Leah🍓

Tony Stark knew you were a boundary, the forbidden fruit that could shatter the fragile, already-strained relationship he had with his son, Arno. 

He should have stayed indifferent.

He should’ve pretended he didn’t give a damn about his son’s "little girlfriend."

But damn him for trying to be a good father and failing miserably. 

Damn him for being unable to mask the spark of genuine excitement he felt every time you walked through the door. 

And most of all, damn him for caring too much about the heartbreak in your eyes as the gala screen flickered to life, broadcasting Arno in another woman’s arms right in the middle of Tony’s keynote speech.

Tony glared at the screen, the bile rising in his throat. Arno was supposed to be everything he wasn't; better, cleaner, more stable. Yet, here was Tony, staring at the wreckage, wondering exactly where he had gone wrong.

Maybe it was the lack of a mother figure, he thought bitterly. Maybe he should have married Pepper years ago, before she realized Happy had been the one truly standing by her while she was relentlessly pining over a boss too busy playing the superhero. But the past was gone, and right now, you needed a superhero.

“JARVIS, kill the footage. Trace the source,” Tony commanded, his feet already moving involuntarily toward you.

You stood paralyzed, a statue of shock in the center of the ballroom. The screen behind you vividly displayed Arno in a compromising position, the pixels mocking your silence. Arno was right there, his mouth moving, his hands reaching out as he tried to spin a lie you couldn't even hear. Your eyes were locked on the glowing evidence of his betrayal.

The realization hit you with the weight of a physical blow. 

You should’ve seen it coming. 

The rumors had always been there, the whispers that Arno Stark couldn’t keep it in his pants had now turned into words being spoken over a megaphone. You had just been foolish enough to believe that, for you, he had changed.

Tony reached you first, his shadow falling over you as he stepped between you and his son’s excuses. He didn't look at Arno. He only looked at you.

"Don't look at it," Tony muttered, his voice dropping to a low, protective rumble. "Look at me."

You couldn’t understand why, but the friction of Tony’s voice was the only thing capable of pulling you back to reality. Your gaze shifted, finally locking onto his dark, amber-brown eyes. Genetics were a cruel irony; Arno had piercing blue eyes that commanded attention, but looking at Tony now, you realized those blue eyes had never offered you the grounded calm that his father’s did.

“I’m going to take you out of here,” Tony said, his voice a steady anchor in the rising sea of whispers.

Before you could move, a frantic hand clamped onto your shoulder, spinning you away from the older Stark.

“Baby—baby, please. Just let me explain,” Arno pleaded, his voice cracking with the desperation of a man watching his pedestal crumble. His hand rushed down to grab your arm, his grip tight and possessive.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me. And don't you dare touch me,” you snapped. The shock had evaporated, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity as you looked at your now-ex-boyfriend.

Arno’s jaw tightened, his ego preparing for a fight, but he froze when he caught the look on his father’s face. Tony wasn't just disappointed; he looked lethal. The gala guests were beginning to congregate, the circle of prying eyes closing in as the scandal of the year unfolded in real-time.

Tony stepped forward, his presence effectively erasing Arno from the space between you. He didn't raise his voice, which only made the command more terrifying.

“Fix this, Stark,” Tony said, using their shared surname like a professional insult. “I’ll take care of her.”

He didn't wait for Arno’s permission. 

Tony’s hand found the small of your back; a touch that was firm, protective, and dangerously familiar as he began to navigate you through the crowd and toward the exit, leaving his son to drown in the mess he’d created.

“I’ll take you home, sweetheart,” Tony said, the heavy click of the car door sealing the rest of the world away.

In the sudden, plush silence of the Maybach, you were acutely aware of his proximity. The scent of expensive cologne and old-fashioned confidence filled the small space, grounding you even as your heart hammered against your ribs.

Sweetheart.

It was his designated nickname for you; a quiet constant since the day you’d met. If you were being honest with yourself, it felt dangerously intimate, a soft weight that carried more affection than anything Arno had ever whispered. 

Arno had never called you that.

Arno.

The name felt like ash in your mouth. He had pursued you with a relentless, exhausting charm, following you for weeks until you finally surrendered to a first date. At first, it had been the textbook definition of a whirlwind romance: the lavish dates, the thoughtful gifts, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room. But then the air had shifted. The warmth had turned to a clinical chill, and he’d started keeping you at arm’s length, leaving you to wonder which version of him was the lie.

