#tony stark x reader

[science-hoes]

Anyways

[undyingdecay]

can you elaborate on your tony idea!!

it definitely has an automatic cum button. you think tony stark’s gonna build a fucktoy robot to keep you entertained while he’s working and not leave a part of himself in it? be serious. it’s not enough for it to get you off — it has to get you off with him. always him. always tony.

it uses his OWN cum. because of course it does. it’s not some store-bought synthetic shit either, no, he makes you jerk him off into a cartridge like it’s nothing. like it’s a routine part of the process, because in his head it is. sits back in that stupid chair with his legs spread, smug little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth while he watches you kneel between his thighs, catching every drop into a sleek, glass canister he slots into the machine with an easy flick of his wrist. labeled with a little arc reactor sticker, because he’s a bastard like that.

and it’s got settings too. settings only he controls. a command console only he can access, because you don’t get to decide when or how you come. that’s his job. one dial for speed, one for pressure, and the button — that awful, gleaming, LED-lit button he labeled “finish” just to be a dick about it. you’re not even sure if it’s for you or the machine half the time. sometimes you’ll be a shaking, overstimmed mess, practically begging for a break, and he’ll hit it anyway, watching with thinly veiled amusement as it pumps another hot shot of him inside you because you’re not done until he says you are.

and if he’s feeling mean — and he usually is — he’ll set it to run on a loop while he watches from across the room, pretending to be busy at his desk. murmuring absentminded praise like “takin’ it so good, look at you” without even looking up, until the noise of your whimpering starts to distract him and he finally strolls over, slow and smug, just to press the button one more time. because you’re his, and he built this thing to remind you of it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not sure who would give us that pretty necklace, but it's not Tony for sure. His necklace would be filled with diamonds and have a tracker incrusted.

Where You Are, Is Where I Want To Be

I went off.... I was only going to do a drabble...

Warnings: this fic will include dark content stalking, power imbalance, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your work life starts to infringe on your personal time.

Characters: Tony Stark, reader is Bucky's gf.

If you can spare some feedback, please reblog and leave a comment, or add a reply, or send an ask! I appreciate all your enthusiasm and time in reading my stuff. Love you! <3

“Oh no,” you pull your hand away from your neck. You frown as you hold up the loose gem. 

“What’s up?” Tony asks casually as he looks up above his glasses, a tablet in hand, lips downturned in concentration. 

“My necklace,” you hold up the amethyst. “It broke...” 

“Hmm,” he sets the tablet down and comes around counter between you. “Let me see.” 

You stiffen as he approaches, not used to him being so close. He holds out his hand and you set the teardrop gem in his palms. He squints at it and pushes his glasses up his nose. His cheek dimples. 

You flinch as he pinches the chain around your neck and lines up the gem. 

“Claws are bent,” he brushes his thumb over the silver. “Easy fix.” 

“Yeah?” You look down at his hand, your chin almost touching the knuckle of his thumb. 

“Sure,” he says. “Leave it with me.” 

“Oh... well...” 

“It’s important?” He asks. 

“Um...” you reach back and unclasp it, letting it slack in his grasp. “Bucky gave it to me.” 

He nods and examines it thoughtfully. “I’ll get it back, good as new.” 

You’re not entirely sure. It’s no secret your boss isn’t much of a fan of your boyfriend. It’s complicated, but the few times you offered to quit, neither of them entertained the thought. 

“Alright, thanks. I could always take it to a jeweler.” 

“Pshht, don’t waste the money,” he rescinds his reach as he looks at the chain. “It’s no problem.” 

“Well, thanks. I appreciate that.” 

“You know me. Always tinkering with something,” he walks back around the table and leans on the stool he formerly perched on. You watch him until his dark eyes flick up. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “Just, you know, never know when you’re in a good mood.” 

“I’m not,” he grumbles and lowers his gaze as he tucks the necklace in his chest pocket. He takes the tablet and exhales. “You can thank Stephen for that.” 

💎

You drag your finger around the screen, turning the schematics as your brows nearly meet in the middle. Tony’s notes are never easy to decipher. He writes in a language all the own and expects you to understand what all those little exclamation marks mean. 

“Dinner’s here,” Bucky interrupts you before you can hunch any further. You look up and sit straight, rubbing the muscles beside your neck. 

“Thanks,” you say. “Sorry, I got... lost.” 

“Yep,” he brings the paper bag over and sets it behind your laptop, propped open on the kitchen island. “We agreed about working in the kitchen.” 

“Oh, yeah...” you cringe. “I... sorry. I meant to move to the office.” 

“I get it. You don’t want me taking my arm apart in here,” he shrugs. “Fair enough.” 

“No, no, we agreed.” You close your laptop. “Won’t happen again.” 

He opens the paper bag and takes out the first container. Honey garlic wings dripping in sauce. You asked for a salad... 

“Smells good,” you say, waiting for him to hand you your greens. 

He unpacks. Another container of wings, those one buffalo, and a container of french fries. You hide your disappointment. Who are you to complain? He bought dinner while you whittled away your own time working on Tony’s mess. 

“I’m gonna need a bib,” you snort as he hands you a plate. 

“Why? I’ll lick up the mess,” he winks. You smirk and tilt your head. It has been a while. 

You pluck one wing from each container and a handful of fries. You sense him watching you. You glance up. 

“That’s it?” He asks. 

“You have a bigger appetite,” you shrug. “Really, it’s a lot of grease.” 

He rolls his eyes. “What’s this thing you’re on about salads?” 

“Nothing. I just... I’m trying to be more conscious.” 

“Uh huh,” he tuts. “You know, you don’t need to worry about that.” 

“I’m not worried about... that. It’s not about my body.” 

“Coulda fooled me. You won’t even take off your shirt when--” he stops himself. “I miss you.” 

“I know, I miss you too,” you pick at a wing. “It’s not you. I’m stressed. That's all.” 

“Tell me about it,” he mutters as he eats right out of the container. “Is stress why you’re not wearing your necklace?” 

You flinch and touch your throat. You look at him. 

“Tony.” 

“What?” He narrows his eyes. 

“Tony has it.” 

“Tony has it?” He sneers. 

“Fixing it. The gem fell out,” you say. “I almost forgot.” 

“Huh. Well, I coulda fixed that.” 

“I... he offered. I didn’t want to lose the stone,” you frown. 

He chews. You peek up. You see the agitation in his cheek. 

“We can... tonight. I’m sorry--” 

“Don’t make it like I’m twisting your arm,” he growls. A glop of sauce lands on his white tee shirt. He huffs. “Shit.” 

“I want to.” You insist. It’s not a lie. You’re just so tired. 

💎

You rush into Tony’s office without knocking. You’ve only done that a few times. You grip your phone tight, heart racing. He looks up at you casually as he swivels in his chair. 

