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karimac · 10 months ago

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@darsynia, you have done it again!

Before I started reading your story, I was watching a video on YouTube talking about RDJ reprising his Iron Man role in one of the now pushed back MCU films, and they had shots of the MIT speech in the video. I can just see your OC in that audience now, along with her very enthusiastic roommate!

You really had me at this line: “Just considering the data on the thickness of that lipstick. Can you count the hours of reapplication like tree rings, do you think?” I can hear that plain as day and just see RDJ saying it.

I can also hear him in this line oh so clearly: “If this counts as the ball, you might want to have a word with your fairy godmother. She’s skimping on fabric quality,” he remarks.

And her comeback? “Obviously I’m on India Standard Time, and these are my rags,” she says, smiling up at him sweetly.

Perfection.

Can't wait to go on to Part II!

Tony/OC | In Search of a Fairy Tale pt. I

Hello there! In honor of @patheticallysentimental's birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYYY!!) I thought I'd post a Tony smut fic I wrote in her honor a little while back! It's two chapters which I'll split as it got away from me in some of the best ways, haha.

Pairing: Tony/OC, set during Iron Man 2

Warnings: set up for smut, language

Summary: Shortly after his triumph in the senate hearing, Tony fulfills his yearly obligation to MIT by guest-teaching a lecture there. His celebrity often causes some of the students to react enthusiastically, but this year, a lovely student in the front row catches his eye. Not because she's trying to get his attention, but because she's not.

Length: ~4,500 each chapter

Part II is up now! https://darsynia.tumblr.com/post/667769373637984256/tony-starkoc-in-search-of-a-fairy-tale-part-ii

In Search of a Fairy Tale

Chapter 1

In between searching for a replacement for palladium and turning his PA into his CEO, Tony still has his regular, non-peacekeeping responsibilities. One of these is a yearly promise to guest lecture at MIT, above and beyond the flashy visits he makes periodically. He can’t even remember what the subject is, but the professor had been one of his TAs, and he’s good at his job. Tony shakes the man’s hand and heads for the podium to a standing ovation. The guy had promised to leave him a loose outline, and sure enough, it’s there. Tony supposes he should feel at least slightly guilty when he looks up and sees the sea of excited faces arrayed in front of him, considering his lack of preparation, but then again, he’s Tony Stark.

It’s practically expected.

He starts the lecture with a swaggering kind of false self-deprecation, learning his audience in a way that’s not dissimilar to a stand-up comic. There’s a group of young men who are seated in the very center of the room whose laid-back body language belie their interest in what he has to say. For the first five minutes, Tony circles his words around them. The ringleader calls out a particularly clever answer to one of Tony’s bait questions, and this sets the mood for the whole space. He’d almost forgotten how to enjoy this in the midst of all of his personal shit, Tony thinks to himself. Thankfully, it’s all coming back.

Now that he’s got a focal point for engagement, Tony settles in, lets himself relax into his phrenetic style. He’s always known that people value his attention, and he bestows it generously-- pointing to a good response here, winking at a student there, earning and holding eye contact with multiple people. That’s when he sees her. Front row: black corduroy slacks, long legs, tight sweater, though the young lady in question quickly tips her textbook up against her chest, concealing her curves from view. She turns her head to look behind her at the student answering Tony’s question, which reminds him that he should be doing the same.

He shifts his focus despite being intrigued, because the glimpse of her face he’d caught had been, well. Likely deceptive. Women that beautiful don’t tend to bother with engineering for engineering’s sake, and they certainly don’t tend to hide themselves from him.

When he traces his gaze back in her direction a few minutes later, Tony finds that she’s seated beside the exact archetype he’d been mentally comparing her to. This second student is dressed in stark crimson, pun almost certainly intended. Red stilettos, barely-legal miniskirt, form-fitting top complete with a filmy gold and red knee-length cover-up that he’s pretty sure is sold in the lingerie section. She’s got an Iron Man water bottle on the desk in front of her, and when she sees him looking, the girl coquettishly leans over with bright scarlet lipstick to wrap her mouth around the thick straw.

