Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow over Stark Tower’s polished steel and glass. you stirred beneath crisp white sheets, her head pounding lightly, your body aching in a way that wasn’t from training.

You sat up slowly. The room was unfamiliar, luxurious. Stark-designed.

Then you saw him.

Tony Stark lay beside you, shirtless, smirking faintly even in sleep. One look at him—and the night came rushing back:

The gala.

Thor’s Asgardian booze.

Tony’s hand pulling her onto the dance floor.

Heat. Movement. No words.

Just the elevator.

The bedroom.

His mouth on your skin.

You groaned, covering your face with your hand.

“Relax.” Tony mumbled, not opening his eyes. “You’re not the first Avenger to wake up here confused. But you’re definitely the first to glow through the entire night.”

“How drunk was I?” You muttered.

“Drunk enough to punch the minibar.” He said. “Sober enough to tell me to shut up and kiss you.”

You stood, dragging the sheet with you. “This can’t happen again.”

Tony opened one eye. “Agreed... Unless it does.”

You scowled. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re unpredictable.” He replied. “That’s probably why I didn’t kick you out.”

You sighed and started hunting for your suit.

“Coffee?” He offered.

You paused. “Only if you don’t flirt.”

“No promises. But it’ll be strong.”

You disappeared into the next room, and Tony watched you go, something unreadable in his expression—caught between curiosity and the first tug of something he hadn’t expected.