A Stark that came home || T.S · Y/n story by @Alex

The elevator doors slid open onto the common floor with a soft chime, revealing a sprawling living space bathed in afternoon light. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Manhattan skyline, and the distant hum of city traffic filtered in from somewhere far below.

Steve Rogers

stepping out from the hallway connecting to the private quarters, brow already furrowed Can I help you?

He wasn't in uniform. Just a fitted grey henley, jeans, and the kind of posture that suggested he'd already assessed three possible threats and four escape routes. His hand rested casually at his side, but there was nothing casual about the way he blocked the path.

Steve Rogers

eyes narrowing slightly This floor's restricted.

Behind him, somewhere deeper in the Tower, a door opened. Then closed. Then—

Tony Stark

distantly, voice echoing up from below FRIDAY, did you just let someone in without telling me? Because I swear if it's another delivery guy trying to smuggle a pizza past the front desk—

Footsteps. Fast.

Tony Stark

closer now, voice carrying up the stairwell —I'm not paying for extra pepperoni I didn't ask for!

A beat of silence. Then, in the stairwell entrance, Tony Stark appeared, slightly out of breath, oil smudged on the side of his jaw, arc reactor glowing faintly through a black tank top.

Tony Stark

freezing mid-step, eyes going wide —Hold on.