Warm Me Up

all this time I’ve been playing human

tony stark doesn't die.

he burns, from the inside out. the infinity stones are too much for a regular human to handle, and the iron man suit could only do so much. so he burns.

human inventions aren't adequate enough to combat cosmic damages. super soldier blood transfusions do nothing. gamma infused hulk blood also has no effect. extremis is a lost cause.

the entire right side of his body barely functions anymore. and his face. oh god, his face. it's so damaged, so scarred, tony can barely look himself in the mirror anymore, let alone expect others to look at him without cringing away.

so he hides.

he builds new armor. gone are the flashy colors. no more red and gold. just plain old gunmetal grey. gone are the nanobots. no more skin-hugging technology. just cold hard planes of metal. back to unflinching, terror-inducing steel, like the suit he wore when he flew out of that cave over a decade ago.

he hardly ever takes it off. it's the only way he can get his body to just move. it's life support. it's a high-tech prosthesis.

but that's not enough.

he's just so ashamed. sure, he's saved the world. but while everyone else lives on, he's barely surviving. so he covers himself up the best he can. with the armor. then with a cloak, so he looks a little softer, a little more inviting. not that it matters, when he hardly lets anyone see him anymore.

he stops wearing red. he can't even look at that color anymore, when all it does is remind him of the day he couldn't just die.

what's the opposite of red?

he wears green instead.

people looked at iron man and saw hope.

now people look at anthony stark and see doom.

------

steve rogers doesn't die.

he lives a happy life, with the one who got away, and returns to his timeline knowing that he's fulfilled his lifelong dream and he can rest well knowing what it's like to grow old with the love of his life.

except that wasn't actually his dream.

he goes back to the future and finds out the man he's in love with is still alive, and if he plays his cards right, steve might just get to spend the rest of his life with tony.

but steve is old. and he's dying. the rest of his life could only last so long.

and tony doesn't even want to see him. tony doesn't want to see anyone.

so steve begs. he sends messages through friday. notes under the door. anything he can think of, he tries.

"please, give us a chance."

it takes longer than steve has time for, but he finally wears tony down. when tony opens the doors to the lab for steve, he hands over three vials filled with molten orange liquid.

"extremis. modified and enhanced trifold for a super soldier. it's a risk, but if it works, you'll have at least another fifty years left."

steve takes the risk.

his muscles come back. his wrinkles disappear. his hair darkens from white to gold.

steve picks up tony, armor and cloak and all, and spins him around in joy. he's so happy, he lights up from within.

literally, he lights up. his skin glows orange. he's dangerously hot to the touch. he breathes, and smoke escapes his mouth.

but becoming a human torch is a small price to pay if it means he gets to be with tony.

Tony Stark + his amazing bubble butt  (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ✧

Tony would be a bratty sub

i got hit by @sreppub s last post with a wave of nostalgia

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) Dir. Anthony & Joe Russo

all my tony stank doodles over the years !! Enjoy !! Notes below :

The mug ones read "N°1 Iron Dad" and "Dont Talk To Me Until I've Eaten This Mug" respectively given by Peter and Pepper lmao

I also dont actually hc Tony as trans but sometimes you just gotta put your blorbos in a binder for mental health purposes yk-

The mechanical arm ones are inspired by a fic that one of my mutuals wrote, but they kinda went no contact/off the internet so i wont draw attention to them, but if you see this by any chance ! You are amazing and loved ! You inspired me !

𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐲 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

tony eating you out

tony spiting in your mouth

sensual sex

missionary with tony pt. 2

tony fingering the attitude out of you

tony cumming in your mouth

deep throating

doggy Style with tony

tony playing with your tightest hole

showing tony your new set

lazy morning sex

deep thrusts

tony using a toy on you

tony teasing your clit

riding sub!tony

making out with tony

racking your nails down tony’s chest

teasing

fucking tony at work

being tied up by tony

fucking at 3 in the morning

tony using your throat

beefy!tony fucking you

a very bad job — anon request !

tony stark / male reader

bratty tony stark, drooling, face-slapping, hair pulling, finger sucking

he had known what he was doing, smirking into the sea of reporters like he always did and laughing through his dry humour about how you were basically redundant — an employee paid to sit in the car like a good dog — before turning tail and slinking back to your side to be guided to the fancy car that someone else was driving. you had already texted him to roll up the privacy divider and cover his ears if he didn't wanna hear anything.

