#robert Downey Jr | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amethystarachnid · 21 hours ago

Note

You're doing so much for Tony's fans 🥹

Please can you write a one-shot with Tony and reader going on vacation to a very cold and snowy place? Reader is pregnant, and they want to spend some time together before the baby arrives... Tony pampering the reader, kissing her belly, talking to the baby, cuddling by the fireplace, watching movies, Tony making them hot chocolate... all that cute stuff you can include 🥹💗

SNOWY LOVE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance fluff,

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: nothing more than what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing, this is really just a rom-com

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Snowflakes drift lazily down from a soft, silver sky as you look out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. It’s a quiet morning—rare, with Tony’s unpredictable schedule and the ever-demanding world outside. But here, in the warm comfort of your shared home, you’re both wrapped up in a blanket of stillness. You rest a hand on your slightly swollen belly, the weight of it oddly comforting, already so much a part of you.

Tony watches you with that glint in his eye—the one that means he’s about to say something just on the edge of outrageous.

“So, how do you feel about a vacation?” he says, sliding his arms around you from behind, his hands settling possessively over your belly. His fingers splay out, warm and protective, and he leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “You, me, somewhere snowy. A little chalet up in the mountains. Luxury, of course,” he adds with a smirk. “Just us, before our world gets a lot… noisier.”

You laugh softly, leaning back into him. "Snow? Mr. Stark, are you sure you can handle the cold?"

“Hey, I’ve got plenty of ways to keep you warm,” he murmurs, lips trailing down to your ear. You can practically feel his smirk as he nuzzles you, his hands moving slowly in circles over your belly. It’s something he’s done since you started showing—this fascination he has with your stomach. Sometimes it’s like he’s more excited about the bump than you are.

But the idea of a trip sounds perfect. Just the two of you, tucked away in some winter wonderland with no interruptions, no Avengers business, and no noise but the crackling of a fire.

“Alright, Tony,” you agree, turning around to look into those warm, mischievous eyes. “Book it.”

A week later, you’re gazing out at an impossibly serene winter landscape from the floor-to-ceiling windows of a sprawling, secluded chalet. The world outside is a pristine blanket of snow, untouched and glistening under a brilliant winter sun. The whole place is filled with all the luxuries Tony insisted on, but you hardly notice them. Just being here, far from the city, feels like a dream.

Tony insists on carrying you up to the bedroom, despite your protests. "You're carrying my baby," he says with a grin, as if that answers everything. And maybe it does. You can’t help but laugh as he sweeps you up and carries you over the threshold like he did on your wedding day, placing you gently onto the plush bed, which is already turned down and waiting.

“Comfy?” he asks, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Need anything? Foot rub? Bubble bath? Hot cocoa?”

“Tony, I’m pregnant, not helpless,” you tease, but his attentiveness melts your heart. You can tell he’s just as thrilled as you are to have this time alone together. He lies down beside you, his hand immediately finding its way back to your belly, resting there like it’s his anchor to you and to the little life growing inside.

“Not helpless, but definitely carrying precious cargo,” he murmurs, his thumb moving slowly over the curve of your belly. He’s quiet for a moment, looking almost shy, which is rare for Tony. His fingers trace gentle patterns, and you feel his lips brush against your temple again. He’s practically glued to you lately, as if being close enough to touch isn’t close enough.

“Hard to believe, huh?” he whispers, his voice low and tender. “That in a few months… we’ll be a family.”

You reach up, brushing your fingers along his jaw, softening the intense look in his eyes. “We already are a family, Tony.”

He smiles, and there’s something in his expression that looks almost vulnerable. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Guess we are.” He rests his forehead against yours, and you close your eyes, breathing him in. The smell of his cologne, the warmth of his hands—everything feels right.

As the sun dips below the mountains, casting a warm, golden light over the room, Tony pulls you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, voice thoughtful. “I’m going to spoil the hell out of this kid.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” you laugh, already picturing it. “And the baby will be just as stubborn as you.”

He raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I think I’m very reasonable.”

You just shake your head, grinning. “Uh-huh. Sure, Mr. ‘I’ll-Build-a-Suit-Just-to-Prove-a-Point’.”