Happy’s advice has always been to let his eyes linger on women like that precisely once. Deliberately pretending not to notice them never works, but dismissing them does. They can tell themselves Tony’s already found his target for the day and found them lacking in comparison, but only if he clearly notices them in the first place.

He’s sliding his eyes away, his hands moving to illustrate the point his mind and mouth are making on autopilot, when Tony sees Miss Reticent Tight-sweater nudge her friend with an elbow, finally dislodging her from her straw lovemaking. He barks a quick question for the room to percolate on for a few seconds and tips his head to the side, watching. The more conservative of the two girls is hissing something at her companion, who is grinning at him, obviously delighted at having caught his eye twice. Shit.

“Something you wanted?” the red-clad student calls out brazenly.

“Just considering the data on the thickness of that lipstick. Can you count the hours of reapplication like tree rings, do you think?” he asks with exaggerated curiosity. By acknowledging something about her outfit while implying maybe it’s a bit too overdone, he hopes the let down is obvious enough. The reaction of the room implies as much, given the behavior of her classmates. She hams it up, pulling out her lipstick and applying more, right then and there.

He’s meant to be observing this, so Tony positions himself as though he is, but instead, he watches the woman seated beside her.

Her face is uncommonly beautiful. Even from his distant vantage point, he can see that she has sweet features framed by wisps of hair that have escaped her severe bun. It’s early May, but her thick sweater is more suited for deep winter, likewise the corduroy pants she’s wearing. She’s biting her lower lip and watching the seat beside her with trepidation, clearly uncomfortable with the way her companion is putting herself on display. Tony should have long since stopped looking at her, but he can see in his peripheral vision that the other girl’s almost done preening, so he grants himself this one indulgence.

Then, the object of his scrutiny flicks her lovely eyes in his direction, releasing her lip from her teeth in shock to see that he’s actually looking at her. Suddenly, he wants her, this obviously shy, gorgeous girl who is hiding her beauty behind clothing a whole season removed from the weather outside. Tony knows instinctively that while the girl beside her would welcome his interest, this woman would not. In fact, she’s widening her eyes at him, as if pleading for him to look away.

He does, because he has a point he wants to get to before the class is dismissed. For the next fifteen minutes, Tony is disciplined. He doesn’t look at her, he doesn’t look at her tarted-up friend, all the while hoping that the delighted desire that’s curling up his spine and tingling through his veins will be assuaged by a last-minute glance. She’s interested in his mind, that much is clear. That’s the hard part.

Tony’s an expert at the rest.

As often happens, as soon as their professor ends the class, students rush to the front of the room, anxious to get a chance to talk to Tony. The crush of bodies blocks his view, something he should have expected. He’s not surprised when the number of hangers-on thins out and the only student he’d actually wanted to speak with is already gone. He’s supposed to be angling towards monogamy anyway, Tony tells himself. He and Pepper haven’t really talked about the potential that floats between them, but her overall message about his legendary wandering eye was very clear: he’s either interested in Pepper or he’s interested in other women, but there’s no point in a relationship if he’s interested in both.

It’s… taking some time.

Tony takes his leave from the knot of students still hanging around, thanking their professor for ensuring nothing else is scheduled after the class in the same space. The one time that had happened, Tony had needed to call Happy for backup. Hogan had gone overboard, so much so that Tony’s just left him at home for the MIT trip every year since. This had the added benefit of freeing him up to eschew his hotel room in favor of staying with a willing college student (or, memorably, three roommates).

This year was supposed to be different, and now that the shy, lovely student has snuck away, he guesses it will have to be.

If he can’t fool around, he can at least drink, so when (after the fancy dinner Tony treats him to) the professor he’s just guested for invites him to join some of his colleagues in the faculty lounge, that’s what Tony does, late into the evening.

Unfortunately, not even high quality whiskey can chase away the twist of desire that tangles his thoughts with longing.

***

Sometime after eleven PM, everyone goes their separate ways. It turns out that all of the other men are headed home to their wives, and that’s how Tony knows he’s not thoroughly drunk, because he consciously stops himself from making a self-deprecating comment.

