With—”

“With feelings they gave me,” she said quietly. “Don’t you get it? They didn’t just test rage. They tested love. Lust. Longing. I was programmed to attach to certain emotional profiles. Romantic ones. And your name’s probably in the damn file somewhere.”

“It isn’t,” he said. “I looked. Not once.”

She finally turned. Her eyes were wet.

“But what if I fell for you because of them? What if I was conditioned to want someone like you?”

He stepped closer. “What if I was? What if I’ve been running toward the idea of Peggy so long that I didn’t realize the person in front of me was the one I needed all along?”

Her breath hitched.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “You didn’t fall in love with me because of a protocol. You loved me because I saw you. And I didn’t fall in love with you because you remind me of anyone. I love you because you’re you. Noisy. Stubborn. Brilliant. Terrified of being vulnerable but brave enough to be anyway.”

Her lip trembled. “But if it was all fake—”

“It wasn’t fake,” he said firmly. “They tried to write your story. But you changed the ending.”

He reached out slowly, giving her space to flinch or turn away.

She didn’t.

His fingers brushed hers. She gripped them back like she was drowning.

He tugged gently. She followed.

When he reached her room, she didn’t ask how he knew where she’d go. He always knew.

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

The door closed behind them. She stood in the middle of the room, not moving.

“Talk to me,” he said gently. “Or don’t. Just—stay with me.”

She turned toward him. Eyes glassy. Voice small.

“Tell me again.”

He stepped into her space.

“That I love you?” he asked.

She nodded.

He cupped her face. “I love you. I love how sharp your mind is. I love how reckless you get when someone’s in danger. I love how your mouth moves when you’re pretending not to smile. I love you, Y/n. Not your training. Not your past. Just… you.”

She surged forward, pressing her mouth to his.

The kiss was messy. Desperate. Wet with unshed tears.

His arms came around her instantly, pulling her close like she might vanish if he didn’t hold her tightly enough.

She fisted his shirt. “Prove it,” she whispered against his lips.

He kissed her again, slower this time. Reverent.

“You’re not some protocol,” he murmured between kisses. “You’re not someone’s project. You’re mine. Mine to protect. Mine to love.”

She inhaled shakily. “Then show me.”

He did.

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

They moved slowly.

He undressed her like she was made of glass, like reverence was the only language he had left. His hands trembled on the hem of her shirt, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful, sunshine.”

She let out a breath that sounded like a sob.

When she was bare before him, he took a step back to look. Not to leer — to see. All of her.

She crossed her arms instinctively. He caught her wrists, gently.

“Don’t hide. You don’t have to hide from me.”

He kissed down her collarbone. Her throat. Her chest.

Each press of his lips said I see you.

He undressed with her help, her fingers clumsy but determined. When they were both bare, he guided her gently to the bed.

There was no rush.

Just skin. Breath. Connection.

When he finally entered her, he moved slow. So slow it almost hurt. Like he was afraid of overwhelming her. Like he wanted her to feel every inch.

She gasped.

He stilled, watching her. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Please, Steve.”

His name sounded like a prayer in her mouth.

He rocked into her, slow and deep, his hands bracketing her hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her skin.

“You’re real,” he whispered. “Everything you feel is real. Everything I feel is real.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“I hate that I doubted it,” she whispered.

He kissed her temple. “Then let me remind you. Over and over.”

He did.

He kissed her mouth, her neck, her shoulder. Praised her with every thrust. Told her she was loved. Brave. Free.

She clawed at his back, hips meeting his in a rhythm that felt less like sex and more like a vow.

When she came, it was silent. Just a long, shaking breath, her eyes locked on his. Like she was afraid blinking would break the spell.

He followed moments later, gasping her name like it was the only word he remembered.

They didn’t speak for a while.

He lay beside her, one hand stroking her spine, the other wrapped around her shoulders.

She curled into his chest.

“Still scared?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered. “But I believe you.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “Because whatever they did to you, they didn’t change the fact that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She exhaled, shaky but calmer.

“I’ll fight it,” she said. “Whatever’s left of their programming. I’ll fight it.”

“You won’t fight it alone.”

They stayed like that, tangled together, until dawn began to edge through the curtains.

Thank youuuu for reading!! More chapters coming!! Comment if u would like to be added to the tag list!!!

taglist: @meadowgrace

[witchhkitty222]

Altitude, Afterglow & Accidents- oneshot

Tony Stark x reader

summary: Tony Stark thought he’d seen it all—until he fell for a twenty-three-year-old who made him feel younger, harder, and a whole lot more wrecked than any battle ever had. From glass walls to penthouse floors, steamy showers to sweaty bedsheets, their chemistry is relentless—and she’s insatiable. While he’s feeling the years in his bones, she’s dragging him into round after round with a wicked smile and an even filthier mouth. And just when he thinks he’s survived the night? She’s waking him up with her mouth and riding him midair on his private jet—until Pepper Potts walks in and gets more than just turbulence. And Tony? He’s the happiest exhausted old man in the world.

warnings: explicit sexual content (multiple penetrative sex scenes, oral sex – f receiving and m receiving, semi-public sex, shower sex, and morning-after sex), age gap (Tony in his 40s, reader is 23), praise kink, dirty talk, mild D/s undertones

wordcount: 4k

"To us," Tony said, clinking his glass against Y/n’s, amber liquid catching the light.

The deal was closed. Stark Clean Energy Initiative had just partnered with the UN on a global scale—contracts signed, champagne poured, and the city below buzzing far less than Y/n’s skin.

She was glowing—black silk dress clinging to her like a second skin, her heels tossed somewhere across the penthouse. Tony couldn't keep his eyes off her. Twenty-three, brilliant, bold, wicked in the way she teased him with nothing but a look. And completely his.

He didn’t remember crossing the room. All he remembered was her back hitting the wall, his mouth on hers, hands pushing that perfect dress up, and her laugh—breathy, sweet, and aching for him.

“You know what I want for dessert?” she whispered.

“What?” he murmured against her neck.

“You.”

He didn’t stand a chance.

The first round happened right there, against the glass wall with New York City as the backdrop—her leg hooked around his waist, her moans muffled by his mouth. She came fast, from the thrill of it, from the way he muttered, “So damn good, baby, just like that,” into her ear.

He came with a groan, deeper than the skyline, his grip possessive on her hips. And yet—her eyes still sparkled with heat.

Round Two: The Bed

The second time was slower. In bed, lights low, her head thrown back as he moved inside her with practiced control. She wrapped herself around him like silk, kissing his neck, whispering, “You feel so good, Tony…”

He watched her fall apart again, her lips parted, cheeks flushed. “My perfect girl,” he breathed. “God, I love watching you come for me.”

And when she begged for more, he gave it to her.

Round Three: The Floor

The third time? That was on the floor beside the bed. Clothes scattered, breaths ragged, her voice breaking as he held her legs up, hips snapping hard enough to make her whimper.

He was panting, sweat slicking his back, her nails dragging down his chest. “You still with me, old man?” she teased, giggling when he thrust harder.

He didn’t answer with words—just a growl and a kiss so deep she forgot her name for a second.

When he finally collapsed beside her, both of them drenched in sweat and satisfaction, he was sure he was done.

