Tony: I don’t think anyone knows how hard they work- like all day. We would be tired; we would leave and have to come back to wake them up but they barely went to sleep- maybe two or three hours. They just worked so hard. Episode five. That’s probably one of the main times you can see how tired they are. We had to carry them out of bed. It wasn’t scripted, it wasn’t acting. We had to carry them out of bed. They barely kept their eyes open and were falling asleep.
Summary: If there’s one thing Tony knew how to do, it was how to be suave. After meeting you, it dawned on him that maybe he needed a better education in that particular life skill.
Warnings: Conversational meme usage, also, swearing and a hella weak ending
Word count: 2000
A/N: I tried
Tony Stark was a playboy. As smooth as the gold alloy his suit was made of and as popular as an alpha of the pack. He was not someone who got nervous around a girl, especially not to the point where he’d trip or blank out or even stutter - that was not Tony Stark.
And yet, it’s the only Tony Stark you know. Tony blames it on bad luck, especially when Bruce gives him a questioning look after every one of his incidents. Deep down it actually kind of freaks him out, solely because he thinks he knows the way to a woman’s heart is confidence, and he’s always just short of that when you’re present.
I'm so fucking emo about civil war tbh like ugh i feel like a lot of people entirely blame tony for how it ended but srsly? fuck no- how do you expect a damaged man to react to all that? HE TRIED TO HELP STEVE. And Zemo, the bastard, showed him his parents getting killed. and oh, guess what, THE MURDERER IS LIKE, A FOOT AWAY FROM YOU LOL Oh and your “best friend”? he knew all along! He didn’t think you could handle it :-) OF COURSE YOU’D BE MAD ABOUT THAT! WHAT A PATRONIZING FUCK OH AND THE “HE’S MY FRIEND” PART? WELL BITCH TONY FUCKING GAVE YOU A HOME. I GET THAT YOU AND ROBOCOP ARE BFFS BUT TONY HAS DONE SO MUCH FOR YOU AND YOUR AVENGERS. GOD I’M SO MAD ABOUT IT And you know tony blames himself FOR EVERYTHING
If he was honest, that would be a lie. His first memory is something mundane like his mother singing to him or watching TV with his father. But what he remembers most, brightest, strongest is this: standing on the ledge of his family’s second-story apartment balcony, gazing down at the little section of the tiny backyard Mrs. Turner has used for her garden (bushes grown up high, hopefully high enough) taking a breath, closing his eyes and leaping.
He remembers flying.
That glorious moment of weightlessness fighting gravity, when he was moving faster than light, faster than sound, the fastest thing on this planet. He was invincible.
He doesn’t remember hitting the ground, but he remembers rolling off his broken arm to stare up at the blue blue sky and thinking someday it would be his. Someday he’d never have to land.
(”He fell,” his little sister Jeanette insists with a pout when his mother comes home and panics at not finding Jim where he should be. He can hear them through the window. “He fell, Mama.”
His mama looks over the balcony and screeches, going back inside. Jeanette stares at Jim through the bars of the railing. “I didn’t fall,” he tries to say, but he’s six and the pain is finally catching up to him. He can’t feel his arm. He cries when his mother picks him up.)