He’s still coming up with things he could have said as he makes his way through the building. ‘You go home to your ladies, and I’ll start looking for my lady of the night’ would have been a solid contender-- but then again, maybe he is tipsy. Tony’s never had to pay for sex, and joking about doing so after a few glasses of whiskey is the sort of thing that could show up in a gossip rag by the morning. Especially after that senate hearing.

He ducks into a bathroom and does his business. At the mirror, Tony sees that he’d fucked up buttoning his shirt back up after showing off his arc reactor in the faculty lounge. He does it right this time, but while tucking the shirt in, he clumsily knocks his car keys out of his pants pocket.

Tony heaves a huge sigh, frowning at himself in the mirror. It’s starting to look like a bad idea to leave Hogan at home. He definitely can’t drive to the hotel, and he really shouldn’t risk taking a taxi right now (he doesn’t feel impaired, but he obviously is). The only solution is to kill time here on campus. The low-level arousal that’s been plaguing him since the lecture flares up with that thought. There’s almost no chance that the girl is still awake, even less of a chance that he could find her. Still, what else is there to do?

Tony picks up his suit jacket and puts it back on, adjusting the sleeves. The door swings open and a bearded student walks in, pausing in recognition.

“There a place you kids congregate after hours?” Tony asks. The guy looks at him like he’s crazy, so he adds, “Looking to return something I borrowed.” If he can ‘return’ this attraction, cash it in for a night of pleasure, he’s all in.

The kid eyes him with amusement. “If it was booze, I got some bad news for you, Stark.”

“Yeah, yeah. MIT tenure pays for the good whiskey,” Tony says with a dismissive wave, starting for the door.

“Yo, honestly, check the new media lab building. Final papers are due next week, might get lucky.”

“Thanks, I will.”

Once he reaches the building in question, Tony can’t believe he’d even had to ask. He’d donated funds for its construction! He’d even been at the grand opening, that past March. His access card works in the door, and Tony follows his instincts, passing various closed workspaces in search of the open computer labs.

The girl he’s obsessing over is not in the first two labs he peeks his head into, but he’s got nothing better to do, so he decides to still check the one at the end of the hall.

The setup here is more private, so Tony walks all the way in this time. There’s a single desk at the front facing the rest, obviously meant for a teacher or TA, because its computer chair is oversized and actually comfortable-looking. Seated there is a young woman in a dark blue tank top, her legs curled up beside her in the chair. On her upper arm is a splash of color in a shape that looks familiar. Tony takes a few steps closer, his lips curving into an indulgent smile when he sees her tattoo: a caffeine molecule. He must have made some kind of noise, because she lifts her head.

It’s the girl from class, the one he’s thought about the whole day since.

Both of them freeze, looking at each other. The simulated sound of a church bell starts to toll in the room, probably signalling that open lab time is over. Tony stares at her through the whole sequence, even as the two other occupants of the room pack up their belongings and leave. After all twelve bell tolls are finished, he nods at the delicate sandal that waits for her foot just under the desk.

“I think you were supposed to flee by now, Cinderella.”

“Prince of industry, are you?” she asks, lifting her chin in defiance.

“In a way,” Tony acknowledges. He points with his thumb over his shoulder. “So, evil stepsister or roommate?”

“Roommate, but she’s definitely the ‘toe-mutilating to trick a prince’ type,” the young woman says, dropping her leg down so she can turn and pick up her backpack from the floor. The action lets him see that her shirt is so thin it’s almost threadbare, hinting at the shape of the darker garment she’s got on underneath.

“If this counts as the ball, you might want to have a word with your fairy godmother. She’s skimping on fabric quality,” he remarks. Tony strolls over to the desk, enjoying the burn of arousal as it blazes through his veins. It’s been quite a while since he’s looked forward to an encounter like this, and there’s still a solid chance he’ll be ending the night alone. This girl had obviously not intended for him to see her like this.

“Obviously I’m on India Standard Time, and these are my rags,” she says, smiling up at him sweetly. It’s an unusual answer, and after calculating the time difference in his head, Tony realizes that she is quick as hell. His class had been over at 2:30 PM Eastern Standard Time, which works out to 12 AM IST.