He chuckles, hands never leaving your belly, and you feel a flutter—small, but undeniable. You both go silent, wide-eyed, as the two of you share this first, private moment of feeling your baby move.

Tony’s hand stills, his face lit up with a mix of wonder and amazement. “Did… did you feel that?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, feeling your heart swell as you look into his eyes. He looks like he’s seen something miraculous, and maybe he has.

He leans down, pressing his lips to your belly, murmuring words you can’t quite hear, but you don’t need to.

The first morning in the chalet is calm and quiet, and Tony seems determined to keep it that way. You wake up to find him already awake, propped up on his elbow, watching you with a soft smile as he strokes gentle circles on your belly. It's become his little ritual, like he's memorizing every curve, every shift. His touch is warm, tender, and though you roll your eyes, pretending you find it excessive, you know it fills him with a kind of awe.

"Good morning," he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. "How’s my girl? And our little peanut?"

You laugh, a light scoff. "You’re calling our kid peanut now?"

He shrugs, grinning as he continues his lazy circles on your stomach. “I like it. It’s cute. You know, like you.”

The day passes in much the same way. You’re still tangled in blankets by the fireplace hours later, Tony insisting you stay wrapped up, cozy, and “entirely off-duty.” You try to protest, of course, but he’s already thought of everything. He brings you mugs of hot chocolate topped with fluffy marshmallows, tucks you under layers of soft blankets, and ensures you don’t lift a finger.

"Tony," you groan playfully by midday, trying to wriggle out from under one of the million blankets he's wrapped around you. "I’m not going to break, you know."

He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head with a smirk. "Nope. No sudden movements for you. Doctor Stark’s orders. You’re staying right here, keeping warm, and giving me an excuse to keep you all to myself.”

“Tony,” you say, rolling your eyes with a laugh, “you always keep me all to yourself.”

"True," he admits, pulling you even closer, his eyes lighting up as he rests his hand, yet again, on your belly. His thumb traces a lazy arc over the slight swell, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “But this… this feels different. I just want to make sure you’re safe. Both of you.”

You feel a warm blush creep up your neck. He’s normally so light-hearted, but when he talks about the baby—or you—he becomes almost reverent, so full of purpose. His gaze flicks from your face to the window, where snow drifts down in thick, fluffy flakes, blanketing the world outside.

“Look at that view,” he murmurs, as you both turn to take in the sight beyond the glass. “Snow as far as the eye can see. No distractions, no interruptions. Just us… just this.”

You lean back into him, smiling as he wraps his arms around you, the fire crackling softly in the background. It feels surreal, being here, tucked away from the world in a perfect little bubble. For a while, you both sit in silence, content to watch the snow fall and melt into the earth.

But after a day and a half of this "full relaxation" agenda, you're beginning to go a little stir-crazy. Tony’s fussing is sweet, but you miss having some independence. You shift a bit in his arms, trying to stretch out.

“Tony,” you start slowly, giving him a pleading look. “I can’t stay wrapped up in blankets for another minute. I feel like I haven’t moved in days.”

He laughs, a low chuckle, but there’s a sparkle in his eye, one that hints he’s had this plan all along. “Alright, alright, I guess I can let you get a little fresh air. But only a little,” he teases. “I didn’t bring you here just to let you wander off.”

You swat his arm lightly, rolling your eyes. “I just want a change of scenery, maybe step outside on the balcony and actually feel the snow, not just watch it.”

“Well,” he says with a grin, pulling you gently to your feet, his hands never quite leaving you, as if he’s afraid you’ll topple over. “Your wish is my command.”

He helps you bundle up—because of course, Tony insists you wear every warm layer he can find—and leads you out onto the balcony. The view is breathtaking, the mountains rising high and snow sparkling across the landscape, untouched and serene. You inhale deeply, the crisp air filling your lungs, and a sense of peace settles over you.

Tony comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pressing you back against his chest as you both look out over the snowy expanse. His hand instinctively moves to your belly, resting there with a kind of possessive protectiveness. You feel his fingers splay out over the soft fabric of your coat, and you smile, resting your hand over his.

“You’re really into this dad thing already, aren’t you?” you say, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“Never thought I’d say this, but… yeah,” he replies softly, leaning down to nuzzle your neck. “I can’t help it. There’s this little person in there—half you, half me—and it’s… I don’t know. Amazing.” His voice is barely above a whisper, and you can feel the weight of his words, how much he means them.

