Oneshots, imagines, and ideas, oh my! *discontinued*

Tony Stark Imagine

Tony Stark Imagine

Song for this chapter: Fame is less than Infamy, by Fall Out Boy

Warnings: Rated TV-14 for Cursing, alcohol, sexual allusions.

Tony Stark Imagine

Dead to the world, Y/n was avidly jamming her fingers against her new tablet, trying to transfer all the data she had on her old one over to it. She was waiting for Tony, who had texted her, informing her that he was on his way up to her apartment. To humor him, she'd gone to stand by the door, but quickly became distracted and turned her attention to the tech in her hands. Apparently, 'on my way up' meant 'be there in a half an hour babe', at least for Tony. She didn't mind too terribly--after all, when he was home she tended to accidentally neglect him by getting wrapped up in her work. By the time he actually made it up, she was facing away from him and she hadn't even heard the door open.

Because she wasn't watching, he rolled his eyes before easing up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Hey princess sparkles, I see you found some new technology."

She jumped a little bit, nearly dropping her tablet, and he tucked his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder while rubbing small circles on her hips.

"I'm glad you're home." She murmured, closing down her device. "Did everything go okay?"

"Everything was terrible, but I suddenly feel a lot better."

She pulled away from him gently, and he let her go.

"Talk to me, Tony, what's going on?"

Without looking back, she walked over to the living area set up by the window. There were only two rooms in that apartment--her bedroom, and then everything else arranged in a space the size of most people's living rooms. (Aside from the bathroom, of course, which was a tiny little closet with a toilet, sink, and shower jammed into it.) Tony often remarked on the cheap place, but she brushed him off every time. She'd had it since her last year of college, which meant she had six years of memories with the run-down place.

Besides, her internship-turned-job at his company gave her the means to fill it with nice, sensible things that made it look posh and gave her all of the space. The living area was pressed into the corner farthest from the door, nothing but a couch and a coffee table to it. Dragging his feet, he trudged over to her, pleased just slightly by the champagne she was pouring.

"It's just a lot. The Avengers is a team of superheroes who've saved the world more than once, and yet everybody hates us."

"You know why, though."

"I know why." He admitted with a pout, sitting next to her and taking the glass she offered. "And for a while, I agreed with everyone. I let the guilt eat at me."

"There's never any good without some bad."

"I know that. I get that, now."

"So then what's the problem?"

He sighed, sliding off the couch as he did so. She usually would've criticized his childish behavior, but instead, she just positioned herself behind him and started absently rubbing his shoulders.

"Everybody's saying that we need a P.R lady."

"A...P.R lady?"

"Yeah, someone to...tell us where to go, what to say, that sort of thing, and make sure there're cameras there to see it all. The avengers just went and visited a children's hospital--do you forgive them for destroying an entire city and killing a boatload of people?" He scoffed. "Public relations is a sick, twisted joke."