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

Steam curled around them in the bathroom, fogging the glass. Tony leaned his forearm against the tile, eyes closed, trying to regulate his breathing.

Three rounds.

Three.

He was in his forties. Not superhuman.

And yet—

He felt her. Y/n’s soft hands trailing up his chest, her body pressed to his back, lips teasing the wet skin of his shoulder.

“You’re quiet,” she whispered.

Tony huffed out a laugh, eyes still closed. “I’m recovering.”

“Still hard,” she murmured, fingers wrapping around him. And he was.

She grinned when he cursed under his breath.

“You’re killing me,” he rasped.

“You’re the one who built a suit of armor in a cave,” she said, sliding in front of him. “But you can’t handle your 23-year-old girlfriend being a little needy after three rounds?”

He looked down at her, soaked hair, glistening skin, pupils blown wide with lust. His heart clenched—and not from exertion.

“I’m getting old, sweetheart,” he groaned. “How many rounds do you want, woman?”

She stepped closer, fingers sliding along his hips. “You don’t have to move a single muscle,” she whispered, kissing up his throat. “Let me ride you. Let me make you feel good.”

He gave her that half-surrendered, half-destroyed look he always wore right before she ruined him.

“Please?” she whispered. “One more. Let me be your good girl.”

Round Four: The Undoing

Tony barely made it to the bed.

He laid down, propped up by pillows, chest rising and falling fast. Y/n straddled him slowly, teasing, dragging her slick folds over him until he cursed.

She sank down with a sigh, both of them moaning at once.

“Fuck—Y/n,” he gasped. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

She began to move, slow and hard, watching his jaw go slack.

“That’s it, babe,” she whispered. “Let me ride you. Let me make you come.”

His hands gripped her thighs, barely holding on. “My good girl,” he choked. “Always wants to ride me… Look at you. So greedy for me.”

She bounced harder, each movement drawing a strangled moan from him. “I love how you feel,” she said. “Love making you lose control.”

His head fell back. “You do. God, you do. Always know how to wreck me, don’t you?”

She leaned down, kissing his jaw. “Say it again.”

“You’re my good girl,” he panted. “The best I’ve ever had. Can’t think straight when you’re on top of me like this.”

She clenched around him, dragging another moan out of him.

“You ruin me,” he whispered. “Every damn time.”

When he came, it was with her name on his lips like a confession, hands gripping her hips like he never wanted her to leave. She followed a second later, body trembling, falling against him with a broken whimper.

They lay there in the silence after, limbs tangled, breath slowing.

He stroked her back, lips pressed to her temple. “I should be terrified of how much I want you,” he murmured. “But I’m too damn tired.”

She giggled against his chest. “Tired or satisfied?”

“Both.” He kissed her hair. “Completely gone for you.”

She smiled and whispered, “Good.”

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

It was barely past 7 a.m. The New York skyline was bathed in early gold, the floor-to-ceiling windows catching soft morning light.

Tony stirred under the sheets, still blissed-out and heavy-limbed from the night before. His muscles ached in a good way—the kind of ache that reminded him exactly how many rounds they’d gone. Y/n was still curled up next to him, her thigh draped across his hips, her breathing slow and warm.

Or so he thought.

Because then he felt it—her hand, slow and featherlight, sliding beneath the sheets.

His brows furrowed, lips twitching with a lazy smirk. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep.

She didn’t say a word.

She just kissed his hipbone.

And then?

Her mouth was on him—wet, warm, perfect.

Tony’s breath caught. His hand instinctively went to her head under the covers, fingers threading through her hair.

“Oh my god, woman…” His voice cracked with half a laugh, half a groan. “You’re insatiable.”

She sucked slow, steady, like she had all the time in the world. A little swirl of tongue here, a deep drag of her lips there. Her rhythm was cruel and beautiful—enough to drive him insane, not fast enough to let him finish.

He pushed the blanket off, wanting to see her.

Her eyes met his as she licked a thick stripe up the underside of him, mouth already wet, chin slick with spit. She looked proud of herself—bedhead, flushed cheeks, morning glow and all.

“You tryna kill me first thing in the morning?” he asked, breath stuttering.

She just smirked and took him back in—deeper this time, hollowing her cheeks, one hand stroking the base, the other gripping his thigh to hold him down.

“Fuck, Y/n…” His hips twitched. “You suck me like you missed me and I’ve been inside you all damn night.”

She moaned around him in answer—and the vibration made his eyes roll back.

When she finally let him go with a loud, messy pop, he was panting. “You wanna get on top, or you wanna finish what you started?”

“Both,” she said sweetly, voice husky and full of wicked delight.

She crawled up his body, kissed his chest, his neck, then straddled his hips, already dripping wet. He felt the heat of her against him, and his hands flew to her waist.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “You’re already soaked.”

“You make me like this,” she whispered, grinding down slowly until he was fully inside her. “You make me crazy, Tony.”

Her hips started slow, grinding and lifting, then dropping fast enough to make them both groan. Skin slapped skin, wet and obscene and addictive. Her fingers dug into his chest for leverage as she rode him like she owned him.

"That’s it," he groaned, voice deep and cracked. "Fuck yourself on me, baby. Take what you need. Look at you, fucking milking me."

She moaned, louder, her back arching.

“My perfect girl,” he growled, gripping her ass. “Always so tight, so wet. You love riding your old man, huh?”

“Yes,” she cried out. “Yes, Tony—love how you feel—love when you talk like that—”

“You want praise, princess? You’ve got it. You fuck me better than anyone ever has. You ruin me. You make me want to never leave this bed again.”

She was losing rhythm, legs shaking, head thrown back.

Tony took over, thrusting up into her hard, his grip punishing and desperate.

“Come for me,” he demanded. “Come on, sweetheart, be my good girl and come.”

She did—loud, trembling, collapsing onto him as he followed, groaning her name into her shoulder.

Later:

They finally made it to the kitchen—barely. Y/n wore one of his t-shirts and no pants. Tony looked like he’d been hit by a sex hurricane, but the grin on his face was pure satisfaction.

He watched her pull cold orange juice from the fridge, barefoot and glowing.

“I’m gonna need a wheelchair by lunch,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw.

She laughed. “You love it.”

“I do.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing her neck. “I’m the happiest old man in the world. If this is how you celebrate, we need to close a deal every week.”

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

Tony leaned back in his plush leather seat, drink in hand, smirking like he owned the sky.

Because he kind of did.

Y/n sat on his lap in a soft white hoodie (his), bare thighs straddling him, and the kind of smirk that said she was up to no good. They were supposed to be flying to a summit in Geneva. Pepper was somewhere in the cabin working. Happy was up front. And Tony?

Well, Tony was distracted.

“You’re squirmy,” he murmured against her neck. “Can’t sit still, huh?”

“I’m not wearing panties,” she whispered in his ear.

He froze.

She grinned.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be,” he said, eyes already darkening.

“Maybe I just want to ride my man thirty-five thousand feet above the earth,” she whispered, grinding down on him, slow and dangerous.

The belt was off. His pants were undone. And before either of them could think better of it, he was inside her—bare, thick, deep. She gasped, clutching his shoulders, bouncing slowly on his lap as the engines hummed beneath them.

It was dirty.

