2

❚ SLUMBER PARTY ❚

Seagulls wheeled above Dume Cove Beach, their cries lost beneath the crashing of Pacific waves against the jagged cliffside. The ocean stirred with rhythmic power, a heartbeat of nature that had endured long before her, and would endure long after. The sun dipped low over the horizon, bleeding hues of gold and crimson into the clouds, before surrendering to dusk.

Perched atop Point Dume, a California State Park known for its untamed beauty and deadly ledges, stood a sprawling, multi-level mansion—an architectural defiance against both gravity and reason. The structure was a testament to boldness: modern in its exterior, minimalist within. Its rooms were vast, sparsely adorned, furnished only with what was essential. It was not built for comfort, but for clarity, for control. And above all, for solitude.

It was Toni Stark's home.

The sea-view estate clung to the cliffside like a secret on the verge of falling. During its construction, architects had agonized over the site's instability. Each foundation attempt was met with shifting earth and tremors of warning. The project had been deemed impossible by most—until Pepper Potts intervened. It was her determination that turned sketches into blueprints, and blueprints into stone.

The memory made Toni smile faintly.

She remembered the way civil engineers whispered behind clipboards during site visits, casting skeptical glances her way. They called her crazy. Obsessive. Reckless for acquiring a permit in that area—much less attempting to build a home upon it. And Toni? She hadn't cared. She was the Stark girl, after all. She lived dangerously because no one had ever truly been able to stop her.

And perhaps more tragically—because no one would truly miss her if she died.

A dull ache stirred in the back of her neck. She reached up and rubbed it, trying to ease the weight that had settled there—not just physical, but emotional, lingering like smoke.

Roughly a decade ago, after graduating and burying her parents, she'd shared this home with Pepper and Happy. They had become her surrogate family, filling in the silence with warmth, with structure. But two years in, she had pulled away. She had insisted on space, on independence. Now, they visited only when work demanded it. Their offers of time and company were politely declined. Pride had become her armor—an old, familiar flaw.

From the open window, the sound of waves reached her ears—softer now, as the tide settled. She closed her eyes and breathed in the salty air. The world, for all its noise, had a way of going quiet when it mattered most. It was the silence she craved. It grounded her. It reminded her that, on paper, she had everything: money, power, freedom.

And yet...

Her gaze shifted to the wide glass pane framing the sea. The last sliver of sun vanished beneath the horizon, casting the world into a wash of violet and rose. The ocean swallowed the light with indifference, and in its place, the moon began its ascent—calm, aloof, and achingly beautiful.

A strange ache tugged at Toni's chest. She turned toward the mirror, hoping to find answers in her own reflection.

But the woman staring back at her was not the image of power and brilliance the world revered.

There was a quiet sorrow in her eyes, nestled deep behind the blue. Her brows drew together, and she blinked slowly, trying to dispel the hollowness in her chest. A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed it down.

She had built a world, yes. But it lacked the one thing she could never engineer: peace.

The crashing surf fell into gentler rhythms, as if mourning the sun's departure. And in the oppressive quiet that followed, Toni flinched. Silence was no longer comforting—it was deafening. Unforgiving.

She thought of Pepper. Of Happy. She missed them in ways she couldn't admit aloud.

They had offered her countless chances to reconnect. To heal. And each time, she had brushed them off, insisting she was fine. Insisting she could take care of herself. But it was a lie—one she told so often it had begun to sound like truth.

She studied her reflection again. Sweat had melted away the concealer under her eyes, revealing deep shadows. Her lips curled in a bitter smile. She knew the cost of her insomnia, of her relentless work ethic—but even knowing didn't stop her.

Behind her, the vanity lights cast a soft golden glow, outlining her profile like a painting. She leaned in, inspecting her features with the detached scrutiny of a scientist. A sharp jawline. Eyes that entranced and unsettled. Sculpted cheekbones, a noble nose, freckles like stardust.

She hated all of it.

I know I'm ugly, she thought.

Weeks had passed since the encounter with Speed, and the memory clung to her like oil. She still didn't understand what—or who—he was. That night could've ended in tragedy. If Happy had driven even slightly faster, they'd all be dead. Her fists clenched at the thought.