“Hey,” he grimaces in surprise. 

“I--” You stop sharply on your heels. “I-- You said there’s an emergency.” 

He snickers and leans forward, rolling closer to his desk. “False alarm.” He reaches to his pen cup and hooks his finger under the silver chain hanging from one of the pens. “All fixed.” 

Your necklace dangles from his finger. You heave and drag your feet forward. You put your phone in your pocket and take the chain. You bring it up to examine. 

“You cleaned it?” You mutter. 

“Sure did,” he sits back. 

“Thanks, Tony,” you smile. “Oh, it’s so sparkly!” 

You hold it up to the light. You hadn’t realised before how tarnished it was. 

“Put it on,” he says. 

“Oh, sure,” you fumble with the clasp and put apart the ends. 

You reach behind your neck and try to hook it. The claps slips closed and you tut. Tony gets up and nears. You try not to wince away. 

“Here,” he goes around you and takes the ends from you. He hooks it in place swiftly. “There ya go.” 

He drags a finger across your skin before he lets go. You shiver but ignore the odd friction. You toy with the gem and smile. 

“Thanks,” you breathe. 

“No problem,” he sits down and grabs his phone as the screen lights up. “It’ll get the old man off my back.” 

“Old man?” 

“Oh yeah. The one-armed wonder called me a thief.” He scoffs. “Real friendly guy.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t-- I told him you were fixing it--” 

“Yeah, well, good luck to you. He’s not the best at listening,” he shakes his head and slips his phone into his jacket. “Speaking of, I got a meeting with those two blockheads.” He stands and blows a raspberry. “Wish me luck.” 

💎

“Come here often?” The familiar voice startles you and you nearly swing your racket at Tony as you face him. 

You gape at him in surprise. “Just when I can. You?” 

He smirks. “Someone told me I needed to get a hobby.” 

“That was a joke,” you rub your neck. 

“Well, those usually are born of truth,” he shrugs. “So, you got an opponent? How’s the old man’s back swing?” 

You nod and cluck. “To be honest, I was packing up. He can’t make it. He was supposed to fill in for Nat. Everyone’s busy but me.” 

“And me,” he winks. “You gotta promise to take it easy on me though.” He puts his bag on the bench next to yours. “I’m a rookie. More of a golfer.” 

“Ah, well, I’m not very good. It’s just for fun.” 

“Never.” He unzips his bag. “Everything’s a competition.” 

💎

“Coffee’s on me.” Tony reaches past you to flip his card out between his fingers. “I’ll have an iced americano.” 

You turn and suppress a gasp. Lately, you just can’t seem to escape your boss. You spend enough time with him in the lab, you feel like you’re starting to go crazy. 

“Hey,” your voice wobbles. 

“Was just on my way out of Manhattan,” he says. “Need a boost before I deal with James.” 

“Bucky?” 

“Rhodey,” he corrects you. “No, I’m afraid you’re stuck with that one.” 

You nod and subtly check your watch. You have a message from the very man. Somehow, you already know he’s bailing. 

“Sure,” you drop your wrist and catch him checking his own phone. “Don’t let me keep you.” 

He taps his card as the barista slides over the iced drinks. You take your cold brew and he takes his espresso. You raise the cup. “Thanks.” 

“Oh, I’m just a nice guy,” he winks. “Anyway, I gotta scram. You know how soldiers can be about time.” 

He salutes with his card and spins on his heel. He struts off. You peer around and go hide at a table in the corner. You sit and stare at your drink. 

The days are growing eerie. You see less of Bucky, more of Tony. You’re not sure if you’re paranoid, insecure, or bored. It’s just tweaking something in your mind. 

💎

Tony slides his phone into his jacket. It’s an oddly familiar sight. Almost every time you see him, he’s doing it.  

That’s not that unusual. Most people are glued to one screen or another. But Tony only ever really played with his tablet or his gadgets in the lab. It’s the one thing that reminds you of Bucky. They love tech but they’re not so keen on the modern dependency on it. 

He yawns and points. You follow the gesture to a tray of coffee. It’s the same cafe you saw him in a few times in the last week. You never really ran into him there before but the coffee is good enough that you can’t blame him for the habit. 

“For me?” You ask. 

“Hidden gem, isn’t it?” 

“It was.” You kid as you take the cold brew labeled with your name. 

“Gonna need that caffeine hit,” he drags a stool up. “We gotta get the prototype done today. I got the army breathing down my neck and now the navy’s in on it.” 

“Sure,” you sip. It’s exactly how you like. No sugar with a squirt of the cinnamon roll syrup. How did he know? 

“I got faith in you,” he says. “Myself, however... that’s always a question mark.” 

He takes off his jacket and lays it on the table near the empty cardboard tray. He swipes up and a floating holographic screen appears. You tuck your bag into a locker behind you and turn back. 

You put on your protective glasses and gloves. Tony tends to ignore any sort of precautions. He taps his fingers in the air as the middle of the table opens and the prototype rises out from within. The glowing blue tubes and steel are emblazoned into your vision. 

“I think you should finish off the circuitry,” you lean in as you settle on your stool. “I’ve been fighting it for days.” 

Your wrist vibrates. He spins the prototype as you peel back your glove to check the screen. It’s Bucky. ‘We need to talk’. You hate that sentence. 

You flick your wrist and the screen goes black. You let your glove cover it and refocus. Or try to. Tony’s staring at you. 

“You good?” 

“Yep. It can wait,” you assure him. 

“Right.” He opens up the panel and you shake your head. “Why don’t you test the connectors and I’ll figure out the motherboard.” 

You go to work. The silence is that forged of ritual. You’ve done this so many times that words aren’t needed. 

As your neck starts to ache, signalling the passage of time, you sit up and rub it. Tony grunts and his cheek pinches. His lip curls as he lets out a gutteral growl. 

“Bit of advice, don’t get old,” he reaches for what’s left of his melted iced drink. He eyes it in disappointment. “Time never makes things better, does it?” 

You give a tight-lipped smile. You’re too dazed to answer. You rest your elbows on the tablet and rub your temple. 

“Let me go hunt down an intern to get us more,” he stands. There’s a definitive crack. He chuckles. “Yep, that’s the knee.” 

He turns and limps away, stopping at the door to bend and extend his leg. You cradle your head and bring your wrist up. The message flashes again. ‘We need to talk.’ 

You stand up and something vibrates. You turn around. It didn’t sound like it was in the locker. You ignore it and pace around. You hear it again. 

You make a few circles and a flash of light catches your eye. You stare at Tony’s jacket as his phone dims in the pocket. You go up to table and it buzzes consistently. 

You shouldn’t. 