Sloppy wet kisses. Her hips grinding in lazy circles. The kind of filthy, slow, toe-curling sex that said we’ve been doing this all day and still can’t get enough. The leather creaked beneath them. His hand slid up her hoodie, gripping the curve of her ass, helping her bounce harder.

Tony growled, low and dangerous. “You like this? Riding me while Pepper’s ten feet away? You’re such a little freak, baby.”

Y/n whimpered, trying not to moan too loud—but the slap of skin was undeniable now.

“You’re gonna make me embarrass myself,” she panted.

“No, you’re gonna make me embarrass myself,” he muttered. “My girlfriend riding my dick on my own damn jet like she runs this place.”

And then—

The cabin door slid open.

“Tony,” she gasped, hands up. “I—OH MY GOD.”

Tony didn’t flinch. Y/n squeaked and buried her face in his shoulder, her whole body frozen in shame and shock.

“Pepper,” he said casually, “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It’s exactly what it looks like!” she snapped, stumbling backward. “I—OH MY GOD—Tony!”

He just grinned, still buried inside Y/n, arms wrapped around her hips like she was his and the interruption was barely an inconvenience. “You interrupted. That’s bad manners.”

“I’m—I’m leaving,” Pepper stammered, already backpedaling. “Get your shit together.”

The cabin door slammed shut.

And then—

Silence.

Tony tilted his head to whisper against Y/n’s ear. “You okay?”

Her cheeks were on fire, still hiding in his neck. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

He chuckled low, palm sliding up her thigh. “You wanna stop?”

She didn’t answer right away. She lifted her head slowly. Her lips were pink and parted, eyes glazed with the kind of wild adrenaline that only came from being caught mid-thrust. And under the blush?

She was still turned on.

He raised his brows at her, the smug bastard. “Keep going, baby.”

She swallowed. “Can I?”

“Ride me,” he murmured, voice rough with lust. “Right now. Don’t even think about her. Just think about how full you feel. Show me how much you want it.”

Her hips gave the tiniest experimental grind—slow, gentle, testing the waters.

Tony groaned.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “There’s my girl.”

She started moving again, shaky at first, like she couldn’t believe she was doing this after what had just happened. But her rhythm came back fast—rising and dropping with those filthy little gasps, legs tightening around his hips.

“Look at you,” he muttered, hands sliding under her hoodie to grab her ass. “Still fucking me after we got caught. You’re so fucking nasty.”

She moaned softly, hips rocking harder now.

“You like this,” he said, groaning when she clenched around him. “You love knowing someone saw you like this. Being so damn good for me you couldn’t even stop.”

Her movements were quicker now, head tossed back, hair sticking to her neck.

Tony’s grip was brutal—pulling her down harder with every bounce.

“Fucking ride me, Y/n. Take it.”

“I’m trying—” she cried out.

“You’re doing it. You’re ruining me,” he breathed. “You’re gonna make me come like this, on my own goddamn jet.”

She whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Come with me,” he ordered. “Let it go. I want to feel you lose it all over me.”

And when she came, it was almost silent—except for her broken little breath and the slap of skin and Tony’s deep, wrecked groan as he followed.

They sat there for a moment—sweaty, breathless, totally gone.

And then, still panting, Y/n whispered, “We’re never flying commercial again.”

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

Pepper burst into the cockpit lounge where Happy sat sipping coffee, headphones in. She yanked them off.

“Happy. Happy. I just walked in on—on them.”

He blinked. “Walked in on who?”

“Tony and Y/n. Having sex. On the seat. Like animals.”

Happy choked. “On the jet?”

“YES. And not just normal sex, Happy. Like—like she was on top, and there was sweat, and he said things like ‘my girlfriend riding my dick like she owns the place.’”

Happy stared.

Pepper leaned in, visibly shaken. “We used to have sex, you know. Me and Tony. It was... it was fine. Normal. Respectable.”

“Respectable,” Happy echoed.

“This? This was pornographic. I didn’t even know Tony could make those noises.”

[witchhkitty222]

Built for Pink (mini series)

Tony Stark x reader

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Mr. Stark’s Good Girl

summary: Tony and Y/n finally give in to the electric tension that’s been building between them, sharing a passionate, intense night in his lab that changes everything. When he learns she's a virgin, Tony becomes fiercely tender and possessive, taking his time to worship every inch of her. The next morning is no less heated — with slow, messy intimacy and soft touches that only deepen their growing obsession. But not everyone in Stark Tower is thrilled with their newfound connection.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), virginity kink / first time sex, possessiveness / mild breeding kink, oral (f!receiving + giving),

wordcount: 3.1k

The lab was hot with the thick, electric tension between them. Tony’s hands moved slow but sure over Y/n’s body, tugging her tight against him, feeling every curve, every little tremor.

She was a fucking vision — messy hair, kiss-swollen lips, and a cocky little smirk that made his blood boil.

“You’re looking at me like you’re gonna eat me alive," she teased, her voice playful, breathy.

Tony growled low in his throat, his hands sliding up her sides under her tiny tank top, feeling the soft, bare skin waiting for him.

“Maybe I am," he rasped. "Maybe you need it."

Y/n smiled — sexy, daring — and whispered, “Then take me, Mr. Stark.”

Fuck.

Hearing it fall from her pretty, teasing lips — Mr. Stark — flipped some switch inside him he didn’t even know existed. His cock throbbed painfully in his pants, begging to be buried inside her.

"You have no idea what you're doing” he warned, voice rough.

She grinned wider. "Maybe I do."

Tony crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard, deep, desperate. He lifted her up onto the table like she weighed nothing, stepping between her legs, grinding against her in a slow, heavy roll.

Y/n whimpered into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, her hips rocking up to meet him shamelessly.

He pulled back just slightly, staring down at her, drinking her in.

"You want this?" he asked, voice thick with restraint.

She nodded, biting her lip, a flash of nerves sparking in her eyes — just for a second. "I want you, Tony. I just... I never—"

She couldn't finish.

Tony cupped her jaw gently, thumb stroking her cheek.

"You never?" he murmured, coaxing.

Y/n swallowed hard, cheeks flushed pink. "I've never done this before. I'm... I'm a virgin."

The world tilted. Something inside. He has suspected but to actual hear her say it, with all of the words? Tony shattered.

He cursed low under his breath, fighting every filthy, fucked-up impulse that roared to the surface.

She’s untouched. Pure. And she’s giving herself to you.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, forehead resting against hers. "Baby... you have no fucking idea what you're doing to me."

Her hands trembled slightly as they slid over his chest, but she still smiled — that brave, beautiful smile.

"I want you to be the first," she whispered. "The only."

Tony kissed her again — slower now, deeper, pouring every ounce of control into the kiss so he didn’t just tear her apart.

"I'll be gentle," he promised. "I'll take care of you, baby girl. No one’s ever gonna touch you but me. You hear me?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark," she breathed.

Fuck. He needed to hear it again. Over and over.

“Say it again,” he growled, sliding her leggings down her thighs slowly, revealing her pink panties underneath.

Her voice was soft, teasing. "Mr. Stark."

"Good girl," he groaned, sliding a hand between her thighs, feeling how soaked she already was through the tiny scrap of fabric.

God, she was dripping for him.

Tony made her come first — twice.

He didn't even take his cock out yet. He fingered her slowly, praising her with every breath:

"That's it, sweet girl. Come for me." "God, you're so tight around my fingers. Can't wait to feel you on my cock." "You're made for me, Y/n  . Only for me."