The signs hadn't just been there; they had been screaming.

“How could I be so stupid?” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could catch them.

The first tear tracked a hot, salty path down your cheek, breaking the dam. Before you could even reach up to wipe it away, Tony moved. He didn't offer a hollow apology or a lecture on red flags; he simply reached across the seat and pulled you into his arms.

Tucking your head under his chin, he held you with a fierce, steady strength that made you feel, for the first time in months, like you didn't have to hold yourself together anymore. Under the expensive fabric of his suit, you could hear the rhythmic thrum of his heart; a heartbeat that felt far more honest than the one you had just lost.

“I don’t want to be home,” you managed to choke out between ragged sobs, your fingers bunching into the fabric of his shirt. You clung to him, your cheek pressed so firmly against his chest that you could feel the low, steady hum of his arc reactor. It was a rhythmic, mechanical pulse that felt a thousand times more intimate than the gala’s spotlight ever could, a secret heartbeat shared only with you.

Tony tightened his grip, pulling you flush against him as if he could physically shield you from the memory of the screen. The closeness made his own heart skip a beat, a sharp, unfamiliar jolt that had nothing to do with the technology in his chest and everything to do with the woman in his arms.

“Then we’ll go to the penthouse,” he said, the offer immediate and without hesitation. He didn't ask if it was okay; he simply decided you weren't going to be alone tonight.

As the car glided through the city, you stayed buried in his warmth. Tony’s jaw set into a hard, angry line. 

Fucking Arno. How dare he? 

How dare he be so careless with someone like you. The kind of person who lit up a room just by existing in it? 

To Tony, his son hadn’t just cheated; he had committed a sacrilege.

All Tony could do in the silence was caress your back, his hand moving in slow, grounding circles as the worst of your grief poured out against his shoulder.

The transition was a blur. You didn’t even realize you’d reached the Stark Tower until the cool air of the underground garage hit you. Tony was there instantly, guiding you out of the car with a hand firmly on your waist, leading you toward the private elevator that rose directly to the penthouse.

The moment the doors slid shut, sealing you both into the small, mirrored space, the weight of the night crashed down on you again. Without a word, you turned and hugged him instantly, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Tony’s arms wound around you like iron bands, steady and unyielding. In a world that had just turned upside down, he was the only person who felt like solid ground. 

He was the only place you felt safe.

You were at your most vulnerable, stripped of your defenses and seeking nothing but comfort in the aftermath of the wreckage.

Tony, however, was battling a surge of guilt that threatened to swallow him whole. He was beyond ecstatic to finally have you in his arms, and the shame of that joy tasted like lead. 

If only the circumstances were different. 

But he tried to shut that thought down before it could take root; who was he kidding? Why would you ever look at a man like him that way, especially now?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” you whispered, the smallness of your voice pulling him back from the ledge of his own thoughts.

He looked down, taking in your tear-streaked face, your eyes red-rimmed and your lips slightly swollen from the force of your crying. He wanted to kiss you so badly it was a physical ache in his chest. His thumb moved of its own accord, sweeping across your cheek to catch a stray tear before it could fall.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he said.

His eyes transmitted that same unshakable calm you’d felt at the gala, and for reasons you tried desperately to ignore, you felt your heart begin to flutter against your ribs. 

“He’s just being kind”, you told yourself. “He’s being the father figure he thinks he failed to be for Arno.” That had to be all it was.

“I’m getting your suit all ruined,” you murmured, looking at the damp patch on his shoulder. “I ruined your entire night.”

He let out a soft, huffed breath, his gaze softening until it was almost painful to look at. “Sweetheart, the suit is replaceable. You aren't.”

The air in the elevator suddenly felt thick, charged with a tension that made the hair on your arms stand up. You both searched each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity, the silence stretching until his gaze involuntarily dipped to your lips.

You couldn't help it; your own eyes followed suit.

Arno was handsome, yes, but it was clear now exactly who he had inherited it from. The man standing before you was the original source of that gravity, that effortless pull; and you were dangerously close to crossing a line you could never uncross. Kissing him should have been the last thing on your mind, yet here you were, wondering if his lips would taste like the scotch and sophisticated power he radiated.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out once more, the words a final, weak defense.

