... ⠀⠀ 𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗 ⠀ ᵐᵃᶰ

TONY STARK.         IRON MAN.          primarily set in earth 616 timeline. i've been writing tony since 2021 on & off so consider this blog more headcanon based then comics.       not friendly towards any mcu canon.      exclusively friends only.    adored by zoya.     [pakistani, she/they 24.]      not affiliated with the mcu.   low activity & plot orientated. affiliated with @sentinehl @markmans @kingnther @nexusbeing @grooveys @boystark @hwitequeen @frekcles @devilaw @mmasqued @mesmre @quillnova @tricksterborn @superwidow

tony stark didn't truly believe in asking for permission, not when he was young and hotheaded, not when he was learning how to control the reigns of stark industries, and definitely not when he wanted to make pepper potts smile. he did it the way he did everything else — with confidence sharpened to a point, with charm deployed like a controlled experiment. he leans in over pepper’s shoulder as she works, close enough that his voice becomes a private thing, warm and amused. ❝ you know, ❞ he murmurs, eyes flicking from the screen to the elegant line of her profile, ❝ there are at least six people in this building who think you’re the reason i’m functional. i haven’t corrected them. i enjoy the myth. ❞ his grin is quick, conspiratorial, the kind that suggests he’s letting her in on a joke the universe wasn’t invited to hear. she's pretty when she blushes, she's softer when tony can convince him she's his.

fictional character wrapped list your top characters of the year , the ones you spent the most time thinking about.

tony notices her because she doesn’t look up, that’s the crime. everyone else does, he's used to the gawks, whispers, how people measure themselves against the legend. instead, she just stands there, calm as a held breath, like genius isn’t loud enough to bother her. ❝ huh, ❞ he says, drifting closer, mouth already curved into trouble. ❝ either you’re immune to charm, fame, and devastating good looks… or you’re playing it cool. ❞ a glance, deliberate, curious, unmistakably pleased. he's had this game with sersi for years now, taut lips and a shadowing need❝ bold strategy. i almost respect it. ❞ he stops in front of her, taps the arc reactor once with a knuckle as if signaling his own self proclaimed importance. ❝ you look bored. ❞ a beat. ❝ i'm insulted. i thought we had moved past pretending you didn't like seeing me? ❞ then softer, sharper, eyes bright with interest. ❝ so tell me, are you here to steal my tech, fix it, or fall in love with me? because i’d like to schedule accordingly. ❞

tony has learned that silence hits different when it’s earned. the tower is quiet in the way only late nights manage, no alarms, no suits charging, no jarvis diagnostics murmuring statistics about a world that keeps asking too much of him. just the low hum of the city far below and the soft, uneven rhythm of a child breathing somewhere down the hall. he leans against the glass, arc reactor dimmed, reflection fractured, billionaire, engineer, weapons-maker, savior, liability, and then there’s that version of him, the one that exists only because she does. she is sprawled in sleep the way only children can be, limbs unbothered by gravity or consequence, curls stuck to her forehead like they’ve staged a rebellion of their own. there’s a crayon drawing taped crookedly to her nightstand, iron man with a heart that’s too big, a sun where the chest piece should be, and it guts him in a way shrapnel never quite managed. tony crouches anyway, careful, reverent, as if she’s something holy he’s afraid to break by looking too closely. his fingers hover over her shoulder, hesitate, then settle ... grounding, real. proof.

i think i broke something.