When she shattered for the second time, gasping his name, Tony finally couldn't wait any longer.

He freed his cock from his pants, thick and heavy and angry red, leaking at the tip from how badly he needed her.

He lined himself up to her entrance, stroking her thigh gently.

"I need you to say it," he rasped.

"Say what?" she whimpered, trembling.

"Say my name, baby. Tell me who’s making you feel this good."

"Mr. Stark," she breathed, voice cracking slightly.

Tony groaned, pushing just the tip inside, feeling her stretch around him.

"Good girl," he growled. "Such a good fucking girl for me."

He moved slow, patient, even as every instinct screamed at him to pound into her.

She was so tight. So fucking warm. Like heaven and hell wrapped together.

Every inch he pushed inside felt like a fucking war.

When he was fully buried inside her, Tony stilled, letting her adjust, peppering kisses over her face and neck.

"You okay, baby?" he whispered.

She nodded, tears pooling in her eyes — not from pain, but from how overwhelming it was.

"You’re so big," she whimpered, voice trembling.

Tony chuckled breathlessly, forehead against hers. "You're doing so good for me, y/n/n. Taking me so fucking good."

He pulled out slowly, then slid back in, deeper.

Her body clung to him, greedy and desperate.

Soon, the slow thrusts turned frantic.

Y/n was gasping, sobbing his name, nails clawing at his back.

"That's it," Tony growled. "Give it to me, baby. Let me hear you."

"Mr. Stark," she cried, broken and desperate.

"Fuck, that's it, sweetheart," he groaned. "You're mine now. All mine."

His hips slapped into hers, filthy, wet sounds filling the room as she got wetter and wetter, slick coating his cock.

"You feel that, baby?" he rasped against her throat. "That's me. Deep inside your pretty little pussy. Where no one else has ever been. Where no one else will ever fucking be."

"Sir," she whimpered, voice cracking.

Tony almost lost it right there.

"Say it again," he demanded, pounding harder.

"Sir... Mr. Stark..." she sobbed.

"That's right, baby. My good girl."

Tony felt her tighten around him, her orgasm rushing up fast and violent.

He reached between them, rubbing tight circles on her clit, and Y/n screamed, shattering around him.

Her body spasmed, locking down on him so hard it dragged his orgasm out of him.

Tony roared her name as he spilled inside her, filling her up with hot, thick cum, twitching and jerking inside her.

He didn't pull out. He stayed buried deep, panting, body trembling from the force of it.

He leaned down, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.

"You’re mine, Y/n  ," he whispered fiercely. "Fucking mine."

She nodded, still shaking, a dazed, beautiful mess.

Tony slowly pulled out, groaning at the sight — thick, creamy cum leaking out of her pussy, sliding down her thighs.

He caught it with his fingers, pushing it back inside with a filthy moan.

"Can't waste it, baby girl," he murmured. "Gotta keep all of me inside you."

Y/n whimpered, body too sensitive, too raw.

But she let him.

God, she wanted him.

Only him.

Tony kissed her again, softer now.

"You did so good for me" he whispered. "So fucking perfect."

He gathered her trembling body into his arms, carrying her to his bed, wrapping her up in warm blankets and soft kisses.

And as she drifted off in his arms, Tony stared down at her, heart thundering.

She was his now. And he would never, ever let her go.

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

The morning sunlight spilled lazily across the room, casting a golden glow over the tangled sheets.

Tony stirred first, his body already reacting before he was even fully awake.

His cock was hard — painfully hard — throbbing against Y/n  's warm, bare thigh. She was curled against him, tiny, perfect, still a little swollen and stretched from the night before.

And when he slid his hand down, fingertips ghosting over her inner thighs… Fuck. She was still leaking him.

The sight nearly made him groan out loud. His cum, messy and dripping from her pretty little pussy, marking her inside and out.

His.

All his.

Tony pressed his mouth to her shoulder, kissing her awake softly.

"Mornin’, baby," he whispered, voice still rough from sleep.

Y/n stirred, blinking up at him with those big, sleepy eyes, a dazed little smile on her lips.

"Mornin’, Mr. Stark," she mumbled, stretching like a kitten, arching her back against him.

Tony hissed, his cock twitching hard.

"You trying to kill me, sweetheart?" he rasped, grinding into her slowly.

She giggled softly, all innocent, still half-asleep.

"Maybe."

He couldn't help it — he needed her mouth. Right fucking now.

"Be a good girl for me," he whispered, guiding her down under the sheets.

Y/n went willingly, sliding down his body, nuzzling his stomach sleepily before wrapping her lips around the head of his cock.

Holy fuck.

Tony threw his head back, groaning deep in his chest as her tongue swirled lazily around him.

She was still shy about it, still learning — but fuck, that only made it hotter.

She sucked him messily, drooling a little, both hands wrapped around the thick base.

"Good girl... that's it," he rasped, brushing hair back from her face to watch.

"My beautiful baby. Taking my cock so sweet."

He thrust up slowly into her mouth, careful not to be too rough, but still needing more.

Y/n whined around him, and Tony felt the vibration shoot straight through him.

"God, you're gonna kill me," he groaned.He pulled her off gently, kissing her deeply, tasting himself on her tongue.

Then he flipped her onto her stomach, spreading her legs wide.

"Need to be inside you, baby," he growled against her ear. "Need to fuck my cum even deeper into you."

She whimpered, wiggling her hips eagerly.

Tony slid into her in one slow, thick thrust, groaning as her pussy hugged him tight and hot.

"Still so fucking full of me," he muttered, rolling his hips slowly, savoring every second.

"You're mine, Y/n  . You hear me?"

"Yours, Mr. Stark," she gasped, clutching the sheets.

"My good girl. My perfect little toy."

He set a slow, grinding pace, each thrust slick and filthy from how wet she was.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room, mixed with Y/n  's sweet broken cries.

"Fuck, baby," he growled. "Made for me. Only me."

He reached around, rubbing tight circles on her clit, making her sob into the pillow.

"You gonna cum again for me, sweet girl?"

"Y-Yes, Mr. Stark—!"

"That's it," he growled. "Cum for me. Soak my cock. Let me fill you up again."

Y/n shattered with a scream, body locking down around him, milking him for everything he had.

Tony groaned loudly, thrusting deep one last time as he spilled inside her, grinding his hips to make sure she took every drop.

"God, look at you," he whispered, pulling out slowly, watching his cum drip from her swollen pussy. "So messy for me. So perfect."

He collapsed beside her, pulling her into his chest, stroking her hair.

Neither of them said anything for a while, just breathing, tangled together.

Tony couldn't stop touching her — running his fingers over her waist, her thighs, her messy hair.

He was fucking obsessed. Completely gone.

And he didn’t give a fuck who noticed.

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

Later that morning, they managed to stumble downstairs — Tony refusing to let go of her hand even once.

Y/n wore one of his T-shirts, drowning in it, no pants, just long bare legs and a shy little smile.

Tony watched her like a man starving.

He brushed her hair back behind her ear without even thinking, his hand lingering on her cheek way too long.

Happy, sitting at the kitchen counter, raised his eyebrows at the blatant touching.

Pepper, standing by the coffee machine, froze — staring at them like she couldn't fucking believe it.

