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mostly-marvel-musings · 12 days ago

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Chapter 11 - Terms and Conditions

A/N: There we are! The final chapter of this series. It was an amazing ride 🥹💙 thank you for sticking along!!

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

The first thing you registered was warmth.

Not the artificial heat of Extremis, but the soft kind.

Sunlight and cotton sheets. Perhaps the distant murmur of voices beyond the door.

You shifted, barely. Every inch of you ached, like your body was still arguing about whether it should be alive.

But you were. Somehow.

The door creaked open, and Tony was there.

Sleep-deprived and hollow-eyed. A fading cut above his brow.

But breathing.

And when he saw you blink just once and his knees nearly buckled.

“Oh thank god,” he whispered, dropping to the side of your bed like gravity had finally won.

He didn’t touch you. Just watched you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked.

“Hey,” you croaked, voice barely audible.

He let out a broken laugh. “Hello wifey.”

You wanted to ask what had happened. What they’d done. What you were now.

But you couldn’t. Not so soon. Your throat burned and ribs protested every breath.

So he spoke for you.

“You’re stable. Whatever Killian did, Rhodey and I got you out before it could finish rewriting you. You had a seizure. You stopped breathing. But you’re okay. Or…you will be.”

A pause. “Medically. The rest, I don’t know.”

Your brow furrowed.

He caught it. Nodded.

“Killian’s gone.”

[FLASHBACK]

It hadn’t been clean and it wasn’t surgical.

It was war.

After the serum hit your system and you collapsed, Tony had lost control.

He’d torn through the lab with repurposed tech and raw rage and a mind sharper than any blade.

A flash grenade he’d built from scrap in the car, a pressure-trigger dart launcher rigged from a glove, and a handful of physics-bending gadgets meant to disarm, disorient, destroy.

Killian hadn’t gotten a villain’s monologue this time.

He’d barely gotten a scream.

Tony had caught him mid-command, slamming him against a concrete beam with a taser dart embedded in his ribs.

A quick flip of a switch, and electricity surged through his system, shorting the extremis core long enough to immobilize him.

The syringe had clattered to the floor, still dripping with your blood.

“Try healing from this,” Tony had growled, voice shredded with grief and fury.

He squeezed Killian’s throat without mercy, eyes blazing as he finished the deed with no remorse.

Sparks flew. Heat bloomed from the walls. But Tony hadn’t flinched.

He’d just watched Killian crumple to the floor, twitching.

“Don’t ever touch what’s mine again.”

Then he’d scooped you into his arms and ran.

Rhodey had met him halfway with evac.

Happy had already been clearing the building with backup, barely holding it together.

[Now]

You blinked back tears. He saw it, and finally reached for your hand.

“I shouldn’t have let it get this far,” he said softly. “I thought I could handle it. That I could protect you just by being me. Turns out… being me is the reason you got hurt.”

You squeezed his fingers, weak, but steady.

“You got me back.”

He laughed again, brittle and raw. “Barely.”

A knock came at the door.

Rhodey stepped in. “Hey, genius. Let her rest. You’ve been hovering for six hours.”

Tony didn’t move.

Rhodey walked over, gently squeezed your shoulder. “Good to see you awake. You scared the hell out of us.”

Happy peeked in behind him, giving a sheepish wave and blinking too much. “I’ve got soup. Real soup. Not IV soup.”

You smiled at the people you could now proudly call family.

“I’ll be right outside,” Tony said quietly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Yell if you need anything. Even if it’s just to tell me to shut up.”

He rose and walked out just slow enough to give you time to call him back.

You didn’t.

But as the door clicked closed, you finally exhaled.

Alive and safe.

And maybe—just maybe—not entirely broken.

Some time later…

You sat in the front row of the MIT auditorium, surrounded by a sea of students who buzzed with the kind of excitement only Tony Stark could stir. The stage was all sleek lines and over-the-top tech, holograms already hovering like obedient fireflies above him. He stood there in that immaculate designer suit, the one that made him look half rockstar, half billionaire menace.

