A snip here. A stitch there. Bit by bit, the extravagant suit was coming to life like a painting on silk. I decided on a navy-blue shirt for the accent, paired it with a black vest and long, flowy trousers that flirted with the line between formal and high fashion. The black bowtie tied everything together, literally and figuratively. I ditched the suit jacket altogether. Too conventional. Too expected. I was going for bold.
The sleeves clung to the mannequin's arms, the cuffs draping elegantly, even if slightly uneven. Not that I expected the mannequin to be an exact replica of Tony Stark. That would require more sass and at least three layers of sarcasm.
To top it off, pun fully intended, I added a black tophat with a sleek gold trim that matched the vest buttons. Classic. Powerful. Dramatic. Just how I liked it.
I stepped back and admired my masterpiece with the self-satisfaction of a sculptor who just caught their statue winking.
Perfect.
I snapped a picture and texted Pepper.
"Finished. When can you pick it up?"
Her reply came almost instantly, like she had been waiting by the phone.
"Tony should be close. I'll send him over."
Fantastic.
Just what I needed. A Stark delivery.
I quickly changed into something a little less covered in thread and caffeine stains, something presentable. Just as I was adjusting the collar, I heard the familiar jet-engine whoosh overhead, followed by the sharp chime of the doorbell.
Great. Iron Man was on my doorstep like an Amazon package with a superiority complex.
I opened the door and stared at him. "Are you okay? Like, mentally?"
He blinked. "In my defense, this thing doesn't exactly have a zipper. I can't just hop out of it whenever I want. I'll need to stash it somewhere."
He motioned up and down his body with a metallic clank.
I squinted at him. "Put it up your ass, Stark."
He smirked, stepping inside as I moved aside. "Tempting, but I think you'd enjoy that more than I would."
I laughed despite myself. "Yeah right."
He glanced around my home, eyes landing on a pile of design sketches and half-finished projects. "Place looks... creative."
"I call it organized chaos. Emphasis on the chaos," I replied, motioning for him to follow.
Tony paused mid-step. "You know, I bet your little suit over there can't hold a candle to mine."
I turned my head slowly. "Are you actually comparing your billion-dollar war machine to high fashion?"
He nodded, entirely serious. "Yup."
"Wow," I said flatly. "I'm amazed your ego fits through the door, I don't know about the mechanic but my suit definitely looks better."
I led him down the hall into my workspace, where the completed suit stood proudly on display. As soon as he saw it, he froze. His mouth opened slightly, the beginnings of a snarky comment dying on his tongue.
Gotcha.
"So," I said smugly, crossing my arms, "like I said, it definitely looks better."
He took a few steps closer. "Not really," he muttered, but there was no bite to it this time. His lips twitched like he was trying hard not to smile. "But I'm... pleasantly surprised."
Praise from Tony Stark? I should frame this moment.
"Seems like you are capable of giving credit when it's due," I said, tilting my head toward the bathroom. "Now go put it on. I need to check if it fits right."
"Can't wait to be judged like a fashion show poodle," he grumbled, trudging off.
As he stepped into the bathroom, I heard the telltale clatter of metal hitting tile.
"My poor flooring," I muttered under my breath.
A few minutes passed before I heard him fiddling with the door knob. When it swung open, I nearly forgot how to blink.
Oh. My. God.
And no, I wasn't staring at him. I was admiring my work. The fit was perfect, the lines clean, and the gold detailing popped against the darker tones in all the right places. It was giving 'billionaire showman with a splash of dangerous charm' which was... disturbingly accurate.
"Not bad," he said, smoothing a hand down his sleeve.
"If I didn't hate your guts, I'd say you look... presentable."
"You know, you could just call me handsome. No need to swing around words like 'hate' and all."
I gave him a pointed look. "I said what I said."
He chuckled. "Fine, but just know this will be on magazine covers everywhere and you'll have no choice but to admit I'm your muse."
"Please," I scoffed. "Go put your tin can back on. I don't want creases in this thing."
He rolled his eyes and wandered off to suit back up, the sound of mechanical clicking and soft hissing following behind him like an overachieving R2-D2.
By the time he came back, the bulky red-and-gold suit made him look twice as ridiculous after seeing him in real tailoring. I escorted him to the front door, arms crossed.
"Just out of curiosity," I said, feigning casual interest, "what's this big event you and Pepper needed the suit for?"
Tony tilted his head, thinking. "Uh... Something about Vogue? Like a celebration dinner or award thing? I wasn't really paying attention. That's more Pepper's vibe."
My heart dropped.
Oh no.
I was invited to that.. I just forgot it was tomorrow.
My eyes widened slightly, but I held my composure like a true professional having a slow mental breakdown inside.
He caught my expression. "Why? What's up?"
I blinked. "Nothing."
Then I slammed the door in his face before he could press further.
As I leaned back against it, I groaned aloud. Vogue. Tomorrow. And I didn't have a single thing ready to wear. The irony of spending hours on someone else's look while completely neglecting my own was rich.
Goodbye, sleep. Hello, emergency midnight sewing session.