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amethystarachnid · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii, I'd like to request Winter Wonderland Date with tony, please please! Reader planning this cute date for him after he's back from a hard mission ❤️

CHRISTMAS DATE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: After Tony came back from an hard mission you decide to pamper him for a bit, after all he deserves it. So you organize a little date that...ended up as a snowball fight somehow.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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

It’s late December, and the world outside your window is a perfect postcard of winter. Snow drifts lazily under the soft glow of streetlamps, frosting the trees and rooftops like icing on a cake. Inside the warmth of Tony’s penthouse, it’s a stark contrast: cozy, intimate, and filled with the faint hum of Jarvis’ quiet vigilance. You wake up before dawn, your mind already set on the plan you’ve been hatching since Tony returned from his mission last night—exhausted, bruised, and trying to hide just how much it had taken out of him.

He doesn’t say much when he’s hurting. You’ve come to understand that. Instead, he makes jokes that don’t quite land or buries himself in the workshop, tinkering as if he can solder away his weariness. But last night, after you coaxed him out of the suit, patched him up, and pulled him into bed, he finally let himself relax against you, his breathing evening out as sleep claimed him. You stayed awake a while longer, watching his face, soft and peaceful in slumber, and you resolved then and there to make today about him. At least the morning—he’d insist on returning to work or starting another project in the afternoon, you’re sure of it.

Now, as the first hints of morning light begin to peek through the curtains, you slip out of bed as quietly as you can manage. Tony stirs slightly, his arm reaching instinctively for you, but he doesn’t wake. You smile to yourself and gently tuck the blanket around him before padding out of the room.

The kitchen is dim and serene, the kind of silence that makes you feel like the world is still holding its breath. You’ve become familiar with this space over the months—luxurious appliances gleaming in chrome, countertops that seem too perfect to actually cook on. But today, it’s not about gourmet meals or culinary experiments. Today, it’s about comfort.

You set a small pot on the stove, pouring in milk and a touch of cream, stirring gently as it warms. The rich aroma of melting chocolate fills the air as you add the cocoa, whisking until it’s velvety smooth. A pinch of cinnamon, a dash of vanilla, and it’s perfect. You pull out a plate of cookies you baked the day before—soft, buttery, and just slightly crisp around the edges. Arranging everything on a tray, you add a small vase with a single sprig of holly for a festive touch. It’s simple, but you know Tony will appreciate the effort.

Balancing the tray carefully, you make your way back to the bedroom. Tony’s still sprawled across the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes as if to shield himself from the world. His hair is a mess of dark, unruly curls, and his breathing is slow and even. For a moment, you just stand there, taking him in. He looks so vulnerable like this, so human, and your heart aches with the depth of your love for him.

“Tony,” you whisper softly, setting the tray on the bedside table. You sit on the edge of the bed and brush your fingers lightly over his hair. “Wake up, sweetheart. I’ve got something for you.”

He stirs, his brow furrowing slightly before his eyes blink open, heavy-lidded and still clouded with sleep. When he sees you, a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face. “Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough and warm.

“Morning,” you reply, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I brought you breakfast in bed. Thought you could use a little spoiling today.”

His eyes drift to the tray, and he raises an eyebrow. “Hot cocoa and cookies? Are you trying to win the Best Girlfriend Ever award?”

“Maybe,” you tease, handing him the mug. “Taste it first. Then decide if I’m worthy.”

He sits up slowly, wincing slightly as he shifts his weight, and you’re immediately by his side, fussing over the pillows to make him more comfortable. He chuckles softly, the sound low and affectionate. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Drink your cocoa,” you reply, ignoring the way your cheeks flush at his words.

Tony takes a cautious sip, his eyes widening slightly as the rich, chocolatey warmth spreads through him. “Damn, that’s good,” he says, shooting you an impressed look. “Seriously, where have you been hiding this talent?”

“I have my secrets,” you say with a grin, breaking off a piece of cookie and offering it to him. He accepts it with a playful nip at your fingers, making you laugh.