You lean back into him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “It’s amazing for me too, you know.”

He smiles, warm and so full of love that it takes your breath away. For a moment, you stand there, quiet and still, feeling like the only two people in the world, with nothing but the mountains, the snow, and each other.

“Alright,” he says finally, breaking the silence with a lighthearted tone. “Now that I’ve fulfilled your wish for some fresh air… how about we go back inside?”

You laugh, letting him guide you back into the warm chalet. He’s never going to let you go five minutes without checking on you and the baby, and maybe that’s okay.

The next morning, you wake up with a mission. The peace and relaxation have been wonderful, but with the Italian Alps right outside, you’re itching for a little excitement. You’ve been sneaking glances at the slopes through the windows, watching skiers carve graceful lines in the fresh powder. It looks exhilarating. And you’re ready to try it yourself.

"Tony," you say, giving him your most persuasive smile as he sits on the edge of the bed, already rubbing a hand over your belly in his customary morning greeting.

"Hmm?" he asks, clearly distracted by the sight of his hand on your bump. It's almost become his morning routine: wake up, say good morning to you, then immediately direct his attention to the baby as if the two of you are separate entities he needs to greet individually.

“I want to learn to ski," you say, leaning forward eagerly. “And snowboard, maybe. We’re here, right? It’d be a crime not to at least try.”

His eyes widen in mock horror. "You want to what?"

“Ski. It’s a pretty common activity in the Alps, Tony. You might’ve heard of it?”

He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms and giving you the classic protective Tony look. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? You’re pregnant. Skiing seems… let’s call it ‘ill-advised.’”

You roll your eyes, standing up to wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a gentle smile. “Relax, Iron Man. I’ll be careful, we’ll take it slow, and you’ll be there the whole time, Mr. I’ve-got-a-suit-for-everything.”

He sighs, but you can see he’s starting to relent. “Fine. But if anything even remotely looks too intense, we’re calling it quits. Deal?”

“Deal,” you agree, trying to keep the excitement from bubbling over as you pull him down for a quick kiss.

After bundling up and taking a car to the nearby resort, you’re thrilled to finally be on the mountain. The snow glistens under the bright sun, and you can feel the crisp air on your face as you look out over the slopes.

Tony has rented skis for both of you and has been cautious all morning, making sure everything is “pregnancy-friendly.” But you start to get suspicious when he leads you, hand-in-hand, toward the bunny hill—the tiny, kid-friendly beginner slope with ski instructors in bright colors and a smattering of tiny skiers who look no older than five.

"Uh, Tony?" you say, holding back a laugh as he hands you the kid-sized poles. “Are we… are we learning with the preschoolers?”

"Yes, ma’am,” he says with a grin, clearly proud of himself. “Only the best for you.”

You arch an eyebrow, planting a gloved hand on your hip. “Tony, I may be pregnant, but I’m not a toddler.”

"Hey," he says, feigning offense as he crosses his arms. "You’re always saying I should loosen up. This is me loosening up. And look," he gestures to the hill, "the kids look like they’re having a great time."

You look over and sure enough, a tiny kid in a neon green snowsuit zips by, wobbly but determined, his instructor cheering him on. Tony raises an eyebrow at you in victory, and you let out a laugh.

“Alright,” you say, trying to keep a straight face. “Teach me how to ski… over here on the baby slopes.”

"That's the spirit," he says, giving you an exaggerated wink. “Now, follow my lead.” He slides forward with a certain smugness, easing down the slope in a careful, exaggerated snowplow that’s almost as comical as it is effective. You try to copy him, mimicking the position, and you both start inching your way down the hill like two overgrown kids.

"You're actually not bad at this," he calls out, looking back to grin at you. "You know, for a beginner."

“Oh, please, I’m practically a natural,” you tease, wobbling as you hit a small bump. He’s instantly alert, gliding over to make sure you’re steady.

“Natural, huh?” he teases. “You know, if you master the bunny hill, you might just graduate to… the medium bunny hill.”

You give him a playful shove. “Oh, you’re hilarious, Tony.”