"Fuck," she growled through gritted teeth.

The thought of losing them made her physically ill. Pepper and Happy weren't just colleagues—they were the closest thing to parents she had left. And she'd trade her own life a thousand times to keep them safe.

Unlike her machines, she could not fix herself.

She could count on one hand the people who truly cared about her: her mother, now long gone. Edwin, her loyal butler. Pepper. Happy. Rhodey. The rest? They wanted pieces of her. Her brilliance. Her wealth. Her fame. Not her.

She dragged a hand across her face, weary.

Rhodey, the one man who always seemed to know too much, had refused to tell her anything about what happened after the Expo. No matter how she pressed him, his lips stayed sealed.

In a rare flash of emotion, she slammed her hands against the marble sink, wincing as her knuckles flared with pain. Her fingers curled into the obsidian, seeking some outlet for the rage building inside.

This is bullshit.

Why keep secrets from her? She was Toni Stark. She'd cracked encrypted government databases before breakfast. She owned Area 51, for god's sake—bought it on a whim after learning it had quietly gone on the market. Her fascination with alien tech was no secret, and yet... she still didn't have answers.

She exhaled sharply and pressed her fists into the cool countertop. Her body shook—not from fear, but from fury and hunger and exhaustion.

She had promised Rhodey never to hack into the U.S. government's systems again. He'd covered for her more times than she could count. But even she doubted he'd have her back this time.

Rhodey had always treated her like a kid sister—annoying, brilliant, reckless. He'd been her mentor, her equal in wit. She smiled faintly at the memory of the media trying to drag him into one of her scandals, only for him to shut it down with dry humor. But beyond the headlines, their bond had always been one of unwavering trust.

And yet, she felt alone.

Her gaze dropped to her collarbones—jutting out, too sharp beneath pale skin. A few more nights of insomnia and processed food, and she'd look like a skeleton. Her stomach growled in protest.

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, man," she muttered to herself.

She hadn't eaten properly in days. Her diet consisted of coffee, gin, and cold fries. Pepper always tried to intervene during her visits, force-feeding her smoothies and salad bowls. But Toni, in her quiet rebellion, refused to listen.

She lifted her chin, studying herself anew: hair dry and neglected, lips cracked, hands calloused from decades of invention and defiance. She wasn't a woman. She was a machine in disrepair.

A sudden warmth crept over her. The room seemed to swell, heavy and oppressive. Her breath grew shallow. Vision blurred. She gripped the cabinet beneath her.

She needed food. Now.

A voice broke the haze.

"Toni... come back to bed," it murmured.

Toni's eyes darted to the mirror. A tall, blonde woman lingered in the doorway—Nordic eyes, ivory skin, draped in one of Toni's silk robes. She was stunning. Familiar. Dangerous.

Too much like him.

Toni's jaw tightened.

She offered a brittle smile, but her libido had already evaporated. The blonde leaned against the doorframe, radiating an effortless sensuality that made Toni feel small. Less.

Pepper had warned her to take better care of herself. "You'll never make the Vogue cover if you keep starving yourself and obsessing over androids," she had said with a touch of exasperation.

Toni never listened.

Narcissism ran in her bloodline.

Her father, Howard Stark, had been a genius, a mogul, an empire-builder. She had inherited not only his brilliance but his flaws—his temper, his pride, his inability to love anything he couldn't control.

The blonde approached her from behind and slipped her arms around Toni's waist. Her touch was warm. Her voice, like velvet.

"You kept your lady waiting, baby," she purred into her neck.

Toni didn't resist as fingers slid beneath her skirt, unfastening buttons with practiced grace. She moaned softly, head tilting back, hands fisting golden hair.

But even in pleasure, her mind wandered.

She imagined Steve. Steve, damn him.

She bit the woman's lip hard enough to draw a gasp, and as their bodies moved in rhythm, she felt something bitter twist inside her.

This is why I don't date blondes.

She kissed harder, almost violently, trying to chase the memory away.

But the truth was simple and suffocating: no matter who touched her, she always felt alone.

* * * 

"Steve."

Howard Stark's voice cut softly through the air, low and nostalgic.