For a while, the two of you sit in companionable silence, sharing sips of cocoa and bites of cookies. Outside, the world begins to wake, but in this little bubble of warmth and love, it feels like time has slowed down just for you. Tony leans back against the headboard, his expression soft and content as he watches you.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” he says after a moment, his voice tinged with gratitude. “But I’m glad you did.”

“You’ve been through so much lately,” you reply, reaching out to trace a finger along his jawline. “You deserve to be taken care of, Tony. Just for a little while. Let me do this for you.”

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you quip, but your smile is soft, your heart swelling at his words.

The morning drifts on in a haze of laughter and warmth, with Tony’s humor making a grand appearance. After finishing breakfast, he insists on recounting the mission with an exaggerated flair, turning the most mundane details into a theatrical saga.

“And then, after I heroically deactivated the bomb,” he says, gesturing dramatically, “I had to fight off twelve—no, fifteen ninjas! All armed with lasers. And, of course, my suit was running on three percent battery.”

“Fifteen ninjas?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “And lasers? Sounds totally plausible.”

“Hey, you weren’t there,” he counters, smirking. “I’m telling you, it was epic. You would have been swooning in the background, yelling, ‘Save me, Tony!’”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say dryly, throwing a pillow at him. He catches it effortlessly, laughing.

By lunchtime, the two of you are sprawled on the couch, the remnants of breakfast still sitting on the coffee table. Tony’s arm is draped over your shoulders, his head resting against yours. “So, what’s the plan for lunch?” he asks, his tone hopeful. “I’m assuming we’re not having cookies for round two.”

“Takeout?” you suggest. “I’m not in the mood to cook, and you’re not allowed to lift a finger today.”

“Takeout it is,” he agrees, reaching for his phone. After scrolling through a few options, he lands on Chinese food. “How about dumplings, noodles, and… oh, sweet and sour chicken? Classic.”

When the food arrives, there’s a knock at the door, and you’re the one who gets up to answer it. The delivery guy’s eyes go wide when he sees who the food is for. “Oh my God,” he says, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Tony lounging on the couch. “Is that… Tony Stark? Can I get a photo with him?”

“No,” you say firmly, stepping in front of the doorway to block his view. “He’s resting.”

“Resting?” Tony calls from the couch, his voice laced with mock indignation. “I’ll have you know, I’m engaging in a highly advanced relaxation protocol. It’s a critical part of my genius process.”

The delivery guy looks torn between disappointment and amusement, and you thank him quickly before shutting the door. “You’re insufferable,” you say, bringing the bags of food to the coffee table.

“Insufferably charming,” he corrects, sitting up to help unpack the containers. “Besides, I’m not above taking bribes. Maybe next time he shows up with extra dumplings, I’ll consider a selfie.”

Lunch is a leisurely affair, with Tony cracking jokes about everything from the fortune cookies to the absurd number of sauce packets. At one point, he grabs a pair of chopsticks and uses them to mime a kung fu routine, nearly knocking over a bowl of noodles in the process.

“You’re going to regret that when you’re hungry later,” you warn, rescuing the bowl just in time.

“True,” he admits, grinning. “But it was worth it for the laugh. Did you see that spin? I’m telling you, I’ve got moves.”

After lunch, Tony stretches out on the couch, pulling you down with him. “Alright, boss,” he says, his tone teasing. “What’s next on the itinerary? Another round of pampering? Maybe a foot rub?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you reply, though you’re smiling as you settle against his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and for a while, the two of you simply exist in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

“You know,” he says softly after a while, his voice losing its usual edge of humor. “Days like this… they remind me why I keep fighting. Why I keep putting the suit on, even when it feels like it’s too much.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, your voice just as soft.

“Because of you,” he says simply, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Because you make it all worth it.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “I love you, Tony Stark.”

He smiles, that familiar mix of arrogance and tenderness lighting up his face. “I love you more.”

“Not possible,” you counter, and he laughs, the sound warm and genuine. In that moment, as the snow falls softly outside and the world narrows to just the two of you, it feels like nothing else matters.