'who's the good dog now?' you asked and slapped the billionaire's cheek hard enough to make his head turn to the side. tony looked good on his knees between yours, drooling around the two fingers you were holding inside his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. he grinned and bobbed his head a little, choking and ignoring it like the slut he was. his hips were moving, jumping every so often as he humped the air. the hand that had slapped him cupped his cheek and you felt more than heard tony groan around your fingers, 'my mistake honey — you're my bitch — aren't you ?'

his hands pawed at the front of your slacks and you wrapped fingers into his hair, tugging hard enough to pull him away and unzipping them yourself, jacking your cock a few times as you watched his eyes go dark with want. the drool that had been slipping past your fingers was falling, unashamedly, down his chin now.

'come on,' he tried to hurry you, leaning against the hand in his hair until he was straining to try and lick at your dick. he was trapped in his head now, so desperate to get fucked, that he didn't care how pissed off you were getting. his hips ground against the very tip of your shoe, 'you're already hard for me, at least impress me with one of the things I pay you for.'

your grin was savage and you leaned down, licking your way into tony's mouth alongside your fingers and fucking it with your tongue. 'you don't get this because you pay me, baby,' you snarled and started to slowly feed your cock into his mouth, watching as his red lips stretched around the fat head. you lifted your foot, letting tony roll his own dick into it over and over again like the pathetic whore he was, 'you get that because you're my bitch in heat.'

" DAEMONUIUM " - Tony Stark

Chapter Summary ➣ The Fall of Stark Castle. Pairing ➣ Fallen Prince!Tony Stark x Reader Word Count ➣ 611 words Chapter Warnings ➣ Medieval! AU, Slow Burn, Violence, Major Character Death. Author's Notes ➣ An idea by @welldonekhushi, a bit different to what I usually write, next chapter will hopefully provide more context. Thank you to my lovely beta reader @nicoline1998enilocin <3

Prologue - Overture

The rope felt rough against the Prince’s neck.

Tapestries of silk, once proudly displaying the kingdom’s colours and emblems, have been shredded from their rods, some burnt into meagre piles of ash; the rest torn by the passage of time and faded by the harsh sun. 

The throne, once a shining beacon in the grand hall, now stands in solitude. Its layers of gold leaf have been stripped away, revealing the cold iron underneath. The brilliant gemstones that adorned its surface have been pillaged and looted, leaving only empty settings behind. The rows of stained glass windows, each depicting a moment of the kingdom's triumphs, are now shattered, their intricate designs marred into shards. 

The peasants stormed the palace. They came in hordes of near thousands, pitchforks and flames in hand. The grand doors splintered under their force, crashing open to reveal the opulent corridors within. The echoes of their cries reverberated off the stone walls as they surged forward, a seething mass of defiance against the monarchy. The nobles, once standing proud and untouchable, now cowered in their gilded chambers, the unfortunate ones having been slaughtered in cold blood.

The same could not be said for the Prince. For he ran, like a swift wind through every nook and cranny of the castle — up twisting stairwells, down spiralling towers — the peasant’s voices like cries of the damned — the walls quaking with emancipated rage, like the first leak in the wall of a dam, forewarning that nothing could hold for long. His patterned robe dragged upon the floor, stained red with blue blood.

His legs could only carry him so far; he found himself perched at the edge of the turret, overlooking the dark horizon and the sheer drop into the ocean below, the waves crashing against the splintered rocks. He could hear the peasants’ voices as they approached, drawing closer by the second. It dawned on him that death was not a matter of when, but how.

“ There he is, ”  — fear became a tangible, living force, creeping over his figure like some ravenous beast, holding him in a standstill — “ Seize him! ” 

The Prince was bound; not by silver shackles or golden chains, but by simple rope. He was marched like cattle out of the palace gates, being put on as a barbaric display of irreverence; a sovereign turned laughing stock in the span of a night. The peasants scrambled like rats, just for the chance to witness the spectacle. 

Amidst the crackling of bonfires and the scorching heat. His body trembled with cold, but his mind burned with anger — with memories of the firelight still drifting like phantoms in his brain. 

Tears fall from the Prince’s eyes. They meander down his cheeks. 

That fateful second before the floorboards dropped, the Prince pondered if he had anything left to save in death.  He stands in solitude on the gallows. While the Cardinal recited blessings in Latin, the words in the people’s mouths were nothing but curses, laced with vitriol and the name of the Devil, lashing out like a bitten and cornered dog, condemning him to the deepest rings of Hell.

The creak of the floorboards, the roar of the crowd — these were among the last things he would hear before he died. His eyes did not bear remorse; instead, they held shame, to be stripped from the high chambers of the castle and reduced to the same fate as a lowly outlaw. 

What he’d give to be a young prince again, adorned with jewels and veneration — now he’s traded in his necklace for a noose — 

The Prince took his last few straggling breaths, and the floor gave way beneath him.

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