You back up. It softens. You get closer, it gets more intense.  

Your stomach flips. You glance at the door. You touch his jacket and softly slip the phone from the pocket. You turn it over. 

‘Movement initiated’. You scroll through several notifications. ‘Elevated heartbeat’, ‘at rest’, ‘within vicinity’... You stare at the screen. It can’t be. How would he have that? And why? Why on earth would Tony Stark, your boss, be tracking you? 

You shove the phone back in his pocket. You go around the table and open your locker. You take out your phone. You flip past Bucky’s messages and go into the backend coding. You don’t see anything. Nothing that would suggest a tracker. It has to be there though. 

It’s just too bad the only person could figure it out is the one who put it there. 

[shadyfestivalperfection]

Tony:“You deserve someone who can spoil you in every way, sweetheart.”

Bucky:“You deserve someone who’d kill for you. Like, literally.”

Y/N (smirking):“Why not both? I’ll let one of you feed me strawberries while the other buries the body.”

Tony:“…I can buy the strawberries.”

Bucky:“…I’ve got a shovel.”

Y/N:“Great. Boys, behave. I’ll be back in an hour. Try not to kill each other before dessert.”

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Chapter 9 - Terms and Conditions

A/N: Let me know your thoughts :) and also oops?

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: 18+ slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

.

The soft knock woke you first.

Followed by the distinct scent of coffee, something sweet, and… Tony Stark’s particular brand of mischief.

You cracked open one eye just as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, a tray balanced carefully in his hands.

“Morning, Mrs. Stark,” he grinned, sauntering in like a man on a mission. “I come bearing peace offerings.”

You pushed yourself up against the headboard, the sheets pooling around your waist. Sleep still clung to your limbs, but the sight of him, messy hair, Henley shirt clinging in all the right places—was better than caffeine.

Tony set the tray across your lap with a flourish.

Fresh croissants, a tiny pitcher of honey, butter, a bowl of mixed berries, and a very proud-looking mug of tea sat waiting.

“Did you make these?” you teased, lifting a croissant suspiciously.

He smirked. “I made the call to the kitchen. It’s called delegation, sweetheart.”

You laughed, and he leaned down, snagging a berry right off your plate before you could react.

“Hey!” you protested, slapping his hand lightly.

Tony just popped it into his mouth with zero shame, grinning wide. “Breakfast tax. You know how it works.”

You tried to look stern, you really did, but he just looked so damn pleased with himself.

Still chewing, Tony leaned in, pressing a soft, berry-flavored kiss to your mouth before you could stop him. No teeth brushed, no minty freshness, just pure, sleepy, Sunday-morning him.

And somehow, that made it perfect.

You kissed him back without hesitation, smiling against his mouth.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Good morning, gorgeous.”

“You’re stealing my breakfast,” you murmured.

“Technicalities.”

Tony swiped another berry when you weren’t looking, the absolute audacity of the man shining through even before the first sip of your tea.

You gave him a look, one he promptly ignored, flopping down beside you on the bed without a care in the world.

For a few long minutes, you just… lounged. Eating breakfast out of the same tray, trading lazy comments about whose hair looked worse, kissing between bites when you thought you could get away with it.

(You could not. Tony caught you every time. And somehow, he still kissed you back.)

Eventually, when the tray was picked clean and the tea had cooled to an acceptable lukewarm at best temperature, Tony nudged your shoulder with his.

“Alright,” he announced grandly, “Sunday activities. What’s the agenda, beautiful?”

You grinned, playing along. “First, we get up. Maybe brush our teeth. Possibly change out of pajamas.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” he muttered, already sprawling farther across the bed, his hand creeping toward your thigh in silent protest.

You smacked it, laughing. “Then we cook. Pasta?”

His eyes lit up, mischievous and golden. “You feed me carbs and I’ll love you forever.”

“You already do.”

“Yeah, but now there’s parmesan involved,” he said seriously.

When you finally made it to the kitchen, it was an absolute mess.

You were chopping vegetables with dubious focus while Tony attempted to show off his “impeccable” pasta-twirling technique, flinging half the spaghetti onto the counter in the process.

“That’s… impressive,” you deadpanned, flicking a stray noodle at him.

Tony retaliated by flicking a stalk of celery at you like it was a sword.

You caught it midair, victorious.

“Guess I’m eating healthy today,” you said, dramatically taking a bite and striking a heroic pose.

Tony clutched his heart. “Marry me again.”

You threw the rest of the celery at him.

.

There was a knock at the door.

Tony wiped his hands on a towel, wandering toward the door with all the grace of a man who had definitely just been hit in the face with celery.

“Probably Rhodey,” he called over his shoulder. “I invited him over for lunch.”

“You what?”

Before you could finish, James Rhodes strolled in, sunglasses perched on his head and an easy smile tugging at his mouth.

“Well, look at you two,” Rhodey said immediately, hands on hips, surveying the scene: sauce-splattered Tony, celery-wielding you, general disaster everywhere.

He grinned wider. “Domestic life looks good on you, Stark.”

Tony rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the blush rising to his ears.

You, sensing an opportunity, sidled up and kissed Tony’s cheek in front of his best friend, just to watch him get even redder.

Rhodey laughed, crossing to grab a fork off the counter and stealing a bite straight from the pot. “Man, I gotta say. I’ve seen you build flying suits and break into military databases—never thought I’d see you making pasta in a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron.”

Tony muttered something that sounded like “I’m burning that apron later,” but Rhodey just winked at you.

“You’re good for him,” he said, so simply and sincerely that you felt it in your chest. “Don’t let him mess it up.”

You smiled, squeezing Tony’s hand under the counter. “I’m not planning on it.”

Tony cleared his throat, clearly flustered—and clearly the happiest you’d ever seen him.

Rhodey just laughed again and pulled up a chair. “Alright, lovebirds. Feed me before you make me third-wheel your little rom-com any harder.”

.

Later, after Rhodey left you stood by the sink, lazily rinsing the last of the dishes, still warm from the laughter and teasing over lunch.

Tony sidled up behind you, slow and deliberate, like a cat ready to pounce.

Without warning, his arms slid around your waist, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Rhodey’s gone,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and mischievous.

You laughed, tipping your head to the side. “I noticed.”

“Which means…”

He pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of your neck, making you shiver.

You set the dish down, suspicious. “Which means?”

Tony turned you gently in his arms, hands firm at your hips, the picture of fake innocence.

“I believe you promised me dessert,” he said gravely.

You raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you already ate all the cake.”

He tsked. “Not that kind of dessert.”

And then, because of course he would, he kissed you—really kissed you before you could sass him back.