It’s mid-afternoon, and the two of you are still lounging on the couch, cocooned in the comfort of the penthouse. Outside, the snow continues to fall gently, blanketing the city in pristine white. Tony’s arm is draped over your shoulders, his fingers idly playing with a strand of your hair as a cheesy holiday movie plays in the background. But as cozy as it is, a thought begins to creep into your mind: you’ve been cooped up indoors all day.

And while Tony deserves every second of pampering and rest, there’s something about the snow outside that calls to you.

You shift to look at him, a mischievous smile forming. “Tony,” you say, drawing out his name in a way that instantly makes him suspicious.

“What?” he replies, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That tone usually precedes something that involves effort.”

You laugh, swatting his chest playfully. “We’ve been inside all day. Let’s go out for a walk. The park looks beautiful in the snow.”

“A walk?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “In the snow? Are you trying to give me frostbite?”

“Oh, come on,” you say, tugging at his hand. “You spend half your life in a suit flying through ice-cold skies. You can handle a little stroll. Plus, it’ll be fun! We’ll bundle up, get some fresh air, maybe even build a snowman.”

He groans dramatically, but you can see the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fine,” he concedes, “but if I lose a toe, you’re carrying me back.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are stepping out into the crisp winter air, bundled up in coats, scarves, and hats. The park is stunning, the snow covering the ground like a glittering quilt. Families are scattered around, children laughing as they build snowmen or sled down gentle slopes. The air smells of pine and winter, and your breath forms small clouds as you exhale.

Tony walks beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets. His usual swagger is slightly subdued by the weight of the snow boots he grudgingly put on, but his eyes are alert, taking in the scene around him. Despite his earlier protests, you can tell he’s enjoying himself.

“See?” you say, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Isn’t this nice?”

“It’s tolerable,” he replies, his voice dripping with mock indifference. “Though I think I should’ve brought the suit. Would’ve made the walk quicker.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

As you continue walking, the two of you pass a group of kids engaged in a full-blown snowball fight. One of them glances over and does a double take, their eyes widening in recognition.

“Hey!” the kid shouts. “Isn’t that Iron Man?”

Tony freezes for a moment before turning to you with a look of exaggerated horror. “They’ve spotted me,” he whispers. “My cover’s blown.”

You laugh, but before you can reply, a snowball whizzes through the air and splats against Tony’s shoulder. The kids burst into laughter, their faces lit with glee.

Tony looks down at his now-snow-covered coat, then back at the kids. “Oh, it’s on,” he declares, bending down to scoop up a handful of snow.

“Tony,” you warn, already laughing as he molds the snow into a perfect ball.

“What?” he says innocently, his hand twitching with barely restrained anticipation. “I’m just participating in a friendly local tradition.”

Before you can protest further, he hurls the snowball with unerring accuracy, hitting one of the kids squarely in the chest. The kid lets out a delighted shriek, and suddenly, you’re both in the middle of an impromptu snowball war.

Tony’s competitive streak comes out in full force as he dodges incoming snowballs with surprising agility, retaliating with precise shots that leave his opponents scrambling for cover. You can’t stop laughing, your cheeks aching from the cold and your own mirth as you join in, pelting Tony with snow whenever you get the chance.

“Traitor!” he cries dramatically when one of your snowballs catches him in the side.

“All’s fair in love and snowball fights,” you retort, ducking behind a tree as he launches a counterattack.

By now, a small crowd has gathered to watch the spectacle, their faces a mix of astonishment and amusement. It’s not every day they get to see Tony Stark, billionaire genius and Avenger, rolling around in the snow like a kid.

One particularly brave onlooker calls out, “Hey, Stark! What happened to saving the world?”

Tony pauses, brushing snow off his coat with mock dignity. “World’s fine,” he says, grinning. “Today, I’m saving this park from a severe lack of fun.”

His comment earns a round of laughter and applause, and you shake your head, a fond smile on your lips. He may be ridiculous, but he’s your ridiculous.

After what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes, the two of you finally call a truce. Tony brushes the snow from his hair, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright. You can’t remember the last time you saw him look so carefree.

“Happy now?” he asks as you both sit on a bench, catching your breath.