He sat comfortably on the living room couch, his arm resting along the back, fingers gently brushing a loose strand of blonde hair from Maria's eyes. She looked up at him with quiet affection, her features lit with the subdued warmth of someone who had heard the story before but never tired of the telling.

"Would you believe me, honey," Howard began, smiling fondly, "that he used to be this pipsqueak—just a 98-pound weakling? He practically looked like a stiff breeze could knock him out cold before the serum turned him into a demigod."

Maria chuckled softly, the corners of her lips curling with amusement. Howard's brown eyes sparkled, filled with a kind of reverence that Toni, seated cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table, had grown to loathe.

She tightened the bolts on her new invention with excessive force. Of course. Of course he would start talking about Captain America. Again. Dinner had only just concluded, and as always, her father was compelled to recite another anecdote about his beloved super-soldier. For a man who had built empires, he seemed curiously fixated on a dead man in a star-spangled suit.

The room was warmly lit, cast in the golden glow of lamps that flickered like candlelight. Outside, darkness had begun to descend upon the Stark estate. Maria had insisted on a quiet family night before the inevitable return of her husband to Washington. The Pentagon had summoned him—why, Toni didn't know. But she remembered the silver briefcase he had secured in his library days earlier. Inside were translucent pouches of a strange, bluish fluid, unlike anything she'd seen in his lab. That briefcase and the urgency with which he handled it would haunt her for years.

It was the last evening she would ever see her parents alive.

Her fingers paused over the screwdriver. A small hum came from the red, compact cube she'd been working on. The prototype lit up faintly, the circuitry reacting precisely as she'd designed.

But her father continued, oblivious.

"He singlehandedly infiltrated a Hydra facility just to save his best friend. Bucky, wasn't it?" Howard's voice carried a dreamy pride. "They said the odds were suicide, but not for Rogers. He went in, guns blazing, pulled Barnes out himself."

Toni gritted her teeth, the tool nearly slipping in her grip. He wasn't even aware of how far gone he was into this man's mythos. Her father—her genius father, who had always prized facts and logic above all else—had turned into a sentimental fool at the very mention of Steve Rogers.

She wondered, bitterly, if Steve would ever be allowed to rest. Even in death, he was a golden standard her father held above all others.

"And of course," Howard added with a sigh, reclining into the cushions, "he made the ultimate sacrifice. Piloted a jet straight into the ice to stop a Hydra bomb. They never found him. But they say he's still out there, somewhere in the Atlantic. Sleeping."

Toni scowled. "Remarkable," she muttered, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. Her tone dripped with disdain.

She looked away, toward the fireplace. She had not inherited her father's eyes, thank God. She didn't need the extra reminder that she was merely his daughter in a dress, an echo of his greatness. If she had been born his mirror image, she might have already thrown herself off a cliff.

Because there was no universe in which she could ever revere "America's Sweetheart."

A mechanical whirr interrupted the tension. Her device activated with a quiet pulse of red light. She rose to her feet, holding the compact machine aloft with pride.

"All done," she announced, glancing at her parents.

Maria looked up with adoration. Her smile was soft, full of maternal love.

Howard's attention shifted toward the object in her hands. His eyes, sharp and analytical, narrowed. "What's that?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

"It's a prototype of my anti-gravity device," Toni explained, voice bright with excitement. "It uses a calibrated internal gyroscope and magnetized alloy—see, it creates its own field of—"

Howard raised his hand, stopping her mid-sentence.

"That won't work," he said plainly.

The words, though soft, hit like a slap.

Maria frowned and placed a hand on his arm. "Howard—"

But Toni cut her off, her voice rising with frustration. "You don't know it won't work. You haven't even tested it."

Howard leaned forward, his expression cold and dismissive. "When I say it won't work, it won't. I've built better in my sleep."

Toni's hands clenched. She could feel the anger rising in her throat. "So, what now?" she said, stepping forward. "You're just going to confiscate another one of my inventions because you think it's flawed?"

Howard's eyes darkened. "You're still too young to understand how the world works, Antoinette."

Her jaw tightened. "Then teach me. Don't just steal from me."

Howard stood slowly, his height casting a shadow over her. "I don't need to justify myself. I'm your father. And you'll do as I say."

With that, he snatched the device from her hands and hurled it toward the wall.