“Ladies, gentlemen, geniuses in training, welcome to storytime,” he began, voice dripping with that trademark Stark sarcasm. “I’m here to show you something groundbreaking, revolutionary, and, uh… poorly named.” He clicked his fingers, and the holograms shifted. A 3D model bloomed above his head. “B.A.R.F.,” he announced. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. “That’s right, I spent billions of dollars to say the word ‘barf’ in front of you. You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth wouldn’t budge. Classic Tony.

He launched into the demo, tossing lines left and right, narrating like it was a comedy special rather than the unveiling of a cutting-edge neuro-interface system. Images flickered, memories reconstructed in perfect detail, entire environments blooming out of nothing. The crowd gasped in all the right places, laughed when he wanted them to, and you could almost see the way his ego stretched its legs onstage.

And then almost imperceptibly, he slowed down. His gaze swept the crowd, then landed on you.

“Here’s the thing,” he said, his tone shifting into something quieter, something that slid under your ribs. “For most of my life, I built things because I didn’t know what else to do. I patched holes with tech. Covered up… a lot.” His hand gestured vaguely toward his chest, but his eyes never left yours. “This—” he waved at the holograms swirling like constellations “—isn’t just a distraction. It’s not another shiny toy to keep me busy. It’s…better. Because I’m better.”

You felt the auditorium blur, just for a second. It was only the two of you, with hundreds of brilliant minds pretending not to notice that Tony Stark was being human.

“And,” he continued, lips quirking into that lopsided grin, “I owe that to my wife. She makes me… recalibrate. Forces me to look past my own programming. Makes me think maybe I’m worth the trouble.” A few chuckles fluttered through the room, but you caught the raw edge in his voice, the truth disguised as humor.

Your throat tightened.

He raised a brow, tilting his head toward you like he knew exactly what you were feeling. “So, yeah. Thanks to her, you’re looking at the less-destructive version of Tony Stark. You’re welcome, Earth.” A ripple of laughter broke through the heaviness, but his eyes lingered on you, warm.

And then he pulled the curtain back up, sliding seamlessly into swagger. “Anyway. B.A.R.F.—life-changing, reality-bending, acronym still up for debate. Applications include: therapy, education, and making your enemies relive their most embarrassing middle school moments in high-def. Don’t say I didn’t give you ideas.”

The students roared with laughter, the spell broken, and Tony basked in it, arms spread like a king on his throne. But you knew better. You saw the truth hidden in the cracks of his performance. The thank you that was meant just for you.

And sitting there, you thought, only Tony Stark could bare his heart to a crowd and still make it sound like the punchline of the century.

Backstage the technicians darted around with clipboards and comms, buzzing about how well the demo had gone, but Tony cut through them like a shark through water, straight toward you.

“You cried,” he said the moment he reached you, no greeting, no preamble. Just that infuriating Stark smirk.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I did not.”

He leaned in close, tie slightly loosened now that the spotlight had cooled. “Mhm. Sure. Totally explains why you were blinking like a broken windshield wiper out there.”

Heat crept up your neck. “That was dust. Ever heard of it? Exists in places other than your workshop.”

Tony’s grin widened, eyes glinting. “MIT auditorium. State-of-the-art air filtration. Not a speck of dust. Nice try, though.”

You groaned, turning to walk, but he caught your wrist gently, that smirk softened into something that made your chest ache.

“You know I meant it, right?” he asked, quieter now. The crowd’s roar was gone, the techs’ chatter a distant hum. It was just the two of you in this little pocket of stillness.

Your throat went tight again, but you forced a smile. “Yeah, Stark. I know.”

He studied you for a long second, like he was filing away the sight of you for some future night when he’d need the reminder. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he released your wrist and put the armor back on.

“Well,” he said, straightening his suit, “if you’re going to get all misty-eyed at my speeches, I’ll have to start charging admission. That kind of performance doesn’t come cheap.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming, yes.” He slipped his arm around your waist as the staff began waving him toward the after-event reception.