“Nice,” he murmurs. Now that he’s closer, he can see that she’s wearing black lace bra, the kind that’s designed to be seen-- but obviously not by him. He’s a bit stung by that. “I don’t know that I appreciate your turning into a pumpkin for my class--”

“Now you’re just flogging the metaphor,” she says briskly, standing up.

He doesn’t move. Instead, Tony traces his eyes over her face, down to her breasts and back up, to gauge her reaction. A surge of pleasure arcs through him when he sees that she’s looking at his body, too. Her perusal is more extensive, such that when she lifts her gaze, he’s been waiting a while. It’s probably too much to hope that her internal dialogue has followed the same path as his, today. She really is beautiful, but the way her mind works is just as attractive, what little of it he’s gotten to observe. There’s a good chance she’s sexually creative, and he wants to, needs to find that out for himself.

“It’s time to leave. We’re closed for tonight, sir,” she says. There’s an impudent quirk to her lips that makes it very clear she’s chosen her words for the double meaning.

“Even for wishes coming true?” he dares, leaning toward her a bit, pushing the charm.

Her face darkens. She steps back, turning her back on him to shove a rolling file cabinet just far enough so she can slip past it, avoiding him entirely. “With an ego like that, I’d rather kiss the frog!” she mutters, pulling her backpack up onto her shoulder as she moves toward the door.

This stings, but Tony reminds himself that she’d already thought poorly enough of him to cover up for his class on the off chance of what he might do or say, and his very presence is confirming her worst fears. Swiftly, he corrects her, hoping her clever mind will catch the difference before she rushes out.

“I meant my wishes coming true. Your wishes have been communicated quite clearly.”

She stops still, but doesn’t turn around. “Have they? You came here--”

“Coincidence,” he interrupts with a shrug, brushing away the twinge of conscience. She was right, he had come looking for her, but finding her had been sheer luck. “Truth is, I’m not sober enough to drive. I figured, find a lab, maybe I could dip into the Department of Agriculture’s secure servers, swap their Chick Cam feed with a nightclub’s security footage.”

Her shoulders shake, but when she speaks, her voice is rock steady, no sign of laughter. He suspects if she turns around, he’ll see the smile she’s concealing. “You have a long way to go before you qualify as a Prince Charming, you know that, don’t you?”

“Always have.”

Now she turns. “If you’re drunk--”

“Tipsy, please,” he says, mockingly. “You’d know if I were drunk.” Her eyes are kind, and he feels the impulse to press his luck. Already he feels more like himself, like maybe having found her has transmuted the alcohol in his system into anticipation.

“If you’re drunk,” she repeats, more gently this time, “--you shouldn’t be hitting on anything but a soft bed.”

“I’m fresh out,” Tony says, but he inclines his head to acknowledge her change in demeanor.

“No hotel?”

“Risk of bad press if I drive, same thing with a taxi.”

She takes a step toward him. “Do you need a ride?”

“I would love one,” he says, infusing his voice with as much promise of pleasure as he can. His gauge is off, though, because she rolls her eyes. Marching past him, she pulls the chair out from behind the desk she’d been sitting at and rolls it over.

“Sit.”

He regards her with suspicion but does what she asks, led both by aching want and simple curiosity. Something deep down prompts him to goad her about his acquiescence, as if being obedient while impaired by alcohol requires an act of defiance to sit well.

“Okay, but I didn’t bring the fluffy handcuffs, so I don’t know what you’re--”

She rushes to press her palm against his lips, the meaty part just under her thumb. Her touch sizzles through him, aided by her tiny gasp when Tony’s own hand shoots up to hold her there. He quirks his eyebrow and then slowly slides his fingers along the skin of her wrist, watching her. She lets out a shaky breath and her eyes flutter closed.

“God, that is unreal. What did you do, slip iron filings into my soda at dinner?” she breathes.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been worse at this since the arc reactor. Something about facing your own mortality,” Tony says. It’s the truth, not that he’s admitted it out loud yet, not even in the privacy of his own mind. “How’s that for sobering?”

Instead of trying to pull away, she loosens her hand from its defensive fist and rests her soft, warm fingers along his neck. It’s a gut-punch, like maybe she’d meant to cup his face in a loving gesture all along, if he managed to earn it.