“Stop say—”

He never got to finish the sentence. You didn't give him the chance. You leaned in, closing the agonizing gap until your lips were finally pressed against his.

It was the smallest of movements, but it was all it took.

The dam broke.

Tony’s self-restraint, a wall he had spent years building to keep his son’s life separate from his own desires, abandoned his body in a single, ragged heartbeat. He didn't just return the kiss; he claimed it.

The kiss ignited something primal, a visceral heat that you had spent months trying to find with Arno. You realized then, with a jarring clarity, that you had been chasing a shadow when the sun was right here.

Arno would lose his mind if he ever found out.

The thought flickered through your mind, but it was quickly doused by the memory of the gala screen, Arno wrapped around the blonde you had once called a best friend. He had already forfeited his right to care. He had burned the bridge; Tony was just standing in the glow of the embers.

“Arno,” Tony groaned against your lips, finally finding the strength to pull back just an inch. His breathing was ragged, his eyes searching yours for a reason to be a better man than he felt like being.

“To hell with Arno,” you whispered. You didn't give him space to argue, winding your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him back down.

This time, the kiss wasn't just a question; it was a demand. It was passionate, desperate, and heavy with the weight of years of unspoken tension. Tony’s hands slid from your face down to your waist, his grip bruising and possessive. One hand slipped lower, his fingers digging into the curve of your hip, grounding you against him as he claimed every bit of air in your lungs.

Life had a cruel, funny way of reordering itself.

All those "big" feelings you had been waiting for, the safety, the fire, the soul-deep recognition, they didn’t belong to the son. They belonged to the man with the warm, puppy-dog eyes and the humming chest.

Tony broke the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against the arc reactor.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through your entire body. “Because I don't think I have the self-control left to do it myself.”

Right then, the elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to reveal the sprawling, moonlit expanse of the penthouse living room. The city lights twinkled beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass, but the only world that mattered was the one inside this small, metal box.

It was the point of no return.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you said, your voice steady and certain.

Tony didn't need to be told twice. He stepped forward, driving you out of the elevator and into his private sanctuary, the doors closing behind you on the life you used to have.

Your lips were like a siren song, and Tony was more than ready to let them be the death of him. You moved with a sudden, frantic purpose, your hands working to shed the heavy layers of his suit jacket and tugging at the silk knot of his tie until it hung loose and forgotten.

The scent of you was something soft and floral that clashed with the salt of your recent tears. It was driving him to the brink of insanity. But as he began to lean back into the heat, his gaze caught a sliver of silver on the side table: a framed photograph of Arno as a boy, all gap-toothed smiles and innocent eyes.

The cold weight of reality slammed into him like a physical blow. 

What the hell was he doing? He was a father, a mentor, a man who was supposed to be the adult in the room. 

What if the morning light brought nothing but regret and the realization that he was just a rebound for your broken heart?

“Sweetheart, wait,” Tony rasped, his hands coming up to gently grasp your wrists, stalling your progress. “Maybe we should stop. We should… we should think this through. You’ve had the worst night of your life. I don’t want to be another mistake.”

He tried to pull back, but you didn't let him. You leaned in, trailing a path of searing kisses down the column of his throat, your breath hitching against his skin.

“I think this is exactly what we both need,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to lock your gaze onto his. Your eyes were no longer clouded with tears; they were burning with a sharp, clear-eyed hunger.

Your hands drifted lower, sliding over the expensive fabric of his trousers to find the heavy heat of him. You caressed him gently, a bold gesture that made a low, guttural sound escape his throat.

“Show me everything Arno isn’t, Tony,” you challenged, your voice dropping to a sultry, silken velvet. “Show me what a real man feels like.”

Any remaining scrap of Tony’s moral compass shattered into a thousand pieces. The ghost of his son’s memory vanished, replaced entirely by the woman standing in front of him, claiming him in a way no one ever had.

He didn't say another word; he simply scooped you up, his mouth crashing back onto yours as he carried you toward the bedroom, finally letting the hero fall so the man could take what was his.

Tony’s hands were a frantic map of your body as he worked the zipper of your dress, his touch tracing the curve of your spine with a reverence that felt like a prayer. As the silk pooled at your feet, he looked at you with an intensity that made you feel more seen than you ever had in the spotlight of a gala.

To him, you were a dream he’d finally stopped trying to wake up from.