“Come on, Mrs. Stark. Let's bask in the glow of my genius. And by ‘bask,’ I mean eat the free appetizers while I make bad jokes at your expense.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, and let him lead you out. Because at the end of the day, beneath all the bravado, the man had just stood in front of a room full of brilliant minds and told them you were the reason he was better.

And no amount of snark could hide the truth of that.

Before you could tease him about it, Tony tilted his head down and kissed you, quick at first, almost boyish, turning into something steadier, lingering, like he was afraid you’d slip away into the crowd. His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you close, and for once there wasn’t an audience, no stage, no spotlight. Just him, tasting like coffee and victory, giving you the kind of kiss that said every word he hadn’t dared put into his speech.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I really did just kiss my wife in the middle of MIT,” he whispered, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“Not bad for a marriage that was supposed to be nothing but contracts and signatures, huh?”

#tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #tony stark fluff #tony stark #the stark squad #arranged marriage au #marvel fanfiction #iron man fanfiction #iron man #aldrich killian #extremis #mostly marvel musings #tony stark x female reader #tony stark x you

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mostly-marvel-musings · 18 days ago

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Holding Your Ground

A/N: Just a lil something till I finish some other WIPs. Let me know your thoughts!

Pairing: Logan x Female Reader

Warning: none.

Logan Howlett Masterlist

You weren’t exactly in the mood for training.

Not that you were ever in the mood for it when Logan was your partner. The man had a knack for finding your limits and shoving you right up against them, sometimes over.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he drawled from across the mat, twirling his practice staff like it weighed nothing. “You move like that in the field, you’ll get yourself killed.”

You tightened your grip on your own staff, planting your feet. “And you keep talking like that, I might just let you find out how sharp this thing really is.”

His smirk was slow and infuriating. “There’s the bite. Thought you’d gone soft on me for a second.”

You rolled your eyes and lunged before he could add anything else. The clash of wood on wood rang sharp in the air, your momentum driving him back a step. He absorbed it easily, twisting his body and swinging low. You blocked, the vibration of the hit jolting up your arms.

He moved like he had all the time in the world smooth, controlled. You, on the other hand, pushed harder, trying to throw him off. But Logan was built for this. He sidestepped your strike and let it pass harmlessly, then pivoted so his staff caught yours from the side and shoved you back.

“Better,” he said, voice maddeningly calm. “Still predictable.”

That word burned hotter than the muscles in your shoulders. Predictable. You hated it more than you hated his smirk.

You didn’t answer—just attacked again. This time your blows came in fast succession, each one meant to force him into defense. His arms absorbed the impact without giving ground. The sting in your muscles didn’t slow you; it made you sharper.

“Gonna burn yourself out, kid,” he grunted, blocking a particularly heavy strike.

“I’m not your kid.”

The words came out sharper than you meant, and you saw his eyes narrow, just a fraction. He’d caught something in your tone you didn’t want him to. But instead of pushing it, he pressed forward with a sudden flurry of moves that drove you back toward the edge of the mat.

You pivoted and hooked your foot behind his ankle in a quick, risky maneuver. He stumbled half a step before recovering, that damn grin tugging at his mouth.

“Cute.”

“Not trying to be cute.” You gritted your teeth.

The rhythm shifted again, dodges, feints, a strike that nearly disarmed you before you twisted away. Sweat was starting to bead at your hairline, your breath coming fast. You caught him with a solid hit to the ribs, earning a grunt of acknowledgment.

And then, faster than you could adjust, he swept your legs out from under you.

You hit the mat with a muted thud, air leaving your lungs in a sharp breath. Before you could recover, he was crouched over you, one hand on your shoulder, the other braced beside your head. His weight was enough to keep you there, but not enough to hurt.

“Done?” he asked, voice low, still catching his breath.

“Get off me.” You met his gaze evenly.

“Answer the question.”

“Fine. Done—for now.”