But despite all his ribbing, he’s by your side every step of the way, guiding you through the basics. And every time you start to get the hang of it, he’s quick to throw in a joke or a playful nudge, making you laugh so much that staying balanced becomes an impossible task. Eventually, you both end up tumbling to the snow in a fit of laughter.

“Alright,” he says, helping you to your feet and brushing snow from your jacket. “How about we reward ourselves with a little break at that bar up the hill?”

“Best idea you’ve had all day,” you agree, your cheeks rosy and your breath coming in happy puffs.

You find a cozy bar just up the path, perched near the slopes with a view of the mountains beyond. Inside, it’s all rustic charm and warmth—flickering lanterns on each table, cozy booths, and a crackling fire in the corner. Tony leads you to a booth by the window, where the view of the snowy slopes and skiers zipping by makes for a perfect scene.

He orders a mulled cider for you and a whiskey for himself. “To surviving the bunny hill,” he says, raising his glass.

“Almost,” you correct, clinking your mug against his with a grin. “But don’t get used to it. I’ll be an expert by tomorrow.”

Tony laughs, leaning back and draping his arm around your shoulders. “Alright, but if you go pro, I expect a cut of your sponsorship deals.”

“Deal,” you say, laughing as you take a sip of your warm cider. You feel a hand on your belly, and you look up to find Tony looking down at your stomach with a soft, content expression.

“Peanut had quite the day, huh?” he murmurs, tracing a finger in slow circles. “First ski lesson with Mom and Dad. It’s only a matter of time before we’ve got a little snowboarder or skier running around.” He looks up at you, eyes twinkling. “Imagine, a little Stark racing down the slopes.”

You snuggle closer, your heart swelling as you picture it. “Sounds perfect.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and for a while, you both sit in comfortable silence, soaking up the warmth of the fire, the view, and each other. It’s simple, domestic, and so achingly perfect that it feels like a dream.

After a while, Tony’s hand finds yours under the table. “Alright,” he says, giving you a mischievous grin. “Ready for more of the bunny hill tomorrow?”

“Bring it on,” you say, grinning back. “But fair warning—I’m graduating to the medium bunny hill by the afternoon.”

He chuckles, tightening his hold on your hand. "That’s my girl."

As Tony slips away to pay the bill, you settle back in the booth, taking a slow sip of your cider and watching the snow gently fall outside. You’re lost in thought, already picturing yourself attempting to conquer the “medium” bunny hill tomorrow, when a figure suddenly slides into Tony’s seat across from you.

“Ciao, bella,” says a man with a thick Italian accent and an easy, confident smile. He’s tall, with dark hair peeking out from under his knit beanie and an instructor’s badge hanging around his neck that reads Marco. “I couldn’t help but notice you on the kids' slope earlier,” he continues, his gaze lingering a little too long for comfort. “You looked…how do you say…deliziosa on those skis.”

For a second, you’re too surprised to respond, but then you let out a small, amused laugh. “Oh, uh, thank you?”

He leans in, clearly misreading your laugh. “Not many adults are brave enough to take on the bunny hill. It’s very… endearing.” He gives you a grin that, on anyone else, might be charming, but on him is just a bit too self-assured. “I’d be happy to give you a private lesson sometime,” he says, his voice dropping suggestively. “Show you the ropes… maybe even move you up to a real slope, sì?”

“Oh,” you say, putting down your mug and giving him a polite smile. “That’s very nice of you, Marco, but I actually have an instructor. He’s, uh, very attentive.”

Marco raises an eyebrow, glancing around. “Ah, well, he can’t be that attentive if he left you alone. Such a bella donna should never be alone, sì?” He leans back, his gaze sweeping over you appreciatively. “Besides, you deserve someone who can give you all the… attention you need.”

From across the room, Tony turns around from the bar and sees you—laughing, apparently chatting with some random guy who’s leaning way too far into your personal space. Tony’s jaw tightens as he watches, his eyes narrowing. He knows that look; he’s given it a few times himself. And from the way this Marco guy is practically draping himself across the table, it’s clear he thinks he’s got a chance with you.

“Oh, no,” Tony mutters under his breath. “Not happening, pal.”

You’re still trying to deflect Marco’s attention politely when you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Am I interrupting?” Tony asks, his tone pleasant but with a sharp edge that makes you almost burst out laughing.