“You’re a little too overdressed,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and desire as your fingers moved to the buttons of his dress shirt.

You worked your way down, but your hand faltered as it brushed the cold, glowing edge of the arc reactor. You hesitated, the blue light reflecting in your eyes. Sensing the pause, Tony placed his palm firmly over yours, pressing your hand into the mechanical thrum. It wasn't a warning; it was an invitation. It was him, heart and soul, laid bare.

His lips found yours again in a kiss that was no longer a question, it was a hungry, desperate claim that left you breathless. His hands, calloused and warm from years in the workshop, explored every inch of your skin, memorizing the dips and curves of your body as if he were trying to write a blueprint of you.

Slowly, Tony lowered you onto the cool expanse of his bed. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle in your bones. He stayed there for a moment, looming over you, taking in the sight of your hair sprawled like a halo against the dark sheets. "I’m going to make you forget him. I’m going to make you forget everything but this."

The want in your eyes was a mirror to his own. His hand traveled down the slope of your hip, sliding between your thighs until he found the center of your heat. Even through the thin lace of your panties, the dampness was unmistakable.

“You’re so wet for me already, sweetheart,” he rasped, a dark, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. “And I’ve only just started with you.”

His fingers began a slow, rhythmic graze against your clit, a teasing pressure that made your back arch off the mattress. You rocked your hips instinctively against his hand, seeking more of the friction, more of him, as the last lingering shadows of the night were finally burned away by the heat of his touch.

Tony didn’t give you time to breathe. 

He stripped away the last of his clothes, his gaze never leaving yours, his body a map of hard lines and the soft, blue glow of the reactor. When he moved back over you, the sheer weight of him was a revelation.

"Arno was a boy playing with a toy he didn't deserve," Tony growled, his voice dropping into a register that made your toes curl. His hand replaced his fingers, his palm flat against your stomach as he pushed your legs wider. "He had no idea what to do with a woman like you. But I do."

He leaned down, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Tell me how much you want it, sweetheart. Tell me you want me to ruin you for anyone else."

"Tony, please," you whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him down. "Now. I want you now."

He didn't make you wait. 

He positioned himself, the tip of his cock probing at your entrance, teasing the slick heat he’d already coaxed out of you. He looked you dead in the eye, wanting to see the exact moment he took you.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice thick with a dark, possessive hunger. "I want you to remember exactly who is inside you."

With one heavy, relentless thrust, he buried himself deep. You let out a shattered gasp, your head hitting the pillow as your body stretched to accommodate the sheer size of him. It was a fullness that felt like it reached your very soul. He didn't move for a long second, letting you feel every inch of him.

"God, you’re so tight for me," he hissed, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he fought for control, . "Like you were made just to hold me."

Then, he started to move. It wasn't the tentative, rushed rhythm you were used to. It was a slow, punishing grind, it was long, deep strokes that hit every sensitive nerve until you were crying out his name. He was thorough, his movements calculated to extract the most sound from your throat.

"Is this better?" he rasped, picking up the pace, his chest slapping against yours with a rhythmic, carnal sound. "Does he even come close to this?"

"No," you sobbed, your legs locking around his waist to pull him even deeper. "He... he never..."

"That's right," Tony murmured, his movements becoming faster, harder, more desperate. "Forget him. He’s a ghost. I’m the one making you shake. I’m the one filling you up."

Your orgasm was building, a coiled spring of tension that was seconds away from snapping. Tony’s control was fraying; his breath was coming in short, sharp bursts, and the grip he had on your hips was iron-tight. He was hitting your depth with every thrust, a relentless pace that had your vision blurring.

"I'm not stopping," he groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls begin to pulse around him in the first waves of a climax. "I'm staying right here. I’m going to leave every bit of me inside you so you don't forget who you belong to tonight."

The end came in a violent rush.

You screamed his name as your world narrowed down to the sensation of him filling you, and Tony let out a low, guttural roar as he followed you over the edge. He didn't pull away. He hammered home one last time, his body stiffening as he came deep inside you, the warmth of him flooding you as he claimed you in the most permanent way he knew how.