He absolutely has not, but under her fingers Tony’s slowly conflagrating, consumed by a wild need that verges on desperate. There’s no guidebook for this; he’s got a sixth sense about women, sure, but not this woman. Last year, he’d learned why he should have spent his evening with Ho Yinsen all those years ago in Bern. Tonight, Tony’s starting to understand that the person he is turning into is more interested in the Cinderella type than her sexed-up wicked stepsister.

“That was a lot of expressions you just cycled through,” she whispers.

Tony smiles up at her, knowing she’ll feel the shift of his muscles underneath her hand. “Coming to grips with the idea that I might enjoy just sitting and talking to a woman, for once.”

The words paint a light blush onto her cheeks, but she scoffs and steps away, removing her hand. “It’s kind of fascinating to watch the way your mind works in real time. I can see you working out how to charm me.” With that, she walks over to one of the student chairs and sits, walk-rolling it with her feet until she’s a yard away. A challenge in her eyes, she leans back and crosses both her arms and legs. She’s turned herself into a fortress of mind and body, daring him to attempt to breach her.

He’s more than up to the task. “Are you saying the key to attracting you is through my mouth? Because that’s a talent of mine.” Her eyes widen, and he feigns embarrassment. “Talking. I was referring to talking. Obviously.”

“I can still read the letters on that neon sign you just built, even if they aren’t lit up,” she says, making flashing light gestures with her hands while mouthing the words ‘OPEN FOR BUSINESS.’

“You weren’t picturing that sign when you put on that sweater this afternoon?” Tony asks, stretching his leg out and setting his heel down on the floor, the rest of his foot angled up.

“It was perfectly lovely, thank you very much!”

“I agree,” Tony says, in heartfelt appreciation.

“You--” she huffs out a breath. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asks, changing nothing.

“That face you’re making. Your whole… it’s-- stop it!” She motions in his direction, and the worn-out neckline of her tank top slips sideways, revealing the wide black lace of the bralette she’s wearing. He wants to look, but she narrows her eyes at him, daring him to look. Naturally, he resists.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Tony says, still avoiding looking at her exposed shoulder strap. He rolls his foot down, moving towards her.

She throws her head back and angles her arm over her eyes before she speaks, sounding nervous. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

He chooses a regular voice, sensing that she’ll appreciate honesty, even if it’s not complete honesty. Now that he can freely look at the lace of her bra strap, he wants to trace it with his tongue. Tony knows better than to say that, so he asks, “Do you want me to?”

“I shouldn’t,” she groans.

Tony chuckles, deep and provocative.

She lifts her head but leaves her arm draped over it. “That just encouraged you, admit it!”

He stretches his leg out and plants his heel again, this time with the other foot. “What matters is what you want. What were you avoiding with your granny outfit today?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was anything like my crazy roommate,” she admits shyly.

“Mission accomplished.” Tony rolls his foot down halfway, which moves his chair to within a foot and a half of hers. “Tell the truth, right now:” he says, dropping into a commanding tone. “What went through your mind when you saw me looking at you?”

Her whole body reacts to his question, shoulders lifting defensively, face flaming red, arm dropping to wrap around herself in a way that just so happens to thrust her breasts forward. On seeing this, Tony feels like his foot’s resting on an accelerator instead of thin air, because his body ramps up, full throttle. Possibilities flash through his mind; his tongue flicking out to taste her tattoo, her leg bending as she strokes him with the bottom of her foot, the sweet smell of her hair as he groans his release. It doesn’t take as long to pull himself back from those moments as it would have if he were drunk, and that’s a very good thing for his hopes to make them a reality.

Then, she answers his question, thick lashes nearly brushing her pink cheeks, demure and devastating.

“I wished I was the kind of girl to catch your attention. But--” the whispered confession fills out into a tone that’s almost apologetic. Her eyes are wide, now. “--the man standing there looking at me was different, for just those seconds. I don’t know how to explain it.”

He’d dropped the act just then, and this beautiful, perceptive young woman had noticed. Tony reaches out and grabs the arms of her chair, pulling it to his. “And now?” he asks, and fuck, Tony’s not drunk anymore, but he’s intoxicated by her, enough to have infused the question with far too much vulnerability for his liking.