Marco straightens up, his brows knitting as he looks Tony up and down. “Oh, scusa, amico,” he says, his smile not quite as confident now. “I didn’t realize she was with someone.”

Tony gives a tight-lipped smile, sliding smoothly back into his seat and draping his arm around you, fingers brushing casually over your shoulder. “She is,” he says pointedly, turning his head to plant a possessive kiss on your cheek, clearly for Marco’s benefit. “I’m Tony. And you are…?”

“Marco,” the man says, trying to maintain his cool as he extends a hand, which Tony promptly ignores.

“Right,” Tony says, looking unimpressed. He raises an eyebrow, giving Marco a once-over. “So, Marco, were you just, what… offering private lessons to my wife?” He emphasizes the word, his voice dripping with amusement and a hint of a threat.

You see Marco’s eyes widen just slightly as he glances at your hand. Of course, Tony had bought you gloves that are so bulky your wedding ring is completely hidden, which must be why Marco hadn’t noticed. He quickly recovers, chuckling and putting his hands up defensively. “Ah, mi dispiace, I did not realize! The snow clothes, you know, they hide… certain things.”

“Sure, sure,” Tony says, giving him a smile that’s as cold as the snow outside. “Easy mistake to make.” He pats his own chest as if in apology. “She’s wearing the ski instructor-approved disguise. Real easy to miss the whole married and pregnant thing, isn’t it?”

Marco’s face turns bright red as he stumbles over his words, looking everywhere but at you. “Ah, yes, well, I should… I should be going. Enjoy your stay, signora. Signore,” he says hastily before practically running off toward the other side of the bar.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, you turn to Tony with an amused smile, crossing your arms. “Was that really necessary?”

Tony huffs, his arm still firmly around you as he shakes his head. “Necessary? That guy was two seconds away from trying to hand-feed you pasta.”

You burst out laughing, nudging him playfully. “You know, if you’d just waited a minute, he probably would’ve figured it out on his own.”

Tony leans in close, grumbling theatrically. “Absolutely not. I have to nip these things in the bud. And, for the record, I don’t appreciate other guys throwing themselves at you while I’m paying for our cozy little cider date.”

“Oh, so you’re the only one who can throw himself at me?” you tease, arching an eyebrow as you take a sip of your cider.

“Damn right,” Tony says, pulling you even closer, his eyes sparkling with humor. “That guy clearly didn’t realize he was dealing with the Tony Stark.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin betrays you. “Well, Mr. Stark, thank you for rescuing me from the terrible fate of ski instructor flirtations.”

Tony smirks, raising his glass. “Anytime, Mrs. Stark. Anytime.” He takes a sip, eyes glinting with satisfaction as he watches Marco retreat out of sight.

Then he turns to you, looking perfectly serious. “Next time, maybe you should wear a sign or something. Like, ‘Taken. Baby on Board. Do Not Flirt.’”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh yeah? What’s it going to say on the back, ‘Back off, Tony Stark’s property’?”

“Exactly,” he says with a wink, obviously pleased with himself. He settles back into his seat, one hand firmly planted on your belly as if staking his claim all over again. "Guess I’ll just have to keep my eye on you from now on. Can’t have any more Italian Casanovas getting the wrong idea.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, smiling as he holds you close, his hand tracing idle circles over your belly. “Guess that’s what I get for marrying a billionaire superhero,” you say, snuggling up to him with a sigh.

“Lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And for the rest of the afternoon, with Tony’s arm around you and his gaze occasionally sweeping the bar for any would-be admirers, you realize that even with all the teasing and banter, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

After lunch, Tony insists on checking out the chalet’s indoor pool, especially since you’ve both been bundled up in heavy ski gear all day. He’s unusually excited, already talking about the “therapeutic properties” of a warm dip as he escorts you down the hall, arm draped protectively over your shoulder.

Of course, you know that Tony’s idea of “relaxing by the pool” involves detailed pre-planning. He spent a full five minutes earlier confirming with the staff that the water temperature is exactly within safe limits for pregnant women. You couldn’t help but laugh as he ran through a list of questions so long it could have filled a health inspector’s checklist.