It was slow at first, lazy like the afternoon, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your brain fog deliciously. His hands slid under your shirt, not rushing, just memorizing the feel of you, the warmth of your skin.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back just as slowly, tasting the faintest hint of wine and strawberries still clinging to his mouth. When you finally pulled back, a little breathless, Tony was grinning at you with that particular Stark smirk that usually meant either genius or absolute chaos.

“Bedroom?” he suggested casually, like he was asking if you wanted another cup of coffee.

You bit your lip, heart pounding, nerves buzzing under your skin. “Tony…”

He immediately sobered, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

“Only if you want to,” he murmured. Soft. Sincere.

Like he was offering you the entire world and waiting patiently for you to say yes or no.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt.

“I do,” you said, voice steady despite the wildfire in your chest.

His smile, this time, was different. No smirk, no swagger. Just… happiness. Quiet and unguarded.

Tony took your hand—gentle, always gentle with you—and without another word, led you down the hall, leaving the sunlit kitchen and the lazy afternoon behind.

Sunday could wait.

You had a new chapter to start.

…

The late afternoon light filtered softly through the curtains as you lay tangled together in the sheets, skin warm against skin, breath slowing into something steady, something shared.

Tony’s fingers traced light patterns along your back, absent-minded but full of meaning, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Like his body just needed to touch you, to reassure itself that you were real and still here.

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the faint, familiar scent of him, cologne and metal and something purely, inescapably Tony.

For a long, perfect moment, neither of you said anything. The world outside could have stopped spinning and you wouldn’t have noticed. Wouldn’t have cared.

Finally, he broke the silence, voice low and a little hoarse.

“You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”

You smiled against his skin. “You were already halfway there.”

Tony huffed a soft laugh, arms tightening around you just slightly, like he was worried you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“And you love it,” you teased.

“Yeah,” he breathed, without hesitation. “Yeah, I really do.”

Somewhere down the hall, Dum-E gave a sleepy meow from her chosen sunspot, as if offering her official feline blessing.

Tony chuckled. “Even the cat’s in on this conspiracy.”

You tilted your head up just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw, your lips brushing against the stubble there.

“We make a good team,” you whispered.

His hand splayed protectively across your back. “Best damn team I’ve ever been on.”

And there, wrapped in each other, hearts pounding the same soft rhythm, you let yourselves simply be.

No past regrets, no future fears.

Just this.

Just you and him, and the beginning of everything that mattered.

.

The workday wait was inevitable. Despite the softness of the morning, Monday and responsibilities loomed just around the corner.

You both got dressed, Tony disappearing into his walk-in closet like a tornado and emerging looking like a billion dollars, while you fumbled through trying to find matching socks.

The texts started even before you left the house.

Tony [9:04 AM]: Miss you already, Mrs. Stark. Come home early. We’ll play hooky.

You [9:05 AM]: I know that’s code for ‘lab work’ disguised as cuddles.

Tony [9:05 AM]: Incorrect. This time it’s cuddles disguised as lab work.

When you got to your office, another message buzzed through:

Tony [9:17 AM]: Send pictures. Of you. Being the boss. Suit porn is real and I’m suffering.

You laughed out loud in the middle of the hallway, earning a few curious glances.

.

Around 3 PM

You were just wrapping up a meeting when your assistant poked her head in.

“Hey, uh… something just got delivered for you. No return address. Just… this.”

She handed over a slim envelope, heavy, almost expensive-feeling.

On the front, in elegant calligraphy:

Compliments of A.I.M.

You frowned.

A.I.M.?

The name tickled something at the back of your mind, but you couldn’t place it. A new client? A rival tech company? Some boutique PR firm Tony had charmed?

You flipped it over. Nothing else. No hint of what it was.

Your assistant hovered. “Want me to get security?”

You shook your head, curiosity outweighing caution. “No, it’s fine. Probably just another weird vendor pitch.”

You slipped it into your bag and packed up for the day, determined to look it over properly once you got home.

.

The elevator dinged and you stepped out, scrolling distractedly through Tony’s latest string of texts—something about setting up a “mandatory snuggle quota” in your household.

You were still smiling when the first hand grabbed your arm.

The world spun in a blur.

Rough cloth over your mouth—

The tang of chemicals.

A shout muffled against the inside of your head—

And then…

Nothing.

.

Tony arrived minutes later, humming something, still tasting you on his lips. The flowers were still on the table. The lights were on.

“Hey?” he called out. “Did I… forget a kiss goodnight?”

Silence.

Then his eyes landed on the coffee table.

One of his old business cards.

Charred at the edges. Singed just enough to whisper: This is personal.

His voice dropped. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Where is she?”

A pause. Then: “I… can’t locate her.”

And the world…his world crashed down.

[eternallyniah]

Me feeling like Bella every night chossing which man I want to read hard smut about.

[animasola86]

🚩 FORCED: 08

You spend a few more moments strapped to that awful chair, experiencing new things, witnessing other things, being unsettled all the way through...

a morally gray man!your new master ✖️ female!reader

WARNING: This is a DARK FANTASY EROTICA! Beware of the following tags: NSFW! Dead dove: do not eat! Explicit sexual content! Noncon! Master/servant dynamic! Bad BDSM etiquette! Bondage. Enemas (medical kink?)! Inflation. Humiliation. Degradation. Anal insertions, anal gaping. Deep penetration. Belly bulge. Sex toys/butt plugs. (🚩Please do not read/engage if any of these tags are triggering to you!)

WORDS: 3.4k 🚩 READ ON AO3! 🚩 SERIES MASTERLIST

A/N: So. Yes, you read that right (if you read the warning tags above, which I hope you always do!): it's the enema episode. I swear I didn't write it too detailed. It's one of those things I always found strangely fascinating, so bear with me here. You can always skip this one, or skim to the end (look for this 🔴) where Master* plays with another girl. *Master being the man you want him to be, of course (still clogging those fandom tags, sue me!). His role isn't as big here, but he is definitely there, in all his dominant glory. And even more so in the next chapter, if you actually decide to sit this one out.

As always, for more information on him and Reader, check the Author's Notes in chapter 1.

Chapter 7 🔻 Chapter 8 🔺 Chapter 9

You woke up almost in the same position, reclined in that strange chair, still bound, body sweat-slick and shivering, and the first thing you registered was something poking out of your ass, clenched between tight muscles, like a tube, going deep, and the second thing was the increasing pressure in your stomach.

A whimper crawled out of your sore throat as your eyes raked downward. You felt incredibly full, were barely able to breathe, even less so when you noticed the shape of your usually flat tummy, bulging out, pulled taut, skin tight, slowly inflating. The unusual sensation made you whine again, panic surging through your already tense body, making you struggle in your bonds.

“Shh, it'll be alright,” you heard a soft voice from somewhere between your spread legs. “Don't move too much, it'll be over soon.”