"What the hell," Pepper muttered under her breath to Happy. "Is he seriously screwing the intern?"

Happy choked on his coffee, trying not to laugh.

Pepper narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms.

"She's a child," she hissed. "She probably doesn't even know how to pay taxes yet."

Happy shrugged. "Looks like Tony doesn't mind teaching her."

Pepper glared daggers at Y/n , who was blissfully unaware, laughing at something Tony whispered in her ear.

When Tony leaned down and kissed the side of Y/n 's head — right in front of them — Happy just whistled low under his breath.

"Yeah," he said. "They're fucked."

Chapter 6

[witchhkitty222]

Supernova (series)

Steve Rogers x reader

Chapter 12

Chapter 13 - Sunshine protocol 

summary: As Bruce uncovers disturbing footage and documentation revealing the full extent of Y/n’s emotional conditioning under the codename “Sunshine,” Y/n is forced to confront the horrifying possibility that her feelings may not be entirely her own. Devastated, she begins to question the authenticity of her love for Steve. But Steve stands his ground, offering unconditional reassurance, tenderness, and slow, affirming intimacy that reclaims her agency and redefines their connection. Together, they choose love — not programming.

warnings: trauma / memory tampering (referenced), explicit sexual content, praise kink / affirming language

wordcount: 2.1k

The lab was quiet, except for the faint hum of computers and the occasional murmur from Banner as he worked through the encrypted files. Y/n stood stiffly near the glass wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screen even though she wasn’t reading. She didn’t move when Steve entered.

He lingered in the doorway, watching her.

“She hasn’t said anything,” Banner said softly, without turning. “Not since I opened the first file.”

Steve nodded, stepping closer.

On the screen was a still frame: a girl strapped to a gurney, barely older than a teenager, eyes wide and unfocused. Her hair was tangled. Electrodes lined her temples. The SHIELD watermark stamped across the corner made it worse.

“Is that…?” Steve started.

Banner clicked a key. The footage rolled.

The girl screamed.

Y/n’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t look away.

They watched in silence. Test after test. The girl was given different emotional triggers — fear, desire, grief. Monitors spiked with every surge. Scientists behind glass observed dispassionately. One of them wore a HYDRA pin.

The next file was text-based: a report. Banner translated aloud.

“‘Subject 12 – codenamed Sunshine – continues to respond strongly to emotional conditioning. Despite memory wipes, target retains unconscious attachment patterns. Response to designated romantic anchors is especially potent. Recommend escalation of Protocol V.’”

Steve looked at Y/n. “Sunshine?”

She finally spoke. “That’s what Sitwell said to me. You’re not her. You’re everything, sunshine.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Jesus,” Steve muttered. “They named you that. Designed your attachment profile around it.”

Banner cleared his throat. “I’m still going through the files, but… yeah. It’s not just chemicals. They shaped your memory, your emotional instincts. Your feelings may have been—” He hesitated.

Steve stepped forward. “Don’t say manufactured.”

Y/n didn’t move. “They were.”

“No,” Steve said firmly. “They weren’t. That’s not what makes a feeling real.”

Banner looked between them. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

He exited without another word.

Steve waited. Y/n didn’t speak. She just stood there, face blank, hands trembling.

“You’re not a weapon,” Steve said. “You’re a person. With choices. With—”

“With feelings they gave me,” she said quietly. “Don’t you get it? They didn’t just test rage. They tested love. Lust. Longing. I was programmed to attach to certain emotional profiles. Romantic ones. And your name’s probably in the damn file somewhere.”

“It isn’t,” he said. “I looked. Not once.”

She finally turned. Her eyes were wet.

“But what if I fell for you because of them? What if I was conditioned to want someone like you?”

He stepped closer. “What if I was? What if I’ve been running toward the idea of Peggy so long that I didn’t realize the person in front of me was the one I needed all along?”

Her breath hitched.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “You didn’t fall in love with me because of a protocol. You loved me because I saw you. And I didn’t fall in love with you because you remind me of anyone. I love you because you’re you. Noisy. Stubborn. Brilliant. Terrified of being vulnerable but brave enough to be anyway.”

Her lip trembled. “But if it was all fake—”

“It wasn’t fake,” he said firmly. “They tried to write your story. But you changed the ending.”

He reached out slowly, giving her space to flinch or turn away.

She didn’t.

His fingers brushed hers. She gripped them back like she was drowning.

He tugged gently. She followed.

When he reached her room, she didn’t ask how he knew where she’d go. He always knew.

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

The door closed behind them. She stood in the middle of the room, not moving.

“Talk to me,” he said gently. “Or don’t. Just—stay with me.”

She turned toward him. Eyes glassy. Voice small.

“Tell me again.”

He stepped into her space.

“That I love you?” he asked.

She nodded.

He cupped her face. “I love you. I love how sharp your mind is. I love how reckless you get when someone’s in danger. I love how your mouth moves when you’re pretending not to smile. I love you, Y/n. Not your training. Not your past. Just… you.”

She surged forward, pressing her mouth to his.

The kiss was messy. Desperate. Wet with unshed tears.

His arms came around her instantly, pulling her close like she might vanish if he didn’t hold her tightly enough.

She fisted his shirt. “Prove it,” she whispered against his lips.

He kissed her again, slower this time. Reverent.

“You’re not some protocol,” he murmured between kisses. “You’re not someone’s project. You’re mine. Mine to protect. Mine to love.”

She inhaled shakily. “Then show me.”

He did.

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

They moved slowly.

He undressed her like she was made of glass, like reverence was the only language he had left. His hands trembled on the hem of her shirt, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful, sunshine.”

She let out a breath that sounded like a sob.

When she was bare before him, he took a step back to look. Not to leer — to see. All of her.

She crossed her arms instinctively. He caught her wrists, gently.

“Don’t hide. You don’t have to hide from me.”

He kissed down her collarbone. Her throat. Her chest.

Each press of his lips said I see you.

He undressed with her help, her fingers clumsy but determined. When they were both bare, he guided her gently to the bed.

There was no rush.

Just skin. Breath. Connection.

When he finally entered her, he moved slow. So slow it almost hurt. Like he was afraid of overwhelming her. Like he wanted her to feel every inch.

She gasped.

He stilled, watching her. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Please, Steve.”

His name sounded like a prayer in her mouth.

He rocked into her, slow and deep, his hands bracketing her hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her skin.

“You’re real,” he whispered. “Everything you feel is real. Everything I feel is real.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“I hate that I doubted it,” she whispered.

He kissed her temple. “Then let me remind you. Over and over.”

He did.

He kissed her mouth, her neck, her shoulder. Praised her with every thrust. Told her she was loved. Brave. Free.

She clawed at his back, hips meeting his in a rhythm that felt less like sex and more like a vow.

When she came, it was silent. Just a long, shaking breath, her eyes locked on his. Like she was afraid blinking would break the spell.

He followed moments later, gasping her name like it was the only word he remembered.

They didn’t speak for a while.

He lay beside her, one hand stroking her spine, the other wrapped around her shoulders.

She curled into his chest.

“Still scared?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered. “But I believe you.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “Because whatever they did to you, they didn’t change the fact that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She exhaled, shaky but calmer.

