avengers x male reader (requests are open)

TONY STARK

The gala at Stark Tower was, predictably, excessive. The chandeliers looked like they belonged in Versailles, the bar was stocked with liquors aged longer than some of the guests had been alive, and the music was loud enough to vibrate the soles of your shoes. The kind of party where ego dripped from every corner—and the king of ego himself, Tony Stark, was at the center.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not really.

The invitation had come through a student—one of yours from MIT—who interned for a Stark subsidiary and got an extra ticket. “You have to go,” she had said. “You’ll probably see more Nobel laureates and inflated egos in one night than a year in the faculty lounge.”

And that’s how you, Professor Y/N L/N, quantum physics lecturer at MIT, ended up holding a glass of scotch in one hand and balancing small talk with socialites who thought ‘quantum’ meant ‘small and sparkly.’

Then, he found you.

“Tell me you’re not another hedge fund brat,” said a voice behind you—wry, amused, and unmistakably Tony Stark.

You turned, eyes meeting the sharp brown gaze of a man who walked like he owned the place—because, well, he did.

“Depends,” you said coolly. “If hedge funds deal in quantum entanglement and lectures that make undergrads cry, then yes. I’m loaded.”

Tony raised a brow, amused. “Professor?”

You held out your hand. “Y/N L/N. MIT. Quantum Physics.”

Tony didn’t shake your hand. He stared at it, then at you, then back at your hand before giving it a slow, exaggerated shake. “Well, Professor, consider me entangled.”

You chuckled. “That line probably works better on interns.”

“It actually works best on Norse gods, believe it or not. But you—” He gave you a once-over. “You don’t look like the type who’s easily impressed.”

You sipped your drink. “I’m a physicist. If I got impressed every time someone bragged about their tech, I’d never get anything done.”

“Ouch,” Tony said, mock wounded. “Here I am, offering charm, and you counter with scientific apathy.”

“I prefer intellectual honesty,” you said, lips twitching in a smirk. “Though your suit upgrades are impressive. The new arc reactor model—streamlining its field stabilization with rotating polarity fields? Clever.”

Tony stared. “You read the white paper I published last month?”

“I edited it in my head.”

And for once, Tony Stark was speechless.

You added with a grin, “Your field dampening equation was missing a variable. Magnetic flux interference, if you're working in an environment with high ionic disruption.”

Tony blinked, looked you over, and said, “Marry me.”

You laughed.

He wasn't joking.

“Well, you don’t waste time,” you said, amused.

“Wasted time is wasted genius,” he quipped. “So, what do you say? Drinks in the lab? I promise I only flirt with slightly dangerous men.”

You leaned in, your tone soft but pointed. “I don’t sleep with billionaires until after the second thesis critique.”

Tony grinned. “Then I guess I better start writing.”

Later That Night — Stark Lab

You didn’t expect to stay. But there you were, a few hours later, in one of the lower levels of Stark Tower, both of you surrounded by holograms and theoretical constructs. Tony had poured you another drink, but the conversation had moved from small talk to real talk.

You stood shoulder-to-shoulder, watching a projection of quantum fluctuations on a lab display.

“So,” he said, looking at the model, “do you think string theory holds up, or are we all just avoiding the truth that the universe is laughing at us?”

You scoffed. “String theory is beautiful. Elegant. But possibly irrelevant. Our universe doesn’t care about elegance. It cares about survival.”

Tony glanced sideways at you. “Kind of like me.”

You looked at him. “You survive just fine.”

His voice dropped lower, less flippant. “Doesn’t mean I always know why.”

The mood shifted slightly, your body brushing his as you leaned in to modify a projection model.

“Here,” you murmured, tweaking a setting. “Collapse that energy node. See?”

Tony watched as the model smoothed out, the anomalies settling into readable equations.

He let out a low whistle. “You’re dangerously attractive when you fix my math.”

You turned to him, close enough to smell the faint scent of scotch and burnt metal. “You’re not so bad when you stop performing and start thinking.”

Another pause. His eyes lingered on your lips for a second too long.

Tony smirked, but it was softer this time. “You’re not what I expected.”

You raised a brow. “You expected someone impressed by the suit, didn’t you?”

“I expected someone who’d smile politely, pretend I’m the smartest in the room, and ask for a selfie.”

You smiled. “Then I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m not.”

There was a long silence between you. The lab flickered with quiet light, the only sound the gentle hum of tech and the heartbeat pounding in both your chests.

Tony reached up and gently brushed a finger against your collar. “You know, I don’t do this often.”

You tilted your head. “Invite strangers into your lab?”

He grinned. “Let them stay.”

You looked at him, heart steady. “Then maybe it’s not just the universe that’s unpredictable.”

He laughed, a genuine, warm sound.

“God, I like you.”

You leaned in just a little. “And I like making billionaires sweat.”

“Careful,” he said, brushing his fingers over your hand, voice low. “I bite.”

“Only if you solve the Schrödinger paradox without collapsing the waveform,” you whispered back.

Tony’s smile widened. “Is that a challenge?”

You leaned closer. “It’s an invitation.”