He held your eyes for another moment, then pushed himself up. He offered you a hand, but you ignored it and got to your feet on your own, brushing yourself off.

“Y’know,” he said, watching you, “most people don’t give me that much fight.”

“Then they’re not trying hard enough,” you shot back.

That earned you a real smile, not the smug one. Just a flicker, but it was there.

The day wound down, and you ended up in the rec room long after most of the team had turned in. You were stretched out on the couch with a glass of water, half-watching a muted news channel. The quiet was nice.

Logan walked in without making a sound, which was unfair for a man his size. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, glanced your way, then sat in the chair across from you.

You expected him to make some comment about earlier, but he didn’t. He just drank his beer and sat there like the silence suited him.

“You fight like you mean it,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the point?”

“Yeah. But you also fight like you’re keepin’ somethin’ locked up.”

You tensed, leaning back into the couch. “Not everything needs to be shared.”

“Didn’t say it did.” He took another sip, his gaze steady. “Just means I know better than to underestimate you.”

That shouldn’t have meant anything. But something in your chest loosened anyway.

“You planning to get all deep on me now, Logan?”

“Nah,” he said, a small smirk returning. “Just observin’.”

You shook your head and went back to staring at the muted screen, though you could still feel the weight of his attention. The hum of the fridge and the faint creak of his chair filled the space between you.

Neither of you said much else. But neither of you left, either.

Later, when you finally stood to leave, he caught your eye. “You got a hell of a right hook,” he said.

“You’re not bad yourself,” you replied, and that earned you another one of those real smiles, the ones he didn’t hand out lightly.

And then you walked out without looking back, the air still charged between you, the rest unspoken.

#logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #james logan howlett #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fluff #marvel fanfiction #xmen fanfiction #mostly marvel musings

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mostly-marvel-musings · 19 days ago

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may all your favorite fanfic writers never lose their hyperfixation and love for your blorbos so they keep writing fanfics about your blorbos forever

#writing #writer #fanfic #fanfiction

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mostly-marvel-musings · 22 days ago

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Petition for Stark Men gossiping, too? Anyone? I need them gossiping about their sex lives and being besties, that's what fanfics are for, right? Thanks for the idea, anon

It would heal all Stark related wounds 🥹

#anon asks #the stark squad

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mostly-marvel-musings · 22 days ago

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You are the best smut writer here, please don't leave us without smut 🥺

🥲

Okay!! Let me see what I can cook up!

#anon asks #the stark squad

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mostly-marvel-musings · 26 days ago

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Hey, when do you plan on posting the next chapter of Terms and Conditions? (no pressure, I just love this story so much)

Hello!!!

I’m finishing some last minute editing for the next chapter, which mayyyybe the last. Should be done by today.

Thanks ✨

#anon asks #the stark squad #terms and conditions

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mostly-marvel-musings · 26 days ago

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small things we should appreciate more

the chirping of birds in the early morning

the way the sun shines through the trees

nature after it just rained

constantly learning new things every day

libraries, bookshops, bakeries and coffeeshops

#bakeries #library #books and libraries #cottagecore #libraries #bookshops #coffeeshops

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mostly-marvel-musings · 27 days ago

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Heyyy how are you? Can you make a tony Stark x reader where she is her therapist, and I don't know, maybe they find comfort in each other and the fall in love, and these things 🙏❤️

The Therapist

A/N: Hope you like this! Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you did.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Therapist! Reader

Warnings: fluff

Tony Stark Masterlist

He’s late. Again.

You don’t even check the clock this time. The glass of water on the side table has already gone warm, and your pen hovers idly over your notes, blank, because you learned about three sessions in that trying to analyze Tony Stark is like trying to deconstruct a hurricane.

When he does appear, it’s with the usual performance: sunglasses indoors, a thousand-dollar suit slightly wrinkled like he’s just wrestled with a board meeting or his own guilt (probably both), and that smirk, that signature he wears like armor.

“So sorry, doc,” he drawls, sweeping into your office like he owns the place. “Got caught up saving the world. You know how it is.”