You strained your neck, trying to find who'd consoled you, when you saw the head of a girl, a young woman, poking up, a shy smile on thin lips, reddened eyes looking up at you. You'd feel ashamed to have another stranger so close to your private parts, but she was just as naked as you, the same collar around her neck, and she was also wearing a braid, like all the others, like you, and hers had a red ribbon holding it together. You were glad she was one of the girls who still had her vocal chords. Maybe she could give you some answers.

“W-why –” you stammered, but she shushed you again, her head turning towards the door of the sterile room.

“No talking,” she replied quietly. “Master doesn't like it when we talk. Rest your voice,” she added, looking back at you. “Relax.”

You suddenly felt her hands on your inner thighs, the gentle rubbing warm and soothing, and it did distract you from the strange things happening inside you.

While you felt really full, your insides bloated beyond what should be possible, it were the cramps that made you really sweat. Hot and cold shivers crashed through you as your muscles contracted, reacting to whatever liquid was pumped into you. In your haze, you noticed an IV stand next to your chair, holding an unusually large bag that was slowly deflating, and when your eyes followed the tube attached to it, it only added to your growing fear as you realized there was still more mystery liquid being fed into you.

You'd heard of enemas before, yet you had no idea it would be like this, but then many things seemed to work differently here, wherever here was, whatever kind of place this was, where girls were always naked and treated like dogs in kennels, eating from bowls on the floor, having their holes inspected and used against their will.

At this point, you should have stopped worrying about whatever came your way, but you still found yourself deeply troubled by it all. Yet the more you thought about your new life, how you came to live it, how unfair it all was, the more frustrated you became, knowing you couldn't change a single thing. You were at the mercy of a sadist and his many pets, having to follow his commands and enduring whatever he threw your way. A shaking sigh escaped you, triggering another deep cramp, and you wailed, squirming on the chair.

The other girl stood up then, her hands rubbing over your bulging belly, giving it gentle pressure, the warmth of her touch soothing the aches within at least a little. She kept shushing you, her eyes on your flushed face. It was eerily calming.

“Try to see the good in it,” she then whispered, barely audible, her hands cupping your stomach. “Doesn't it feel good too? How it fills you? You'll feel so clean after, and it'll be a true experience when it all comes out, trust me.”

You frowned at her words, not having thought about that part of the procedure. Shame crashed through you. The girl only smiled, rubbing her hands around your waist, stepping closer to your crotch, her bare stomach brushing against your still swollen labia.

“And it'll feel even better when Master takes your ass again,” she kept whispering, a somewhat dreamy look in her dull eyes. “He taught me how to come like that, you know? By anal alone? I haven't had anything in my pussy in ages. I don't need it. All I need is his cock in my ass... or a plug or a dildo or the fucking machine if he feels generous. I even like it when he shoves other things in there, like balls? Fruit? Bottles? Anything really... It's so nice to have something up my ass, being filled out, plugged up...” She sighed, and you watched her with growing concern. “I wish I was on that chair right now, you know? But I only get to be pumped full and cleaned every two weeks. At least I can watch the others getting filled, that's something, right?” She laughed dryly, her eyes raking down your body, her hands back to cup your belly.

Your frown deepened, the cramps momentarily ignored as you focused on her story. “How... how long have you been here?” you managed to ask before she could shush you again.

She looked at you, her eyelids fluttering. “I don't know. It doesn't matter. I am Master's anal whore, that is my purpose, and that's all that's important. And you'll be his little fuckdoll,” she added, smiling softly. “I bet he'll dress you up in cute clothes and treat you like a real doll, maybe he'll take you outside too! Ah, you almost make me jealous,” she chuckled quietly. “He's always so nice to the new ones... You better enjoy it while you can.”

Her last words made you widen your eyes. Nice? Enjoy it while you can? As another wave of cramps wrecked your insides, causing you to moan in pain, you suddenly saw your whole future turning black. If how he treated you before was nice, then you couldn't even imagine how he'd treat you once you were old news, once he grew bored of his new fuckdoll. Tears welled up in your eyes and you turned your head away, sniffling pathetically.

The girl rubbed her hands along your stomach and moved back down between your legs. You didn't particularly care what she was doing there, how she tugged at the tube stuck in your ass, slowly pulling it out, how there were shuffling noises of something big being pulled closer, and how her fingers probed at your sphincter. You didn't care, you couldn't care, if you did, you'd surely break. So you cried quietly, unable to move, unable to do anything else but endure.

“You're all filled up now,” you heard her say, her voice a little flat. “Hold it in, okay? I'm going to tell Master that you are ready, and when I come back, it'll be better, I promise. Hang in there.”

You gave a croaked sound of confirmation, closing your eyes as you tried to relax, but not enough to be unable to hold it in, however that was supposed to work. Tensing up even more, the strange pain only grew stronger. Your breaths were shallow, your mind racing, your sobs quietening slowly as you heard the girl leave the room through the door.

You didn't know how long she was gone, but by the time she came back, you were numb enough to no longer care, yet your body was aching under the pressure, your muscles screaming under the strain. The cramps never let up. You felt sick, bile resting at the edge of your throat, but you knew there was no relief. Not in the way you hoped. It wouldn't just disappear. It wasn't over yet.

Suddenly your chair was being lowered with a whirring sound, your inflated stomach sloshing about under the motion. You groaned, rattling in your restraints. Blinking your eyes open, you saw the girl between your legs, one hand on your belly, the other rubbing down your slit. You flinched slightly when she poked at your puckered hole. Her eyes found yours, but you couldn't hold her gaze. You were too ashamed.

“Alright, you can let go now,” she told you, and you felt her stepping away, walking around the chair. “It's okay, there's a bucket beneath you, just let go, okay?” You had no idea what to do (well, of course you had some idea but you didn't like the reality of it), and frankly, you didn't want to do anything, not with her there, not in general. She waited for a moment, just standing there, before you suddenly felt her hands pressing down on your bloated stomach.

You groaned, squirming to try to get away. “Stop, please,” you whined, but she didn't stop, and your humiliation burned up badly when the added pressure had the desired effect on your bowels. Crying helplessly, you couldn't have stopped it if you tried. Squeezing your eyes shut, fisting at the edges of the chair, straining against your bonds, you just let it happen, trying to ignore the noises and the cramps and the sensations and the girl next to you who kept rubbing your slowly deflating stomach. You were deeply disturbed by it all, humiliated beyond belief, but when it was all over, when you were empty and clean, you did feel a strange kind of relief.

A croaked whimper escaped you, your body shivering, your skin slick with cold sweat. The girl wiped at your wet face, shushing you. “Well done,” she whispered. You couldn't look at her, barely registered her words. “Master will be proud. You took it so well. Now you're all clean and ready for him to fill you up.”