“I’ll fight it,” she said. “Whatever’s left of their programming. I’ll fight it.”

“You won’t fight it alone.”

They stayed like that, tangled together, until dawn began to edge through the curtains.

Thank youuuu for reading!! More chapters coming!! Comment if u would like to be added to the tag list!!!

taglist: @meadowgrace

[witchhkitty222]

Built for Pink (mini series)

Tony Stark x reader

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - “Don’t Look at Me Like That”

summary: Tension between Tony and Y/N finally erupts in the lab after days of teasing, stolen glances, and almost moments. A kiss turns into something deeper, forcing both of them to confront their feelings and vulnerabilities — especially when Y/N reveals she’s not as experienced as Tony thought. What started as a flirtation turns into something far more intimate and emotionally raw.

warnings: heavy sexual tension / suggestive themes

wordcount: 2k

The days blurred together in a haze of tension, stolen glances, and almost moments.

Tony Stark had never been the type to play games, but when it came to Y/n  , he was rapidly discovering just how dangerous it could be. She was so fucking easy to tease — and so damn hard to resist.

But tonight... tonight, something was different.

Y/n had come into the lab wearing nothing remotely innocent. Tight black leggings. A barely-there white tank top that showed off her smooth skin. And pink — of course — in the form of a slinky scarf wrapped around her neck.

It was subtle, but Tony noticed everything.

As usual.

Her presence filled the room, and for once, he wasn’t sure whether he could trust himself not to pull her onto his lap and devour her right then and there.

Instead, he focused on the work. Focused on the numbers. Pretended like he wasn't absolutely fucking obsessed with every movement she made.

"You okay, Mr. Stark?" Y/n  's voice broke through the silence.

Tony glanced up from his work, meeting her teasing smile.

"I'm fine," he muttered, turning back to his project, but she wasn’t fooled.

"Oh really?" Y/n stepped closer, her fingers brushing his arm casually. "You don’t look fine. You look... distracted."

He shot her a look, but there was no bite in it. "I'm fine. Don’t worry about me."

She grinned, giving him a look that clearly said, You’re so full of shit.

"Alright," she said, her voice suddenly shifting to something more teasing. "I’ll just finish up here, then." Her voice dropped an octave. "You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. Is that because I’m distracting you?"

Tony’s heart skipped a beat. God, she knew exactly what she was doing.

She was playing with him. Toying with him.

Just like last night.

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

The night dragged on, the tension between them becoming unbearable. Every time she reached up to grab something from a shelf, Tony found his gaze fixed on the curve of her waist. Every time she bent over to pick up a tool, his eyes traced the edge of her top and the thin line of her exposed back.

Finally, he had to get out of there.

"I’m gonna head to my office for a bit," he said, pushing back from the desk and heading toward the door.

But before he could leave, Y/n was right there, blocking the exit with that mischievous little grin of hers.

"Leaving so soon, Mr. Stark?" she asked, stepping closer.

Tony could feel her warmth radiating off of her. He could feel her smell — that soft, feminine fragrance of vanilla and something uniquely her.

Too close. She was too close.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t give him an inch of space.

He swallowed hard, heart hammering in his chest. "Y/n  ..." he warned, his voice low and gravelly.

Her eyes glinted. "What’s the matter, Tony? You scared?"

Scared? Tony Stark was never scared. But right now? He was definitely out of his depth.

His jaw tightened as he tried to push past her, but Y/n was faster.

Before he could react, she gripped his arm, her fingers sliding up his sleeve as she pulled him back toward her.

For a second, Tony thought he might snap.

But then she did it — she pressed her lips against his ear. Whispered in the most seductive voice she could muster:

"Maybe I’m just trying to see how far you’ll let me go."

That was it.

He couldn’t hold back any longer.

Without a word, he grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, pushing her back against the doorframe. His lips crashed down onto hers before she could even breathe, taking her in with a desperate, hungry kiss that was all teeth, tongues, and fire.

Her body melted into his instantly — just like he knew it would.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing every inch of her soft body against him.

The kiss was messy, but it was everything. Every sensation burned into his mind — the softness of her lips, the feel of her hands in his hair, the sound of her breath hitching as he took control.

He wanted her so fucking badly. He needed her.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were panting, hearts racing, faces flushed.

Y/n was the first to speak.

"Didn’t think you had it in you," she said breathlessly, her voice teasing. Her lips were swollen from the kiss, eyes sparkling with that playful fire he loved.

But Tony wasn’t about to let her have the last word.

"You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, sweetheart," he rasped, voice thick with desire.

She smirked, but there was something new in her eyes — something deeper. For the first time, she looked shy. Vulnerable, even.

For a long moment, they both just stood there, breathing hard, neither sure where to go next.

And then Tony realized something: He was no longer in control. He’d let her in — and now she was right there.

In that instant, something inside him shifted. It was no longer about power. It was about her.

And that scared the shit out of him.

The days after the kiss were a tangled mess of emotions, confusion, and that burning tension that neither of them could escape. Tony had kissed Y/n like she was the air he needed to breathe, but now that the kiss was over, he was drowning in her all over again.

And Y/n  ? She was different.

The usual confidence she wore like armor had crumbled just a little bit, leaving a raw, shy vulnerability underneath that she tried so hard to hide. But Tony saw it — felt it.

Her quiet moments. Her stares that lingered too long. The way she fidgeted when their hands brushed.

And he couldn’t help but wonder if he was losing his mind. Because every time she looked at him, he was falling harder.

It was late. The lab was quiet. The hum of the machines was the only sound, until Tony’s voice broke the silence.

"Y/n  ," he said, his voice deep, almost a whisper.

She was sitting at the desk across from him, hunched over a pile of blueprints, scribbling furiously, clearly deep in thought.

Her head jerked up at the sound of her name, and he caught the flash of something in her eyes — panic? Nervousness?

"Yeah?" Her voice was soft, almost unsure.

Tony leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving her. "I need you to stop looking at me like that."

She blinked, confused. "Like what?"

"Like I’m the only thing in the room." His voice was hoarse, almost strained.

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away quickly, focusing on the papers in front of her. "I’m not looking at you like anything."

Tony raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You’re doing it again." His voice was low and teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something darker there. "You really think I haven’t noticed?"

Y/n bit her lip, clearly trying to contain the blush threatening to spread across her face. She stood up abruptly. "I’m just... trying to finish this, Tony."

The sudden movement made Tony’s eyes flick to the way her hips swayed as she moved to the other side of the lab. Every step she took, she moved like she knew exactly what it did to him.

And then she reached for something on a shelf. Her shirt rode up slightly, exposing the soft curve of her lower back.

Tony’s heart pounded, and his mind raced.

He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, but he didn’t care. He was done pretending.

Without warning, he walked across the room, closing the distance between them in seconds. Before Y/n could turn around, he gripped her by the waist, spinning her around so they were face to face.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she froze, eyes wide with surprise.

"Tony," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

His hand slid to her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "You think I don’t know? You think I don’t see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking?"

Y/n swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling with each breath. "I-I don’t know what you mean."

Tony’s thumb gently traced her bottom lip, his touch almost reverent. It took everything in him to stay in control — because he wanted her. He needed her.

"You do," he murmured, stepping even closer, his lips almost brushing hers. "You look at me like you want me. You feel it, don’t you? All this tension between us."