Now, as you enter the pool area, you can’t help but smile at the ambiance. It’s luxurious yet cozy, with ambient lights reflecting off the water and soft classical music playing overhead. Families and couples splash around, and there’s a wall of glass that opens to the breathtaking view of the Alps, snowy peaks standing tall against the sky.

Tony’s hand is on your back as he guides you to the pool’s edge. “Alright, love, just take it slow,” he murmurs, adjusting his position to help you ease into the water.

You roll your eyes, smiling as you step in. “You know, I think I remember how pools work.”

“True, true,” he says, hands still hovering protectively, “but now it’s a whole different ball game. You’ve got precious cargo.” His eyes gleam as he says it, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the way he looks at you.

Once you’re in, he joins you, holding you close in the waist-deep water. The pool isn’t crowded, but it’s busy enough, with families and couples wading nearby. None of it seems to faze Tony, though. His focus is squarely on you—and, of course, your small but growing bump.

As you float in the water, Tony’s hands find your waist, and then, naturally, his fingers drift to rest gently on your stomach. He’s been in awe of this small swell since it first showed up, and now, he’s practically glued to it. You glance around, feeling a little self-conscious with the other people around, but Tony catches the look and just smirks.

“Oh no,” he teases, voice low. “Don’t you dare get shy on me now.” He presses a gentle kiss to your temple, his hand still resting warmly over your belly. “I want the whole world to know I’m crazy about you and our little peanut.”

“Tony,” you say, laughing softly. “You do realize you don’t have to shout it to every stranger we meet, right?”

“Why not?” he quips, beaming. “I’m proud. They should know. Besides…” He pauses, glancing down with that soft, protective look again, “It’s not every day you have this much to celebrate.”

He leans down, pressing his cheek gently to your stomach, and for a moment you’re sure the people nearby must be watching, but he’s completely unfazed. In fact, he looks content, brushing a thumb over the slight curve and murmuring, “You know, kiddo, you’re going to be loved so much. By me, by your mom here. You’ve got it made.”

You smile, running your fingers through his damp hair as he whispers to the baby. “I think you might be getting a little too into the dad role already,” you say, trying to keep the laugh out of your voice.

“Is that a complaint?” He lifts his head, grinning at you.

You shake your head, smiling as he draws you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you in the water. “Not at all. I love it.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, affectionate tone. “Because you’re both stuck with me.”

After a while of floating and talking about the future—debating possible names, dreaming of first steps, first words, and first Stark-engineered tricycles—you drift closer to the edge of the pool, resting against it with Tony still close. Every so often, his fingers return to your belly as if by instinct, rubbing small circles or tracing a lazy line from side to side. He’s got this way of being tender without even thinking about it.

A mother with two young children paddles nearby, and her eyes linger for a second as she takes in the two of you. She gives you a knowing smile, and you smile back, feeling Tony’s hand on your bump.

As the family moves past, Tony gives you a conspiratorial grin. “You know, you could always give them a heads-up. Let them know there’s another future superhero in the making right here.”

You laugh, poking him lightly in the chest. “They already got the message, I think. You weren’t exactly subtle.”

He chuckles, letting his arm settle around your shoulders. “What can I say? I’m enthusiastic.” Then he leans down, placing another soft kiss on your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. “This might just be the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Your heart swells as he looks at you, his gaze full of love and devotion. And with his arms around you, the warmth of the water, and the snowy mountains in view, you feel like you’re floating in the perfect moment, one that you’ll carry with you long after you’ve left the chalet.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice so soft it feels like a secret just for you.

The morning after your cozy pool time, you wake up with a scratchy throat and a stuffy nose, which you’re pretty sure wasn’t there when you went to bed. You groan softly, reaching for the tissue box on the bedside table, and give a tiny sneeze.

Of course, that little sneeze sets off Tony’s alarm bells like you’ve just pulled a fire alarm.

He’s instantly at your side, his hand on your forehead to check for a fever, his brow furrowed in deep concern. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t look okay,” he says, his voice going from calm to anxious in a heartbeat.

You try to wave him off, laughing a little. “It’s just a cold, Tony. I’m fine, really.”

But he’s already in full-on crisis mode.