“Very,” you reply, leaning your head against his shoulder. “See? I told you this was a good idea.”

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “You’re lucky I love you,” he says, his voice warm with affection. “Otherwise, I’d be back in the penthouse with a hot toddy right now.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love for this man who, despite his sarcasm and dramatics, has given you more happiness than you ever thought possible. “I love you too,” you say softly, and as the snow continues to fall around you, you know this is a moment you’ll cherish forever.

The snow-dusted park begins to empty as dusk falls, leaving you and Tony to meander through the winding paths. The twinkling lights of the nearby Christmas market catch your eye, and you tug at Tony’s arm excitedly.

“Let’s check it out!” you say, your voice full of anticipation.

He raises an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “A Christmas market? Are we talking handmade ornaments and hot cider? Because that sounds dangerously wholesome for me.”

“Exactly,” you reply, grinning. “You could use some wholesome holiday cheer.”

He sighs theatrically, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he lets you pull him along. “Fine. But if anyone tries to sell me a macramé reindeer, I’m blaming you.”

The market is alive with the spirit of the season: stalls adorned with garlands of holly and fairy lights, the air filled with the scents of roasted chestnuts, cinnamon, and pine. Shoppers bustle about, their laughter mingling with the festive tunes of a nearby street performer. Tony, with his designer coat and slightly aloof demeanor, stands out among the crowd, but you can see his curiosity growing as you wander through the stalls.

You stop at a vendor selling hand-carved wooden ornaments, picking up a delicate snowflake. “Look at this,” you say, holding it up for him to see. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

He examines it, his brow furrowing slightly. “Impressive craftsmanship,” he admits. “Though I could probably make one out of titanium that lights up and plays music.”

You laugh. “Sometimes simple is better.”

Tony hums noncommittally but pulls out his wallet and buys the snowflake anyway. “For the tree,” he says, handing it to you with a wink. “Consider it my contribution to holiday spirit.”

As you continue to explore, you sample hot cocoa from one stall and share a warm pretzel from another. Tony jokes about the absurdly large candy canes for sale and even lets you drag him to a booth where you try on silly Christmas hats. The vendors are visibly starstruck but do their best to act casual, which only amuses Tony further.

“I think they’re too scared to upsell me,” he whispers as you pass a stall selling scented candles. “Should I ask if they’ve got anything in the ‘cashmere and billionaire’ scent?”

By the time you’ve made a full circuit of the market, your cheeks are flushed from the cold, and your arms are laden with small treasures—a knitted scarf, a jar of homemade jam, and the snowflake ornament. Tony looks at you, his expression softening. “You’re glowing,” he says, brushing a stray snowflake from your hair. “I’d say this market has worked its magic on you.”

“It’s just nice,” you reply, leaning into him. “Being out here with you, enjoying the little things.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, his lips warm against your chilled skin. “You know what would make it even better?” he asks, his voice taking on a mischievous edge.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head to look at him.

“Dinner,” he replies. “And I’m not talking about another round of takeout. Let’s do this properly.”

You blink, surprised. “Tony, it’s Christmas Eve. Every decent restaurant is probably booked solid.”

He smirks, his confidence radiating. “Sweetheart, I’m Tony Stark. Give me ten minutes.”

True to his word, less than ten minutes later, the two of you are stepping into the opulent warmth of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The maître d’ greets Tony with a mixture of awe and brisk professionalism, leading you to a secluded table near a grand fireplace. The room is elegant, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the snowy cityscape, and the soft strains of a piano fill the air.

Tony pulls out your chair with a flourish, earning an amused look from you. “Look at you, all chivalrous,” you tease as you sit down.

“Don’t get used to it,” he quips, taking his seat across from you. “I’m only doing it to impress you.”

The server arrives promptly, presenting a leather-bound menu with a list of dishes so refined you feel like you’re reading poetry. Tony, of course, scans the menu with the ease of someone accustomed to such luxuries, but he pauses when he notices your hesitation.

“Anything catching your eye?” he asks, his tone gentle.

“I don’t even know what half of these things are,” you admit with a laugh. “But it all sounds amazing.”