He collapsed against you, his heart racing in tandem with the hum of the reactor, both of you gasping for air in the quiet aftermath of the storm. He didn't move, staying buried inside you, his face tucked into the crook of your neck as he held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

The room was thick with the scent of spent adrenaline and the lingering hum of the arc reactor, its soft blue glow casting long, sharp shadows against the high ceilings of the penthouse. You lay draped across Tony’s naked chest, your skin cooling in the night air while the heat of him remained an unyielding hearth beneath you.

“I don’t think you realize how many nights I dreamed about having you like this,” Tony murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that resonated through your ribs. His hand, still steady but heavy with exhaustion, traced the line of your shoulder, his thumb grazing your collarbone with a possessive softness.

You shifted, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him. The blue light caught the silver in his hair and the raw, unmasked honesty in his eyes. “I really tried to convince myself you were just being kind to me,” you admitted, the words feeling safe in the dark. “I thought I was just imagining the way you looked at me.”

Tony let out a dry, self-deprecating huff of laughter, his fingers tangling in your hair. “I was being kind. That was the plan, anyway. Play the supportive father, keep the Stark legacy from imploding, be the 'good guy' for once.” He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at you, truly looked at you. “But the more I saw of you, the real you, the more that plan went to hell. I couldn’t help myself. I started caring too much, and once that happened, pretending to be indifferent became the hardest job I’ve ever had.”

He pulled you up further, until your face was inches from his, his breath warm against your lips.

“Arno was a fool for letting you slip, but I’m a selfish man, sweetheart,” he whispered, his eyes dark with a renewed intensity. “I’m not a hero tonight. I’m just a man who finally got what he’s been starving for.”

You felt your heart flutter again, not out of fear or shock this time, but from the sheer weight of being wanted by someone who actually saw you.

“You aren’t a mistake, Tony,” you said, your voice gaining a sudden, fierce clarity.

“No,” he agreed, his hand sliding down to the small of your back to pull you flush against him once more. “You’re the only thing in this building that actually makes sense.”

That’s exactly why the two of you got this safe house, that not even the rest of the guardians know of. So you could have moments like this. No noise. No expectations. Just each other. In these moments you wasn’t a guardian of the galaxy, you was simply his. And he, yours.

You feel gentle kisses on the back of your shoulder, a sign that Peter, too, was waking slowly. He somehow managed to pull you closer to him, arms and legs now a tangled mess under the sheets: it was difficult to know whose legs were whose.

“Morning, sleepy head,” you mumble, smiling softly as you rest in his strong arms, in attempt to get even closer to him.

“Morning sugar,” he says, planting a few more soft kisses on your shoulders. A few moments later, you manage to turn around to face him, bringing your lips to his in a gentle kiss. Threading your hands through his messy hair, you smile in the kiss, feeling very content with these slow mornings with your beloved.

“Just a few more minutes?” You ask, knowing full well that he would say yes. During the chaos of your day to day life, you crave the days like these; where you aren’t required to start your day the moment you wake up.

“We can stay here as long as you like,” he replies as you rest your head on his bare chest. Neither of you feel tempted to fill the silence, savouring these moments alone that are so rare.

“What if we just stayed?” You asked a few minutes later after thinking about it. What if you did? Lived off the grid together? How would anyone find you? Nobody knows of your safe house… so, theoretically, would there be an issue? You knew Peter craved a domestic life with you as much as you do with him.

“Stayed here? We could… I’m sure the others could manage without us…” he says, mindlessly playing with your hair as he thinks about it. Of what that kind of life could look like. If you just disappeared. Maybe, it wouldn’t it be so bad after all.

“I’d miss them though… plus, it’s kind of hot seeing you defend the galaxy,” you smile up at him. And it was true, you also felt an enormous amount of pride watching him fight for and guard the literal galaxy; which you’ve told him a million times already.

“Oh yeah? Well I guess we’d have to go back then, wouldn’t we?” He smirks down at you. Deep down, you both know that for now, days like this are only temporary. There are too many threats and too many risks against the galaxy for you to stop guarding it and protecting innocent life. As long as you’re together, you’re happy to defend it for as long as you need to.

One day, this will be your everyday. There what you’re both sure on. It’s why you do what you do. So that, one day, you’re able to live this life together forever. These slow, domestic days, full of slow kisses, laughter, and of course, music. And that certainty is what gets you through the hard days.

As long as you have your man by your side, you don’t mind waiting for your forever. In the meantime, you’ll savour every moment you can by his side.