Red Light | Tony Stark x Reader

Red Light

I should have never submitted my resume, you thought to yourself as you locked your phone screen and clambered out of bed.

I should have never asked for help getting this job, you thought again as you slid on sweatpants and a hoodie.

I should have called out sick on the first day, you told yourself as you found yourself getting into your car. Your tired eyes grazed scornfully over the dashboard, across to the radio, reading the digits. 3:58AM. You start your car and curse to yourself, putting it into drive and cursing yourself for even getting involved with Mr. Stark in the first place.

4:36AM. You pick a drunken Tony up from a bar in Brooklyn. There's about three sticklers, girls that look like they've been hitting the booze harder than he ever has. Two can barely walk and you're sure that the third one is asleep on Tony's back.

"I'm not taking the entire entourage home, Tony. My job is to take you home and only you." You told him. Tony seemed offended and upset by this.

"These are my friends, (y/n)!" He cries through the car window, and you don't budge.

"I don't care if it's Donald Trump and his wife with special musical guest Cher. Get in the car, just you."

Tony grumbles a few things to himself, which you decide not to listen to for his safety. It was way too early for this shit. This drunk bastard, better known as your boss, had decided to get the luxury cab ride home from you after an alcohol-fueled endeavor. Tony shrugs the girls off, much to their displeasure, and climbs into the passenger seat. He buckles up and you start driving home, his aura of discontent filling the car.

The mood slowly starts to somber after he mutters, "Sorry you had to come get me this late."

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut for a second. "It's fine."

"I'll make it up to you." He assured.

You just nodded, doubting it. How many times had he said that in the past? Let's just say that if you were counting on fingers and toes, you may have needed some more feet and hands.

4:50AM. You come to one of the most famous red lights in New York. It's fame comes from the fact that if you catch it when it's red, you should expect to spend an eternity there. You sigh, slumping into your seat and drumming your fingers on the steering wheel. You wait semi-patiently for the light to change colours, and suddenly you feel cool fingertips on the outside of your right thigh. You don't say anything, figuring that Tony has hit the point in the drunken state where he feels the need to touch someone. The same fingertips come up and across the top of your thigh, and you exhale through your nostrils. Of course, Tony would touch you like this. The sexual tension between you two in the workplace and outside of it was an automatic, a given. If he was going to play this game with you, you weren't going to complain. His hand slid to the inside of your thigh and you tried to focus on the light.

Red.

His hand curled into a fist, his knuckles pressing against your other thigh to part your legs.

Red.

You're too exhausted to exhibit any sign of nervousness. Your fingers curl around the steering wheel while your other fingers pull at the cuff of your hoodie.

Red.

His fingers slid up to your navel, he's leaning across the console a little bit. He's watching his hands and not your face- not yet.

The light's still red, your cheeks are redder, you swear it. You're focusing so hard on the light you almost don't feel his hand slip into the front of your panties. His fingertips brush your clit and your teeth capture your bottom lip.

"Tony," You say, your voice wavering. That doesn't stop him.

One digit slides right into your warmth, and you push your hips out to accept it. He wastes no time with a second, curling his fingers in a come hither motion. Your jaw hangs slack, the light's still red and you know for a fact you don't want it to change. His fingers move in and out tantalizingly slowly, and your head hits the headrest and your hips roll to create a better sensation. You're gripping the wheel like you're being pulled out of your car, and when the light turns green, it takes a second to register.

Now you're trying to drive with Tony fingering you, his lips wearing the sexiest smirk. Your breathing is shallow, your eyes are struggling to stay open, and then he starts kissing your neck. You come to another red light, and you've been covered in temporary hickies and love bites. Tony's fingering you frantically now, watching you unravel. Moans and gasps spills from your lips while you squirm under the seatbelt's restraint.

One good push from Tony's hands make you come undone. You find yourself stammering his name, bucking your hips into his hand and praising his work. He reluctantly pulls away and you turn to look at him, watching him suck gently on his fingers.

"What was that for?" You ask weakly. He only smirks.

"Told you I'd make it up to you."