She nodded slightly, her body reacting to the proximity, but there was something more — something in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

"I can feel it too," she whispered.

There was a moment of silence, and then Tony did something he hadn’t planned on doing. He kissed her again. But this time, it wasn’t desperate or hungry. This time, it was slow — deliberate.

He wanted to savor every second. Every inch of her lips. Every breath she took.

Y/n let out a soft gasp as his hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, pressing her body flush against his.

But just when the kiss deepened, just when he thought he might lose control, Y/n pulled away — breaking the kiss with a slight whimper.

"Tony..." she whispered, her eyes wide with confusion and something else — fear? Shyness.

His gaze softened instantly. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing her cheeks. "What’s wrong?"

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. "I’m not... I’m not like you, Tony."

Tony’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Y/n took a deep breath, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "I’m not... experienced. Not like the others."

Tony froze. And then it clicked.

She was a virgin.

His heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected that. Not from someone like her — so confident, so bold. But suddenly, everything made sense.

He softened immediately, pulling her closer again, holding her in a way that felt almost protective.

"I don’t care about any of that," he said softly. "I don’t care who you’ve been with or haven’t been with. I just want you."

He kissed her again, this time slower, more tender — exploring the softness of her lips, feeling her body melt into his with every touch.

When they finally pulled away, Y/n’s face was flushed, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. She wasn’t looking at him like she used to — there was no teasing, no playful glint in her eyes.

Instead, she looked vulnerable.

And Tony... Tony liked it.

Chapter 5

[witchhkitty222]

Built for Pink (mini series)

Tony Stark x reader

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Pink Lace, Sharp Teeth

summary: Tony Stark knows better than to blur lines with the brilliant, infuriating, and temptingly young Y/n — but when she leaves a pair of pink lace panties on his lab door, all bets are off. Obsession builds, restraint cracks, and a midday power play in the lab proves that Tony’s no longer just watching — he’s claiming. But in the game they’re playing, pleasure comes with consequences... and they’re both already in too deep.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), age-gap sexual tension (Tony mid-40s / Y/n early 20s), sexual possession and mild dom/sub dynamics, masturbation, orgasm denial / edging

wordcount: 1.5k

The Tower was silent. Late. Too late.

Tony should have kicked her out hours ago. Should have pulled the plug on the project. Should have pulled the plug on this.

But he didn’t.

Because Y/n in her tiny black shorts and black crop top — no bra, no socks, no shame — was the only thing keeping him alive tonight.

She moved around the lab with that effortless, lazy grace that drove him absolutely crazy. Every step, every stretch, every bend-over moment was a shot straight to his already rock-solid cock.

And she knew it.

When he teased her about not wearing pink, she only smiled, wicked and bright.

"Hidden," she whispered.

He almost came right there on the spot.

For a while, he forced himself to pretend to work. Fixated on numbers and screens instead of the way her bare legs flashed with every movement.

And when she finally gathered her things and yawned dramatically, she smiled at him — so sweetly, so innocently — and said, "Night, Mr. Stark," like nothing was wrong at all.

He barely noticed her leaving.

He barely noticed anything.

Until he looked up... and saw what was hanging on the lab’s door handle.

A tiny, delicate scrap of pink lace.

Y/n ’s panties.

His heart stopped.

For one second. Two.

And then his cock pulsed so violently he nearly stumbled.

"Fuuuck," he rasped under his breath.

He crossed the room before he even made the decision to move. Reached out — hand shaking — and plucked the panties from the door.

They were warm from her skin.

Small. Lacy. Still carrying the faintest scent of her.

Tony crushed the panties in his fist, breathing hard, as a low, primal growl ripped from his chest.

She left them for him.

On purpose.

Daring him. Testing him.

And she had no fucking idea what she had just unleashed.

He didn’t make it far.

He barely made it to his private room — slammed the door behind him — before he was yanking his belt open with one hand, the other still gripping her panties like a lifeline.

His cock sprang free — red, throbbing, already leaking from the tip. Harder than he could ever remember being in his life.

Tony hissed through his teeth, jerking himself once, twice — harsh, messy strokes — while pressing Y/n  ’s panties against his face.

They smelled like her.

Sweet. Forbidden. Absolutely fucking addictive.

He groaned, deep and wrecked, fisting himself faster.

All he could think about was her.

Her mouth. Her eyes. Her tiny little moans. Her body, soft and unmarked, waiting for him to be the first. Only him.

No boys her age. No fumbling hands or sloppy mouths. Only Tony.

Only Tony teaching her exactly how good it could be.

Only him ruining her for everyone else.

He wrapped the panties around his cock — the soft lace brushing over his sensitive skin — and almost came instantly.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned out, head falling back, hips thrusting into his own fist.

"You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart," he gasped, fucking into her panties like a desperate man.

He could picture it perfectly — Y/n pinned under him, pink lace shoved aside, sobbing his name, begging for more, for harder, for all of him.

Coming apart just for him.

The thought ripped him apart.

Tony jerked once, twice — and then he was coming hard, hot, and filthy all over his hand and her panties, gasping her name into the empty room.

When it was over, he leaned against the wall, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his back.

He looked down at the mess he made — the sticky ruin of himself over pink lace — and he didn’t feel ashamed.

He felt possessive.

Wild. Addicted.

Completely, hopelessly fucking hers already.

And she didn’t even know it.

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

The next morning, Tony Stark looked like a man on the edge.

Sunglasses indoors. Three espressos before 8am. And the most dangerously short fuse anyone had seen in months.

Happy kept his distance. FRIDAY kept her sass levels low. Even the Roombas took one look at him and detoured.

Only Y/n  , of course, seemed totally oblivious. Or maybe she wasn’t.

Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing when she sauntered into the lab at 10:03 AM — late, unbothered, and wearing this.

Tiny pink tank top. No bra. A short pink tennis skirt. Pink socks. And a little white hair bow perched on top of her messy bun.

Pink everywhere.

Tony nearly choked on his coffee.

"Morning, Mr. Stark," she said sweetly, plopping down at her workstation, crossing her legs so the skirt rode dangerously high up her thigh.

His cock twitched so hard he had to subtly shift behind the counter.

She was playing with him. Toying with him. After last night — after leaving her fucking panties on his door handle — she knew exactly what she was doing.

Two could play that game.

He smirked lazily, leaning back against the counter.

"You're late," he said, voice low and rough.

Y/n batted her lashes. "Sorry, Mr. Stark. I had trouble picking out what to wear. You know... needed something appropriate for work."

She stretched her arms over her head — that pink tank top riding up, flashing a strip of her flat stomach and the very edge of her pink lace panties underneath the skirt.

Tony's fingers curled into fists.

He was going to fuck her against the lab table one day soon. And they were both going to love it.

They tried to work.

They really did.

But Y/n kept teasing — bending over for tools, crossing and uncrossing her legs, humming little songs under her breath.

And Tony kept watching her — every. single. second. His cock was half-hard for hours.

He kept flashing back to last night — her panties wrapped around his hand, her scent in his lungs, her name on his lips as he came like a fucking teenager.

Now she was right in front of him, in pink, smiling like an angel and acting like she hadn't ruined him already.

It all fell apart around noon.