She proceeded to clean you up further, the soft cloth on your warm skin a soothing thing that helped you pull away from whatever had just happened. You couldn't think about it, didn't want to think about it, so you didn't. You just lay on that chair and endured, again, with your eyes closed, your chest falling and rising, your heart slowly calming down.

There were noises around you, but you didn't care. Footsteps came and went, stuff was moved from A to B, the door opened and closed a few times. You were still too dizzy, still trying to come to terms with having your bowels washed out like that, the humiliation of it all sizzling under your skin. You really tried not to think about it, but your mind was relentless. And it didn't help that you still couldn't move, strapped to the chair as you were.

🔴 A sigh passed your quivering lips, before the air shifted around you. The door opened and closed with a weird finality, footsteps filled the small room, loud and confident, and as they stopped, you blinked your eyes open and looked up, immediately meeting the dark gaze of the man who was responsible for all of your humiliation.

Flinching in surprise, you tried to straighten up, somehow your body wanted to be alert for him, while another side of you just wanted to hide from his scrutinizing eyes raking over your exposed form. But you couldn't do either, unable to move in any way you wanted, so you just bit your lip and knitted your eyebrows, at least forcing the tears away that threatened to spill from your eyes.

The man watched you for a moment, then turned his attention to the other girl, who was kneeling on the floor next to the chair, her head bowed low.

“Everything went smoothly?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Yes, master,” she said quietly.

“Good. Well done, whore,” he replied, his hand reaching out to touch the back of her head. She gasped softly, but remained in her submissive position, while you frowned more. The way he threw around these degrading names like they were compliments still irked you. The girl didn't seem to mind.

“Thank you, master,” she cooed.

He nodded, his handsome face still impassive and hard, and you noticed he was carrying a long box under his arm. Bending down, he put it in front of the girl, then used the tip of his shiny shoe to get her attention. “Pick your reward,” he told her, and she looked up tentatively.

From your position on the chair you couldn't quite see what was inside the box, but you still watched the scene (because what else were you supposed to do?). The girl took the lid off and issued a strangled noise, before she looked up at the man with a wide smile on her face. “Oh, thank you, master! Thank you!” She then grabbed whatever was inside the box and held it up like something sacred, flat on her open palms, and you saw that it was a giant double-ended dildo. And it was really giant, it was wider and longer than the girl's forearm, veiny like a real cock, made of flesh-colored silicone, and the sight alone made you very uncomfortable.

You swallowed audibly, but nobody paid you any mind. The man picked up the box and whatever else was in there and carried it to a nearby table, then turned back to the girl and grabbed the dildo from her hands.

“Present,” he said in that dominant tone of his, and the girl immediately shuffled into a different position. She turned around, still on her knees, but now her ass was up and her face pressed to the floor, her arms folded behind her back, her hands gripping tightly onto her elbows.

You had to strain your neck a little to see her properly, and while you debated to just look away and ignore whatever was happening, you couldn't do any of it. There was a weird pull to the absurdity of it all, this place, these girls, this man, the things he did to them, the way they talked about him. How thankful she had sounded, how excited she'd been to tell you how much she loved having things up her ass. It was weird, and somehow you knew, it could only get weirder.

And indeed it did. You saw the man carrying a strange contraption, a black rubber ball with a tube attached to something that looked like a small but long butt plug, glistening slightly in the harsh fluorescent lights above you. You watched in growing concern how he walked up to the girl's backside, and without preparing her or adding more lube or anything else that could have helped, he pressed the stiff plug to her sphincter. He was really using force, the way his knuckles blanched under the strain, and how the girl pushed back to hold her position, breathing harder. Eventually her muscles opened up and the plug slipped into her, making her gasp softly.

He pushed it as deep as he could, with only the wider base with the black tube sticking out of her, then he straightened up and started pumping the ball attached to it. You heard air flow, some sort of hissing sound, his hand worked and worked, and you realized he was inflating something, no, not something, the plug in the girl's ass, and the mere idea of it made you squirm on the chair, feeling your own insides protesting.

Yet the girl only knelt there, still except for her labored breaths and an occasional shiver crashing through her. She just endured, and as she did, you stared at the scene, how the man kept pumping, how more and more air pushed into the plug and ultimately into her, stretching her more and more. Eventually he stopped, then gave the tube a little tug. It wouldn't budge.

“Push it out,” he said, and you frowned at the command.

The girl, however, complied quickly, straining herself, her back arching, sounds of effort and quiet moans slipping from her lips. You should really look away, you shouldn't be watching a girl trying to press an inflated plug out of her ass, but again, you couldn't move, couldn't avert your eyes. There was a depraved kind of fascination to it, how she pushed, how her muscles stretched, and how suddenly, the black silicone popped her open from within, and with a drawn-out sigh, she managed to push the entire thing out of her rear. It left her with a wet pop, and your eyes widened at the sheer size of it. It was almost as big as a fucking football (maybe not quite, but it was still unusually large!).

Cold shivers crashed through you, and you finally managed to turn your head away. The motion pulled the man's attention back to you, the silent witness, and suddenly he was there and grabbed your chin, turned your head back. His other hand fumbled with the controls of the chair and you felt yourself being moved, from the reclined into a sitting position. You stared up at him.

“Keep watching, doll. I want you to learn,” he told you in his low voice, his eyes boring into yours. You nodded weakly.

Letting go of you, he focused back on the girl on the ground, who had moved her hands to her backside and was holding herself open, fingers hooked into the wide gaping hole. Your stomach churned at the sight. The man crouched down then, his hand on her lower back, before he raised it to slap it against her sensitive rim, making her flinch.

“What a good hole you are,” he said quietly, and she cooed in response. “Let's fill you up properly, hm?”

He leaned back to grab the giant dildo she'd taken from the box, and without saying anything more, he lined one side of the toy up and simply pushed it into her, or rather, slid it into her, there was no obstruction, her rim too wide, her muscles too loose, it just slipped in, and in, until the entirety of it vanished into her depths. You saw her adjusting to the insertion, her back arching, body contorting to accommodate the object invading her insides, but she didn't fuss, she just took it, even seemed excited about it, the way she was buzzing and wriggling her ass slightly.

Once the item was inside her, he made her press her hands to her hole, keeping it from slipping back out, before he stood up and walked to the other side of the room. He returned with something big and transparent, some sort of wide plug you assumed. You watched him nudge the girl with the tip of his shoe again, and she took her hands away so he could shove the plug into her hole, sealing her up.

He proceeded to slap her ass cheeks a few times, like he'd done with you to make you clench, and you saw the same happening to the girl's loose rim. Eventually it closed around the narrower handle of the plug, keeping everything in place. You exhaled a shaky breath as it was all done, not having realized you had held your breath during it.