You give him a level look, but you don’t scold him. That never works. You’ve learned to wait him out instead. Silence is your weapon.

And he hates it.

“…You’re mad at me.”

“Are you projecting, Mr. Stark?” You raise a brow.

“Touché.” His lips twitch.

But there’s the part he didn’t expect as your sessions progress.

You don’t flinch when he deflects, you don’t dance around the grief, the trauma, the guilt, all the ghosts clinging to his genius like shadows. You’re calm, soft-spoken, occasionally sarcastic when he needs it.

And slowly, the Iron Man begins to unravel.

It’s in the small things first.

He stops checking his phone during sessions.

He brings coffee once. “It’s not a bribe, I swear. It’s just that your office smells like herbal tea and judgment.”

He stays past the hour mark without realizing it.

He tells you about the panic attacks, the nightmares. The reactor that hums beneath his chest, a glowing reminder that death has brushed past him more than once.

One day, you say, “You don’t have to keep earning your right to live, Tony.”

His head snaps up at that. You’ve never called him that before. And he’s never let someone say something like that before.

But it lands.

And there comes a time when it changes.

It’s after a particularly brutal mission. You aren’t his therapist that day, you’re the emergency contact.

You find him sitting on your office couch, bloody knuckles and bruised pride, long after hours.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says quietly.

You sit beside him, silent. Patient as always.

He leans his head on your shoulder. You don’t move, not that you want to anyway.

And he falls asleep like that like a child. Like a man who hasn’t known peace in years.

It had always been against the rules.

Your contract with Stark Industries made it abundantly clear: no fraternization with clients, especially high-profile, high-liability assets like Tony Stark. Your license, your job, and the fragile sense of professional distance you’d spent years cultivating… all on the line.

And yet there you were.

Standing in your office, the air thick with something unspoken, as Tony Stark looked at you like you were the only safe place on earth.

“I know I’m not supposed to be here,” he murmured, voice low, hoarse from exhaustion or emotion, you couldn’t tell anymore. “I know this crosses every line in your ethics handbook. I read it, by the way. Boring. No pictures.”

You managed a breath of a laugh.

“Tony…” You swallowed hard. “You’re my client.”

“Not anymore,” he said quickly, a little too quickly. “I talked to HR. I requested a reassignment. Effective last week.”

Your heart stuttered.

He must’ve seen the panic bloom across your expression, because he stepped closer, careful and slow, as if you were a bomb he didn’t want to trigger.

“I didn’t do it because of this,” he said. “I mean—okay, maybe I did, but not for the reasons you think. I just…I couldn’t sit across from you every week, pretending like I wasn’t falling for you.”

There it was.

Your brain screamed unprofessional while your heart, traitorous and loud, whispered finally.

“I told myself it was just admiration,” he went on, almost to himself now. “You’re smart, you’re calm, you don’t let me bulldoze you and God knows I tried. But then you started living in the quiet parts of my day. In between the headlines and the explosions, there you were.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came out. You were drowning in everything, his words, the sharp cut of honesty in them, the longing you’d buried under professionalism and boundaries and ethics clauses.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Tony said softly. “I just needed you to know. I’ll walk out that door and never bring it up again if you ask me to. But don’t lie and tell me you didn’t feel it too.”

And there it was again. That quiet, soul-deep truth.

You had felt it in every lingering look, every shared silence, every time he let his walls down for you.

You had wanted him long before he said the words aloud.

And it wasn’t right.

But God, it felt inevitable.

“I should tell you to leave,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tony nodded once. “You should.”

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

Instead, you looked up at him, eyes locked, breath caught and took one slow, shattering step forward.

And when he kissed you, tentative at first, reverent, it didn’t feel like breaking a rule.

It felt like coming home.

#tony stark x reader #anon asks #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #tony stark fluff #the stark squad #marvel fanfiction #tony stark #mostly marvel musings #iron man x reader #iron man fanfiction #iron man fic #iron man #tony stark x female reader

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