“Oh no, this is not ‘just a cold.’ You need to lie down. Rest. Hydrate. Whatever it takes to get you feeling better, I’m on it.” Before you can protest, he’s pulling back the covers and gently tucking you back into bed like you’re made of glass.

“Tony,” you say, amused as he pulls a blanket over you, “I can still move. It’s just a cold.”

“Exactly,” he says, leaning down and giving you a soft, serious look. “That means it’s a virus. Which means I have to take all necessary precautions. And you”—he points a finger at you with all the authority of a doctor—"are to stay right here. On bedrest. Doctor’s orders.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at how serious he looks. “Doctor’s orders? You’re not a doctor.”

“Yet.” He winks, then pulls out his phone, typing furiously. “But Dr. Chen is.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him text your OB/GYN in the U.S. “Are you really calling Dr. Chen? Just because of a little sniffle?”

He shrugs, tapping the screen. “Yes. Because I want to be sure I’m doing everything to help you and our little peanut. That includes expert backup, if necessary.”

You can’t help but smile as he waits, phone in hand, glancing up every so often to check on you as though you might disintegrate if he looks away. Then, as if on cue, his phone pings, and he holds it up victoriously.

“She’s on board,” he says with a little too much triumph, showing you a text that reads, If Y/N is comfortable, plenty of rest, fluids, and warmth should help. Call if needed. He holds his phone with a flourish. “See? Expert-confirmed bedrest.”

You laugh and snuggle further under the covers, feeling the warmth of his concern more than anything else. “Alright, alright. Bedrest it is. But only because Dr. Chen said so.”

He nods, clearly pleased with himself, then presses a quick kiss to your forehead, mumbling, “Good call, Doc.” Then he’s off, already muttering to himself about getting you more pillows, a humidifier, and maybe a few dozen blankets.

As you settle in, you watch him scurry around the suite, gathering all your essentials as if you’re stranded on a desert island. He fluffs the pillows, fusses over the blanket arrangement, and keeps glancing back at you every few minutes, as if double-checking you’re still there.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back and eyeing his work critically. “Now, can I get you anything else? How about a hot drink?”

“Hot chocolate would be amazing,” you say, chuckling at how over-the-top he’s being.

“Hot chocolate, coming right up,” he says, snapping his fingers and practically running out of the room.

He returns a few minutes later with a mug of steaming hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings (he’d never go for anything less than five-star quality). He’s practically bouncing as he sets it down on your bedside table, arranging it like it’s a Michelin-star dessert.

You take a sip, savoring the warmth and sweetness. “Mmm. This is perfect, Tony. Thank you.”

He visibly relaxes as you sip, then settles into the chair beside the bed, clearly not planning to leave your side anytime soon. “So, here’s the plan,” he says, as if he’s unveiling a major Stark Industries project. “You’ll stay here, rest, drink all the hot chocolate you want, and I’ll make sure you don’t have to lift a finger.”

“I can’t imagine it’s that serious, Tony,” you say, trying to reassure him. “It’s probably just from being in the cold for so long yesterday.”

But he’s already waving off your words, leaning forward with an intense look of determination. “Listen, we’ve got less than five months before the baby arrives. That means I need you healthy and happy and not dealing with any unnecessary stress, discomfort, or…viruses. So if that means pampering you with hot chocolate and movies and blankets all day, so be it.”

You laugh softly, reaching for his hand. “Alright, fine, Mr. Stark. I’ll indulge you.”

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to your hand, his eyes warm with love and gratitude. “Because it’s really me who’s indulging. Now, I’ll get the laptop so we can watch some of those cheesy holiday movies you like.”

“Oh, so you’re finally admitting you secretly love them too?” you tease, already knowing the answer.

He sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. “Maybe just a little,” he concedes with a smirk. “But only if we can start with the ones where the couple fights, then has a dramatic confession at the end.”

“Deal,” you laugh, shaking your head as he pulls out the laptop, settling it onto the bed.

For the next few hours, you lose yourselves in movie after movie, his arm around you, the cozy warmth of the blankets surrounding you both. Tony doesn’t move an inch unless it’s to refill your hot chocolate, adjust your pillows, or bring you more tissues.

Every so often, he glances over, brushing his fingers over your hair or pressing a hand to your belly, murmuring things like, “How’s the little one doing?” or “Don’t worry, we’ve got you both covered.”

