A/n: for purposes of this story Tony is approx. 5-8 years older than the reader. You're in your twenties before you meet him.
***
It started with the bruises.

Just a slight discoloration, nothing painful. You hadn't even realized they were there. Your mother noticed them first.

You were doing dishes with your sleeves pushed up when she grabbed your wrist and turned your arm to get a better look. She ran her fingers lightly over them before looking up at you. "Where did you get these?"

You shrugged. "No idea. I probably ran into something."

Her eyes examined you like they did when she was trying to determine if you were telling the truth or not. "All right then," she finally said and released her grip so you could finish your chores. Her behavior was odd, but you pushed it aside and tried not to worry about it.

Next came the scratch on your hand. You guessed that's what it was anyway. It looked more like an old scar. But you would have remembered injuring yourself to that point. Plus, it would have taken time to heal. You shook your head and did your best to hide it from your mom who always seemed to be looking at you too closely lately. Though sometimes when you were alone in your room, you'd find yourself running your fingers along the mark as you drifted to sleep, drawing some sort of odd comfort from it.

Then came the morning you woke with a black eye. There was no hiding that and it confirmed your mother's suspicions. When you stepped in the kitchen, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were wide. "Is that a black eye?"

You nodded, your cheeks flaming. "It was like that when I woke up."

She prodded at the discoloration while she watched to see if you had any reaction. It didn't hurt, it wasn't swollen, it just looked awful. She grinned and bounced a little on her feet as she clapped her hands together. "Oh, honey. This is wonderful."

"It's not a big deal, mom."

"Not a big deal? You have a soulmate. That's the most amazing thing in the world."

You bit back the retort that hovered on the tip of your tongue. You were fourteen. What did you care about soulmates? You understood they were rare. That it meant there was someone in the world whose soul was a perfect match for yours. It was also said that you would meet someday, that Fate would assure it, but you might never know it. That was actually kind of depressing if you thought about it.

As the years went by there were of course more scars, more bruises. Your fingers in particular bore a crosshatch of tiny scars that made you wonder if your mate was a mechanic or something similar. He worked with his hands at any rate. That much was obvious.

He. You'd always referred to him that way. Your mother said the soul just knew. You weren't certain you believed that, but 'he' your soulmate remained.

You hadn't even reached college by the time you lost count of the number of love bites you'd woken up with. The same could be said for the claw marks on your back, though they were thankfully less frequent. Lovely.

Sometimes you considered cutting yourself. Nothing major, just a slice along your forearm maybe. Just enough for him to know you existed. That you were here watching his life play out on your skin. But you could never bring yourself to do it. Maybe he'd already noticed the odd bruise you picked up running into things, but you doubted it. He had enough of his own he probably didn't notice any extra.

Then there was that one night in college. That night that ended with you in tears, dark circles around your wrists and bruises on your thighs. Your roommate stopping your date before he could finish what he started. You wondered what your soulmate thought when he looked at the bruising that made you shudder every time your gaze fell on it. Was he worried, curious as to what happened? Annoyed he had a soulmate? Anxiously waiting for you to make an appearance?

It was months before another love bite appeared overnight. Was that due to concern for you? Unlikely, but you couldn't help but wonder. The thought made you smile.

It was fifteen years since the day you discovered you possessed a soulmate. You still hadn't met him, not that you were aware of anyway. It had become habit for you to compare bruises with strangers. Your parents urged you to join one of the online groups. A place for people with soulmates to compare bruises and scars and hopefully find one another. You'd been tempted a time or two but the whole thing seemed a little creepy. And there were multiple stories of people getting conned in one way or another.

"Hello, sweetheart," your father said as he appeared in the doorway of your office.

You smiled at him and closed the file you had been reviewing to hold it out to him. "Here you go, pop." Your father owned a small law firm in your little town and you had been working as his paralegal and assistant since you earned your degree. While your parents were proud of all you had accomplished, they weren't shy in letting you know that they were ready for you to settle down and give them grandkids. You weren't even sure you wanted kids. 

Your mother was still pushing for you to find your soulmate, but your dad just wanted you to meet a 'nice boy'. The problem was you'd dated nice boys. The longest relationship lasting several months in fact. But eventually, one too many bruises or scars would appear and they'd leave. As one so succinctly put it, he "didn't want to share you with anyone. Soulmate or not."

But your parents wouldn't understand that, so you didn't explain it. Instead, you did your job, went out with your friends and the very occasional date just to keep everyone from complaining that you weren't trying hard enough.

Suddenly, you felt...pressure? You supposed that was as good a word for it as anything else. Just an intense pressure.

"My God," your father breathed. "Are you okay?"

You frowned. "I feel weird. What's wrong?"

"Your face." He tilted his head to indicate the mirror on the wall of your office.

You hurried over, gasping when you saw your current state. Your fingers ran over the new scars on your face. Pale, as always, they were still visible. What the hell had just happened to your soulmate?

That pressure remained in your chest and you rubbed a hand over your sternum. Something there felt wrong as well. You hurried past your father. "I'll be right back."

You locked the door of the bathroom behind you and undid the buttons on your blouse to examine your chest. A large white scar covered the center of your torso with several smaller scars scattered around. You took a shuddering breath as your thoughts turned to the condition your mate must be in. At least he was alive. You knew that much. If the wound had killed him, you wouldn't have seen the scars reflected in the mirror.

Putting yourself to rights, you went back to your office to find your father waiting for you. "Everything okay?" he asked as you reclaimed your seat behind the desk.

You nodded once. "Yeah. He must have been in an accident or something."

Your father's dark eyes studied you for a moment. "All right, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything."

The marks on your face had all but faded completely by the afternoon that changed your life forever. The day before, you'd received a new mark near your hairline along with some others, mostly on your right arm. You were moving through the living room of your little house, laundry basket on your hip when your eyes fell on the television.

Tony Stark had been found and was giving a press conference. Now that you thought about it, you had heard he was missing, but his world was so far from yours you hadn't thought much of it. You grabbed the remote to change the channel but froze when the man himself came on the screen.

You lowered yourself onto the couch, setting the basket beside you. Turning the volume up, you caught him asking the reporters to sit down. The sound of his voice made your heart race as your gaze ran over his face, taking in every detail. Reaching a hand up, you traced the scar near your hairline that matched his own perfectly. His right arm was cradled in a sling and you were certain, hidden beneath that dark shirt he wore, was a wound in the center of his chest. There was no question in your mind. Tony Stark was your soulmate.