The crash echoed through the room. The machine ricocheted violently, knocking over the vase by the fireplace. Both items shattered on impact. Shards of metal, wire, and porcelain rained to the floor.

Maria gasped audibly.

Toni stood frozen. Her body trembled, not with fear, but with fury.

Howard turned to her, perhaps realizing the gravity of his outburst. His posture relaxed, as if regret had taken hold. He took a step toward her.

"Toni—" he began, his voice hesitant.

She shook with barely contained rage. Her fists curled so tightly her nails bit into her palms. Her vision blurred with tears she refused to shed.

"You motherfucker," she whispered, barely audible.

Howard froze.

And then, without a word, he raised his hand and slapped her across the face.

"Howard!" Maria screamed, rushing toward her daughter.

He ignored her.

"You would do well to show some respect," he said coldly, as if that made everything acceptable.

Toni's face burned. But her eyes, now gleaming with hatred, bore into him.

"I hate you," she said clearly. Each syllable landed like a blow. Then she turned, head held high, and walked toward her room without looking back.

The shattered remains of her invention lay scattered across the floor behind her.

* * * 

Toni was jolted from her memory by the pressure of a mouth on her own—soft, insistent, and tasting faintly of champagne and strawberries. Blondie kissed her deeply, reclaiming her attention with expert ease. But even as pleasure flared, her mind betrayed her, wandering far from the satin sheets and warm bodies that surrounded her.

Steve.

Even now, the name stirred something sour in her chest.

What kind of name is that for a soldier? It sounded too soft, too boyish—something better suited for a high school prom king than the man the world had deified. Surely men of her father's era were given names with more bite, more gravity. Stephen. James. Howard. Even Gregory carried more dignity.

"Stupid name," she muttered under her breath, fingers twisting into Blondie's silk robe. She gripped the fabric tightly before ripping it open with the subtle ferocity of someone intent on silencing the mind through flesh. Her lips descended upon Blondie's neck, leaving blooming bruises in their wake.

The woman let out a soft gasp, then gently brushed back Toni's hair, tilting her face toward her chest with practiced familiarity.

"Whose name is stupid?" she asked, the question teasing but edged with curiosity.

Toni didn't answer. Instead, she pressed her lips to the soft skin between the woman's collarbones and bit gently. The reaction was immediate—a breathy moan—and Toni's hand rose to cup her breast as she whispered, "Nothing."

Blondie chuckled, amused, then took Toni's face in her hands and kissed her again, deeper this time, more possessively.

The sudden trill of her phone shattered the atmosphere like a dropped wineglass. Toni ignored it, allowing herself to be pulled toward the bed. There, two more women awaited her, sprawled lazily across satin sheets, their eyes gleaming with invitation. One reached for her, guiding her into their arms as they took turns tracing her skin with lips and fingers.

Toni tilted her head back, exposing her throat, surrendering to sensation. Her breathing quickened. Her cheeks flushed a vivid rose as her heart pounded beneath her ribs like a war drum. The room spun—not with alcohol, but from the dizzying flood of endorphins and desire.

One of the women pushed her down against the mattress, pinning her wrists with just enough force to make Toni shiver. Another knelt between her legs. The pressure, sudden and deliberate, made her arch and cry out as a wave of pleasure surged through her. Her muscles tensed. Her throat released uneven breaths. Her pulse thundered.

And then—just as the crescendo built to its peak—the music cut.

The rhythm died, followed by a sharp hiss of static and the low murmur of protest from her companions.

Toni's eyes snapped open.

"JARVIS!" she roared, her voice ragged. "You better have a damn good reason for killing the mood!"

The women around her giggled, their hands still roaming, but the fire had left her. Frustration replaced it.

A familiar British accent echoed through the room. Calm. Unyielding.

"My sincerest apologies, ma'am, but this call takes precedence."

She groaned, already knowing what was coming.

Toni had once mused about giving Jarvis a sense of humor. A soul, even. But in moments like this, she regretted every line of code that made him so infuriatingly dutiful.

She exhaled sharply. "This better be worth it."

"It's Colonel James Rhodes, ma'am," the AI replied.

Shit.