Eventually, as the snow falls softly outside and Tony nestles closer, your eyes start to drift shut. He notices, pulling the blanket a little higher over you, his hand resting protectively over your belly.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice soft. And as you fall asleep, you feel the steady warmth of his hand, his presence wrapped around you like a shield, reminding you that, no matter what, you’re in the best hands in the world.

After a few days of rest, hot chocolate, and constant pampering from Tony, you feel perfectly fine again—your cold a distant memory. It’s a relief to be able to get up, stretch, and take in the mountain views without feeling Tony’s eagle eyes watching your every move like you’re about to faint at any second. But, just as you’re settling back into enjoying the last of your time at the chalet, the final day of your trip arrives, and it’s time to pack up.

The goodbye comes too soon for your liking. As Tony arranges for your luggage to be sent down, you stand by the window, watching the snow-covered peaks as if they’re already miles away instead of just outside the glass. There’s something magical about this place, and leaving it just makes your heart sink a little—pregnancy hormones only making the ache stronger.

Tony notices the way you linger by the window, quiet and a little sad, and he comes up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you. “Ready to go, love?”

You swallow, trying to keep the sudden lump in your throat from turning into tears. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I just… I really loved it here. It feels like we’re leaving this perfect little world behind.”

He pulls you closer, his voice gentle as he murmurs, “I know. It’s hard to say goodbye.” He kisses the side of your head and gives your belly a soft pat, as if trying to comfort both you and the baby. “But don’t worry. I promise you, this isn’t the last time we’ll be here.”

You manage a small smile, leaning into him. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he says, squeezing you a little tighter. “I’ll bring you and our little peanut back here once a year, at least. A little annual tradition, just for us.”

The promise settles warmly over you, softening the sadness, though the idea of leaving still tugs at your heart. “I think I’d really like that,” you whisper.

On the plane, Tony makes sure you’re settled into the comfiest seat, blankets piled up and pillows arranged just right. He brings you a fresh cup of tea and sits beside you, holding your hand as the jet takes off, lifting you away from the snowy Alps.

The closer you get to New York, the more your emotions start to bubble up. You try to hide it, focusing on the book in your lap and staring out the window at the clouds. But Tony’s eyes are on you, reading every little flicker of your expression like he always does. Finally, he slips his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Talk to me.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. “I don’t know… it just feels silly. It’s just a vacation, right? But… it’s like I’m leaving behind this dream.” Your hand drifts down to your belly, and you feel a wave of warmth spread through you at the thought of the baby growing there. “Everything just felt so perfect there. I feel… I don’t know… safe, in a way I haven’t before.”

He studies your face, his expression softening. “That’s not silly at all. It’s exactly how you should feel.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “And listen—I know I don’t have to tell you this, but you’re safe wherever we are. Doesn’t matter if it’s the Alps, the tower, or the middle of nowhere. I’ve got you, and I’ve got our little one. We’re a team, remember?”

A small smile forms on your lips, and you blink back the tears that were threatening to spill. “Yeah. You’re right.”

He takes your hand, pressing it to his lips before placing it over his heart. “Besides, next year, you’ll get to see the Alps through a whole new perspective—with a mini-Stark tagging along. Who knows what kind of adventures we’ll have then?”

You laugh softly, imagining a future where you’re bundled up with a little one in tow, teaching them to ski down the bunny hills and showing them the same stunning views. “Okay, that does sound pretty amazing.”

“Exactly.” He smiles, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “We’ll have so many new memories, you’ll forget you were ever sad to leave.”

You settle back into your seat, comforted, and squeeze his hand. “You know, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re pretty good at this whole husband thing.”

He winks, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Only the best for you, Mrs. Stark.”

As the jet soars through the clouds, he keeps a warm hand on your belly, whispering a few playful promises to the baby about future trips and grand adventures. He says something about building a personal ski lift one day so you won’t ever have to brave the bunny slopes again if you don’t want to.

You laugh, feeling grateful for him, for this life you’re building, and for the adventures you’ve yet to share together. And as you close your eyes, leaning against his shoulder, you let the promise of future memories fill you with peace, knowing that with Tony by your side, you’ll always feel at home—no matter where you are.

in love with this story like really <3

24 notes · View notes