“Stand,” the man said, and the girl stood up, a little unsteady, but then she straightened up, pushed her chest out, and you could see a visible dent in her stomach, an unnatural bulge, and you could only assume how the dildo inside her rearranged her guts, how deep it really went, how much space it was taking up. The thought alone made you tremble.

But the girl was smiling at the man, bowing her head as she said: “Thank you, master.”

“You're dismissed,” he replied with a nod. “Go back to your cage. I'll find you tomorrow.”

“Yes, master,” she whispered with another bow, and started walking past him towards the door, her steps very uneasy, the thing inside her making it definitely hard to move properly. But somehow she managed, and you watched her as she left, the door falling closed behind her.

And suddenly you were alone with him again. Swallowing hard, you watched him, wondering what he had planned next. You couldn't see it on his impassive face, but you knew it would be something you couldn't imagine in your wildest dreams, or nightmares.

Chapter 7 🔻 Chapter 8 🔺 Chapter 9

End notes: Alone with Master at last (again)! Whatever will he do to you next? Stay tuned!

New chapter every Saturday at around 9pm CEST!

Thank you for braving this depravity reading!

MASTERLIST 🔻 AO3 🔻 ORIGINAL WORKS

[fbfh]

can i request some tony stark with a toddler content 🙏

YES YOU FUCKING CAN. Tony with a baby is spectacular. Obviously. Tony with a precocious kid?? Delicious! Tony with an angsty teen? Scrudiddlyumptious. Tony with a toddler??? With a toddler????? Un fucking matched. 

Ngl there was a LOT of anxiety leading up to this if he’s had you since you were a baby. Even if he just got you recently, LOTS of anxiety. Because in his mind it’s like yeah, babies don’t hate you as long as you feed and change them and comfort them when they cry and hold them enough and keep their growing minds engaged and stimulated. You can’t say something that will make a baby hate you. But now that you’re old enough to talk and run around on your own, that’s when he’s hit with the oh god oh fuck what if they hate me spiral

And he’s trying so hard not to be like his own father, so even though his instincts are fighting constantly to hold you close and smother you AND keep you at arms length and monitor you from afar so he doesn’t accidentally hurt you or mess you up, he knows he can’t just do either of those. Either of those alone will mess you up and drive you away.

So he lets you take the lead a lot. 

He lets you approach him first, climb up onto his work bench in your cute little overalls with the sesame street characters embroidered on the pocket or your cozy little footie pajamas and ask what he’s doing. And believe me, he wants you there as long as you want to be there, following him around like a second shadow and babbling and constantly asking why about everything. 

Pepper warns him that it’s going to get annoying, he’s going to grow tired of your constant questions.

He never does.

Even when you do get bored and toddle off, you come back moments later with plushies or a magna doodle or tinker toys or something. You just sit a few feet away, playing with the same intense focus that mirrors his own.

Also as we’ve established, this man CANNOT PUT YOU DOWN to save himself. He has to have Jarvis monitor how long he holds and carries you so you can still learn to walk properly. 

“I know, I know pumpkin. But Jarvis says we gotta practice walking around now. But, hey- I’m right here. I love you.”

He kisses your forehead. 

“Even if I’m not physically holding you, you’ve always got me. Right here.” He taps your chest, right above your heart. You nod solemnly, taking in his words. 

“What- what’s phys-skully mean?” 

He chuckles so fondly. God, he just loves you so much. He didn’t know a person could be so perfect. He didn’t know a Stark could be so perfect. 

“Well, phys-i-cal-ly,” he starts, breaking down the syllables slowly for you to copy. “That’s right. Physically means it’s about something you can touch with your body, not an idea in your mind.”

He continues, taking slow, meandering steps through the halls of his Malibu house or the upper levels of Stark Tower (depending on when this is). He follows you, lets you set the pace while he walks around with you. 

“The opposite of physical is mental, something you can’t touch. Like a dream, or an idea in your head.” You listen with rapt attention as you hop from tile to tile on the floor, something so purely adorable that he struggles for a moment to remember his train of thought. 

“Right- so let’s say you want to build a spaceship for your toys. When you’re thinking about it, picturing it in your head, it’s a mental image. But when you actually put it together with… legos, and cardboard, and glitter glue, that’s when it becomes a physical object.”

“Ooooohhh…” you nod in understanding. “So- so if there’s a- when- if you put wings on a giraffe baby, it’s- it physkikal. But if you just thinking about it, it’s mental. It- it a- a idea.” 

Tony nods along with you. 

“Exactly.” 

He scoops you up suddenly, making you giggle and squeal. 

“Alright, that’s enough walking for now. Let’s get you a snack, something to feed that big brain of yours.” 

He ruffles your hair and you giggle again, hugging him and resting your head on his shoulder while he carries you into the kitchen. As you nibble on your goldfish crackers and cut up fruit, he hears you muttering to your plushies about how this is a physkikal gol’fish. But now- (cue baby stark eating noises) now it all gone. Now it an idea. It’s not physkikal anymore.

Christ almighty, if you’re this smart before you’re even out of velcro shoes… he can’t wait to see what comes next. He really can’t. And he will be right there by your side the entire fucking time. 

Physically. And emotionally. 

[ddejavvu]

Tonys controversially younger gf is so funny to me, he so randomly doesnt pay for things just to mess with her💀

oh fuck anon you hit me right where i needed it.

you're not overly demanding with his money, so when you ask nicely for something and he says, 'no. i'm starting to think you're using me for my money', you're at a total loss.

you've got this little pout on your face as you figure out how to respond, because no, you're not only with him for his money, but damn, it's nice to have at your fingertips. you can take the rejection, you just don't understand why he's saying no, because if anyone in the world is made of money it's tony stark. he loves watching you grapple silently with the 'no' because you don't want to come off as entitled or a gold digger so you don't confront him about it, but you're clearly bothered by the situation because he totally could buy it for you but he's not going to so does that mean you did something wrong?

he watches the wheels turn furiously in your sweet little head and probably has already purchased whatever it was, not that he'll tell you until it arrives. he's just a shithead that likes to mess with you.

[that1geek06]

"English isn't my-"

Hush now my friend, and let me read the absolute beauty of a fic that you have bestowed this world and humiliated the first English speakers with

[bvrnesher]

❝ 𝒫ull 𝒪ut 𝒢ame ! ❞ ― marvel !

summary: just what I think of each of these characters when it comes to pull out 🗣

— 𝒮teve ℛogers ;; He likes to think he’s good at it. And honestly? He is. Respectful, controlled, painfully self-aware. The second he feels himself getting close, he speeds up, grits his teeth, and pulls out right on time—usually on your stomach or chest. Gentleman. HOWEVER—deep, deep down? He does have a breeding kink. He just won’t admit it. The day you whisper “it’s okay, I’m on the pill”? He hesitates just long enough to ruin his perfect record.