They were supposed to be calibrating micro-energy sensors. Instead, Y/n dropped one — and when she bent down to pick it up, Tony caught the barest glimpse of her panties.

Pink.

Lacy.

The exact match to the pair she had left him last night.

And Tony lost it.

"Come here," he said — rough, commanding.

Y/n blinked up at him, wide-eyed. "Hmm?"

He was already crossing the room.

In three strides, he was in front of her. Close enough to feel the heat of her body.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to ruin.

"Mr. Stark—" she started.

He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up.

"You think you’re funny, don’t you?" he murmured, voice dark and dangerous.

Y/n  ’s eyes gleamed with challenge.

"Maybe a little," she breathed.

He chuckled low in his throat — pure sin.

And then his hand slid down.

Down her throat. Down her chest. Down her stomach.

Until his fingers skimmed the hem of her skirt.

Until he was cupping her pussy through the thin lace of her pink panties.

She gasped — soft, desperate.

Her thighs trembled.

"Found the pink," he whispered.

For one suspended second, they just stared at each other — breathing hard, bodies frozen.

And then Tony pushed forward, pressing her back against the lab counter.

Grinding his hips against hers, letting her feel exactly how hard he was.

She whimpered — a tiny, helpless sound that made him even harder.

"Shhh, baby," he crooned into her ear, voice rough velvet. "You’re the one who started this."

He dragged his fingers up and down over the damp heat between her legs — slow and maddening.

"So wet already," he muttered. "Fuck, Y/n/n. You’ve been walking around all morning like this?"

She nodded, cheeks flaming.

"For me?"

She nodded again.

Tony swore violently under his breath.

"You have no idea what you’re doing to me," he groaned, grinding against her harder, letting her feel every thick inch of him.

Y/n  ’s hands scrabbled at his shoulders, clinging.

Tony bent down — pressed a filthy, desperate kiss just below her ear.

"You’re mine, princess," he growled. "You fucking hear me? None of those boys your age could ever touch you like this. Only me."

Her hips bucked helplessly against his hand — seeking more.

Tony grinned against her neck.

"Good girl," he whispered.

And then he slid his hand under her panties — bare skin on bare skin — fingers parting her folds and finding her swollen, dripping little clit.

Y/n gasped out loud, arching into him.

Tony bit down on her shoulder — gently, possessively — as he rubbed slow, devastating circles.

"You gonna cum for me?" he whispered hotly into her ear. "You gonna make a mess all over my hand like a good girl?"

She whimpered — right on the edge.

But just when she started to fall over it — when her body started to tremble and her moans started to rise —

Tony pulled away.

Abruptly. Completely.

Leaving her gasping, wrecked, teetering on the edge.

She stared up at him, betrayed and wild-eyed.

Tony smirked, licking his fingers slowly, tasting her.

"You want more, princess?" he purred. "You’re gonna have to earn it."

And then he turned and walked away — leaving her panting and ruined against the lab table.

Chapter 4

[witchhkitty222]

Built for Pink (mini series)

Tony Stark x reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Don’t Dance with Fire

summary: At a glamorous charity gala, Tony Stark planned to suffer through small talk and champagne — until Y/n walked in wearing a pink dress that redefined temptation. What starts as a playful, stolen dance quickly spirals into something far more dangerous, sparking heat and rumors in equal measure. But not everyone’s thrilled about the rising tension between Tony and his pretty pink engineer… and Pepper Potts is already sharpening her claws.

warnings: age-gap romantic/sexual tension (Tony is older, Y/n is 22), jealousy and possessiveness 

wordcount: 1.1k

It was supposed to be a simple gala.

A charity event. Some light schmoozing. A couple of polite smiles for the cameras.

Tony hated it already.

The only reason he agreed to go was because Pepper forced him — the only reason he didn’t ditch halfway through was because Y/n showed up.

In a dress.

A pink one, obviously.

But not just any pink dress.

A short, silky, cling-to-every-curve, low-cut-and-high-slit kind of pink dress. The kind of dress that turned heads the second she walked into the room — and every guy under thirty (and some over) stared at her like she was candy.

Tony gritted his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn’t crack.

He kept a careful distance — he had to — but his eyes were glued to her all night. When she laughed too brightly. When she bent to grab a glass of champagne. When some finance bro with too much gel tried to get her number.

Fuck.

He needed a drink. Or a lobotomy.

Maybe both.

"Old man," a voice teased next to him.

Tony turned — and there she was, beaming up at him, pink dress glittering under the chandeliers.

"Shouldn’t you be home? It’s past your bedtime."

He snorted. "Says the kid still wearing glitter like it’s 2008."

Y/n pouted dramatically, then leaned in — so close he caught the faint smell of strawberries and vanilla from her skin.

"Jealous, Mr. Stark?" she whispered, voice dripping with mock innocence.

Tony’s jaw flexed. "No."

Liar.

Y/n  ’s smile sharpened.

"Good," she said, tilting her head, mischief burning in her eyes. "Because you owe me a dance."

Before he could react, she grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor.

The song was slow. Dangerous.

The kind of song that wasn't really for dancing — it was for touching.

Y/n slid her hands up his shoulders casually, like she had every right to. Tony’s hands settled at her waist automatically — and when he realized just how small it was, how easy it would be to lift her right off the ground, he nearly groaned out loud.

They swayed.

It was innocent. Technically. But the way Y/n  ’s body brushed against his with every step? The way her dress shifted to reveal even more of those long, devastating legs?

It was hell.

Her hands slipped higher, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Tony stiffened — every nerve lighting up.

"You’re so tense, Mr. Stark," she murmured. "You try resisting temptation when temptation’s wearing pink," he muttered back.

Y/n smirked.

"Who said you have to resist?"

She said it so softly, so sweetly — but it hit him like a freight train.

Tony pulled back slightly, enough to look down at her. Her eyes were huge, sparkling with trouble and something hotter, deeper.

He should walk away. He should end this right now.

Instead, his hands tightened on her waist, fingers pressing into soft curves he had no business touching.

"You keep playing with fire, Princess," he warned lowly. "You might get burned."

Y/n only smiled — slow and wicked — and leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"I’m not afraid of a little heat."

-----------

Across the room, Happy Hogan leaned on the bar, watching with wide eyes.

He elbowed the woman standing next to him — Pepper Potts — and nodded toward the dance floor.

"Uh... am I seeing this right?"

Pepper followed his gaze — and her jaw tightened almost immediately.

Tony and Y/n, way too close, swaying like nobody else existed. Tony’s hands lingering way too low on her hips. Y/n’s smile way too private.

Pepper narrowed her eyes sharply.

"She’s just a kid," she said, voice tight and clipped. "Tony’s a grown man. He has no business getting involved with someone that young."

Happy hesitated. "I mean... she’s legal, right? Smart too. Built that micro-energy thingy. Tony’s impressed."

Pepper scoffed bitterly.

"Yeah, well, it takes more than a science fair project and a short dress to know how to live in Tony’s world. She’s reckless. Immature. She’ll end up getting hurt — or worse, dragging him down with her."

Happy raised his eyebrows but stayed quiet.

Pepper crossed her arms, glare still burning holes into the dance floor.

In her mind, she was already making a list — reasons why Tony needed to stay away from the pretty little distraction in pink.

And she wasn’t going to let this go.

Not without a fight.

Chapter 3