Her brows furrow for a few seconds, head tipping to the side to regard him. Tony clenches his jaw. Honestly, he’s not sure whether it’s because he doesn’t want her to see that vulnerability or because he doesn’t want to let his facade creep back up. She reaches towards his face, and Tony’s not above being predictable. He leans back.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she mutters, and with a nervous little bite to her lip, she launches forward.

Tony gets ahold of her and shoves her chair away with one foot while the rest of him focuses on pulling her close, like he’s starving for physical contact, and shit, he probably is. They end up with her legs curled up on his lap rubbing pressure that’s just on the good side of too much, her right side leaning against him, left hand pressed to her own chest like a makeshift defibrillator. Tony’s own body has turned his blood to whiskey, and desire-drunkenness has lowered the limits she’s taught him to follow. As she traces her fingertips along his still-clenched jaw (strained by patience, now, not fear), he lets himself rest his hand directly on her ass.

To his utter delight, this causes her to slide her hand softly up into his hair, rather than violently across his face. Tony nudges her with his nose, seeking her lips, but she leans back a few inches to look him in the eyes.

“If I ask you if you’re still tipsy, will you lie?”

“If I were tipsy, I’d have made a ‘stroke of midnight’ joke by now.”

She just looks at him, lifting her eyebrows.

“I won’t have to lie,” he says, giving in to his need to thrust up against her with a bit-back groan. “--if that’s the answer you needed.”

“What even is my life right now?” she whispers, clutching his shoulders and shifting so she can settle herself, yes, fuck, exactly where he wants her to be, her legs bracketing his hips in the thankfully oversized chair. He takes this cue to slide one hand up under her thin top, wide and warm along her back. The lace of her bra is so fine that he can feel the threads catch on the rough skin of his fingers. Her breath hitches along with his as Tony thrusts his hips up again, capturing her lips in an impatient kiss. He can’t help but feel powerful when her hand in his hair tightens its grip in response, especially when she lets out a small, desperate little noise when he strokes her tongue with his.

Her fierce grip and determination shifts to a shy shock when he starts rolling the chair around the desk and then past it, towards the wall. To see where he’s going, Tony kisses his way to her throat, turning them so he can slow-walk and not have to lift his head. He’s seeking both privacy and something more sturdy than the chair. While there’s a rock solid looking desk in the corner he’d aimed for, it’s right beside the window.

He looks up at the angle of the lights and the position of the desk, trying to calculate how much of what he has planned will be visible from outside.

“Oh, your face right now!” she laughs, touching her hands to each cheek before sliding them down so she can push off of his chest to get up. “Hold that thought.”

She rushes over to the door, flipping the lock and then the light switch. It helps some, but the hallway is still lit outside the room, and with the scattered LED indicator lights in the lab, the two of them can still be seen. Tony toes off his shoes and reaches down to retrieve the pair of magnets he keeps tucked into one of them. They’re too powerful to risk ruining anything he’d keep in his pockets, but that strength might be just the thing, tonight.

“Here,” he says, walking over to her. The door is, as he’d hoped, metal. Tony stretches his suit jacket upside-down across the window built into the door and secures it with the magnets.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you of all people would carry magnets on contingency,” she laughs. He offers an exaggerated shrug, walking backwards toward the desk by the window in the process. He can see the reflected shine of her eyes and her smile, but she’s watching rather than following him. Taking time to make the room less exposed for a sexual encounter has offered her a chance to second guess that encounter. To his relief, she comes up behind him as he runs his hand along the top of the desk, lifting up on her toes to drop a kiss on his shoulder before dropping back down and pressing herself against his back.

===

Note: I wanted to add that, as I wrote this, it was the ‘Vamp up and get the billionaire’ part that Tony is resisting. Confidence and coquettish behavior aren’t inherently bad! It’s part of Tony moving on from earlier characterizations—but that might not come across to everyone. It’s meant to be fame-chaser shaming, basically! Thanks for reading! Part II is almost all smut :D.

#oc fanfic review exchange #oc creators unite!#mutuals reviewing mutuals #tony stark x oc #iron man x oc #mcu fanfiction #tony stark smut #perfection #ocfairygodmother

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