Rating: 10/10. Practically flawless. Just a little too responsible.

— 𝒯ony 𝒮tark ;; This man cums like he’s paying rent. He could pull out. He knows how. Won’t. He’s like, “You knew the risk,” and just lets go. Finishes inside you with a smirk, kisses your temple like he didn’t just pump you full, and asks for another round like nothing happened.

Rating: 7/10. Could pull out. Ignores it. Still makes it hot.

— ℬucky ℬarnes ;; NO WAY this man is risking it, but for the sake of the game, let’s say he tries. He means to pull out. He really does. But the second you tighten around his cock when he’s close? Too late. He’s already twitching, already filling you up. Feels guilty after, mutters apologies, but ask him for another round and he forgets all about it.

Rating: 5/10. Tries. Fails. Feels bad. Does it again.

— 𝒯hor 𝒪dinson ;; Sweetheart himbo with the pull-out instincts of a golden retriever. You tell him “pull out,” and he’s like, “But why, beloved?” while thrusting deeper. His idea of affection is cumming in you until it’s leaking down your thighs and calling it “a gift from the gods.”

Rating: 0/10. He means well. That’s the problem.

— ℒoki ℒaufeyson ;; Oh, he can pull out. He just won’t—unless it’s to tease you. Otherwise? He stays buried until the very end, groaning in your ear about how good you feel while he fills you up. He wants to watch it drip out. It’s about power. Ownership. Ruin. You say “pull out”? He says “make me.”

Rating: 0/10. Wicked.

— 𝒫eter 𝒫arker ;; He’s studied the theory. He wants to pull out. He really does. But the second things start getting too good? He’s whimpering, cock twitching, finishing inside you before he even realizes it. Apologizes mid-orgasm and offers to run to the pharmacy still inside you.

Rating: 3/10. He tries. He panics. He fails.

— ℰrik 𝒦illmonger ;; Pull out? Babe, he hears you say it and smirks. Doesn’t even pretend to listen. Holds your hips down, grinds in deeper, and finishes inside like he means it. Tells you “You better take all that,” like it’s a challenge and a threat. Might pull out once—just to finish on your face and call it a reward. But most nights? He’s filling you up like it’s his personal mission.

Rating: -100/10. He’s doing it on purpose. You’re not walking right tomorrow.

[rana030]

Pov: you're reading fanfiction and suddenly y/n starts to call him daddy

[noonecareslol]

When it hits 9 pm and I pull out this combo:

Ps: I have severe writers block. Help

[babymangosworld]

Me when y/n is acting like a little fucking child for male validation

[12welveinched]

Me after clicking a p link thinking it was a fic rec.

Jumpscare.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Hi gorgeous, can you make a tony stark x yn clingy and cuddles 😍 please

Human Cling-wrap

A/N: GIF is for ref purpose only! Hope you like this!

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warning: none! Floof.

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

Tony wakes up to a problem.

Not the normal kind—like a reactor glitch or Pepper’s polite-but-murderous “We need to talk” tone. No.

This problem is you, wrapped around him like a human koala with attachment issues and exactly zero shame.

You’ve got a leg thrown over his hip, your cheek smushed against his arc reactor, and both arms tucked under his shirt like you’re trying to merge with his soul via osmosis.

He’s trapped. And weirdly okay with it.

Tony exhales. “You do realize I have meetings today.”

You grunt and pull him closer.

He looks down. “You’re literally inside my shirt right now.”

“Mmhmm,” you mumble. “Warm.”

“Oh my God, you’re a cat.”

He shifts slightly, and your grip tightens like a sleepy python.

Tony winces. “Okay, ow. That’s a rib. I need that one. It’s sentimental.”

You finally peek one eye open and give him the world’s sleepiest glare. “Shhh. Cuddle hours. You can billionaire later.”

He opens his mouth to argue. Stops.

Stares at your ridiculously adorable pout and the way your fingers start tracing lazy circles on his back.

“…You weaponize this,” he mutters. “You know you do.”

You don’t answer. You’re already drifting back to sleep.

Tony sighs and grabs his phone off the nightstand, one hand awkwardly scrolling while you remain wrapped around him like emotional cling film.

[Text to Pepper]: Cancel everything until noon. Maybe two.

[Follow-up]: She’s in koala mode. I fear for my ribs. Also my heart.

.

Later, when you finally wake up, still latched on like you’re worried he’ll float away, Tony brushes your hair from your face and murmurs,

“You’re lucky you’re cute. And soft. And borderline feral when denied affection.”

You yawn and nuzzle into his neck. “You love it.”

And he grins, because yeah.

Yeah, he really, really does.

.

Later in the day-

Tony tries. He really does.

He settles on the couch with his StarkPad, a coffee, and the deeply delusional belief that he’s about to get through at least three items on his to-do list.

You, however, have other plans.

Specifically: being horizontal and in his lap immediately.

You flop dramatically across him like a starfish that’s lost its will to ocean. Head on his thigh. Legs tucked under a blanket. Fingers immediately worming their way under his hoodie.

Tony pauses mid-keystroke. “You good there, octopus?”

“Mmm,” you hum, turning your face to nuzzle into his leg. “You smell like espresso and ego.”

He snorts. “That’s because I’m the whole café and the brand.”

You peek up at him from his lap. “You working?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Trying.”

Pause.

“You’re making it very difficult.”

Your response? You grab the hem of his hoodie and tug it, not up—but down, like you want it to drape over your face. Like he’s a tent. Your human-shaped cuddle fort.

“Are you seriously hiding under my—ow, okay, that’s my stomach, sweetheart, not a pillow—”

“Shhhhh,” you say, voice muffled by his hoodie. “This is my comfort zone now.”

Tony stares blankly at the ceiling. “I used to be feared in congressional hearings.”

“Now you’re my emotional mattress,” you murmur. “Embrace your destiny.”

And the worst part is?

He does.

He puts the StarkPad aside, rakes a hand through your hair, and mutters something about how you’re lucky you’re adorable and how he was just about to solve cold fusion, but fine, this is fine.

You sigh contentedly as he starts lazily stroking your back, all pretense of productivity melting faster than your resolve when he smirks in that post-cuddle-glow way.

.

Thirty minutes later, FRIDAY’s voice pipes in:

“Boss, your board meeting—”

“Tell them I’m busy,” he says without opening his eyes.

“Shall I inform them you’ve been kidnapped by a clingy cuddle beast?”

You grin into his hoodie.

Tony groans. “Snitch.”