The image of her best friend flashed in her mind—their conversation from two nights ago. She had promised him she would attend the Apogee Award ceremony. Promised, with her hand on her heart and a glass of bourbon in her other hand.

She glanced toward the clock on the nightstand. She was very late.

Toni slid off the bed, grabbing her phone. The screen buzzed with a video call request. She answered.

Rhodey's voice was sharp, layered with irritation. Applause and chatter echoed faintly in the background, followed by the voice of a man currently giving the acceptance speech that should have been hers.

"What the hell, Toni? You're supposed to be here receiving this award, not your business partner."

She grimaced. "Obie's nice. Let him have the spotlight."

From behind her, Blondie whined, reaching out. Toni swatted her hand away.

"Who was that?" Rhodey asked, instantly suspicious.

Toni turned so her back was to the bed. "Uh, nothing?"

Rhodey stared at her through the screen, narrowing his russet eyes. He was dressed in a sharp navy suit that complemented the rich tone of his skin. He looked every bit the soldier—disciplined, proud, and deeply unimpressed.

"Don't lie to me," he said flatly.

Toni attempted charm. "Now, why would I lie to you, honey bear?"

He pointed to the screen. "Because no one makes the 'I was just getting railed and I liked it' face better than you."

Toni burst out laughing.

"Are you having one of your late-night... sessions again?" His eyes flicked to her attire—or lack thereof. "Put on a robe, for god's sake."

She smirked. "You like what you see, sour patch?" she purred, angling the camera slightly lower.

"No. I don't," he snapped. "And enough with the nicknames, Toni. Please."

She rolled her eyes. "Marriage has really made you serious, huh, cupcake?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You should try it sometime."

She scoffed, waving the idea away. "Not my look."

This was the second time in a month someone had suggested marriage, and she found it increasingly irritating. It wasn't that she feared commitment. It was just... who the hell could keep up with her?

She glanced back at the bed. "And to answer your question—no. I'm not having a session."

She grabbed a martini from the nightstand, taking a long sip.

Rhodey's expression darkened. "Really? I practically begged you to show up. You promised. And once again, you find a reason to stay locked in your fortress."

He leaned forward. "This isn't healthy, Toni. It's always the lab, the bedroom, the same damn four walls."

She walked toward the tall glass window, looking out at the dark sea. "In my defense," she said quietly, "I sometimes get out here."

She took another sip and winced. The drink was stronger than she remembered.

Rhodey exhaled. "Work," he muttered.

"Work," she echoed.

"And pleasure, apparently."

Toni smiled, unrepentant. "That's why it's called business and pleasure, boo bear."

She turned the camera to show the trio sprawled on her bed. "Ladies, say hi to the light of my life."

The women waved, giggling. Rhodey didn't react.

"You just said I was married," he pointed out.

Toni sipped her drink. "Did I, platypus? Well, that's perfect. Invite your wife. The more, the merrier."

Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose. "This conversation is over."

She watched as he stood and walked toward the exit.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he added, pausing briefly. "Don't be late."

Toni gave him a lazy salute. "Aye aye, Colonel."

As soon as the call ended, she tossed the phone carelessly onto the mattress and placed the empty glass back on the nightstand.

Her eyes glazed.

"Jarvis?" she murmured, blinking slowly.

"Yes, ma'am?" the AI responded, his voice sounding miles away.

"Play Slumber Party by Ashnikko."

The moment the beat dropped, the women squealed and pulled her back to the bed.

Toni lost herself again in the chaos of bodies and lips, alternating between them—touch, bite, moan, repeat. Anything to drown out her thoughts. Anything to quiet the scream beneath her skin.

She lay atop one of them now, heavy with want and weary with something she couldn't name. The woman beneath her drew close and rested her head on Toni's shoulder.

Then came the whisper.

"Bon débarras, Stark."

Toni blinked. Her brow furrowed. "What did you say?"

But before the question could fully form, the world began to tilt. Her vision darkened. The music distorted. Her body trembled.

And then—nothing.

https://youtu.be/UkYpdM3aup8

C R E D I T S

Yvette-Valadez or "Yvette" as the first chapter editor
V or "Violet" as the second chapter editor
pennyloppy  or "Alison" as the chapter proofreader