He grins. “Then we’ll order a little bit of everything. Trust me, it’s the best way to do it.”

Over the next few hours, you’re treated to a culinary experience unlike any you’ve ever had. Plates of artfully arranged dishes arrive one after another: delicate scallops in a saffron-infused broth, a perfectly seared wagyu steak, and an impossibly light truffle risotto. Tony insists on sharing everything, leaning across the table to feed you bites of his favorites.

“Here,” he says, holding up a forkful of something that smells divine. “You have to try this. It’s like a symphony in your mouth.”

You laugh but let him feed you, the rich flavors exploding on your tongue. “Wow,” you say, your eyes widening. “Okay, you weren’t kidding.”

“Told you,” he says smugly, popping a bite into his own mouth. “I have impeccable taste—in food and in girlfriends.”

As the evening progresses, the conversation flows effortlessly, interspersed with Tony’s sharp wit and your teasing retorts. He tells stories about his escapades as Iron Man, carefully avoiding the grimmer details, and you share memories of past Christmases, painting a picture of simpler times.

When dessert arrives—a decadent chocolate soufflé served with a side of spiced ice cream—Tony leans back in his chair, looking completely content. “You know,” he says, his gaze fixed on you, “I’ve been to a lot of places, eaten a lot of fancy meals, but this… This is one for the books.”

“Because of the food?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“Because of you,” he replies, his voice soft. “You make everything better, even a stuffy place like this.”

Your cheeks warm, and you reach across the table to take his hand. “I could say the same about you,” you reply. “You make life… extraordinary.”

The two of you linger at the table long after the plates have been cleared, basking in the warmth of each other’s company. Outside, the snow continues to fall, blanketing the city in a hushed serenity. It’s a perfect moment, one you know you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

When you finally step back out into the crisp night air, Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “So, what’s next?” he asks, his breath visible in the cold. “Midnight snow angels? Ice skating? Another snowball fight?”

You laugh, leaning into him as the two of you begin the walk back home. “Honestly? I’m happy just being with you.”

“Good answer,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The restaurant's warmth lingers on your skin as you and Tony step out into the brisk winter night. Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, shimmering under the soft glow of the streetlights. Your breath puffs out in little clouds, but the cold is a welcome contrast to the decadent, cozy atmosphere of dinner.

Tony slides an arm around your shoulders as you walk down the quiet street. “So,” he says, his voice light, “what’s next on the agenda, oh master of Christmas cheer? Back to the penthouse for eggnog and a sappy movie?”

You glance up at him, mischief dancing in your eyes. “Not yet. I’ve got one more thing in mind.”

He groans, though it’s more for show than genuine annoyance. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” you reply with a grin, tugging at his hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

The two of you wander toward the park again, now nearly deserted save for a few bundled-up couples strolling hand in hand. The snow crunches softly beneath your boots, and the world feels peaceful, like the city itself is holding its breath in anticipation of Christmas morning.

Finally, you reach a wide-open field, its pristine blanket of snow untouched. You stop in the center, looking up at the sky where stars peek out between the clouds.

“Perfect,” you say, your voice soft with satisfaction.

Tony looks around, then back at you with a curious tilt of his head. “Okay, I’ll bite. What are we doing here?”

You drop his hand and step back, grinning as you begin to lower yourself onto the snow. “Snow angels,” you announce, spreading your arms and legs.

Tony stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Snow angels? You dragged me out here in the freezing cold to roll around in the snow?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, scooping up a handful of snow and tossing it at his boots. “Come on, Stark. Don’t be a Scrooge.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh but slowly lowers himself onto the snow beside you, muttering under his breath. “If I ruin this coat, I’m sending the dry-cleaning bill to Santa.”

You laugh as he begins to move his arms and legs, though his motions are halfhearted at best. “You’re not even trying,” you tease, nudging him with your boot. “Put some effort into it!”

“This is maximum effort,” he deadpans, though a smile tugs at his lips. “I’m not built for snow-based frivolity.”

“Liar,” you retort. “You were all-in during that snowball fight earlier.”

“That was combat,” he counters. “This is arts and crafts.”

Despite his protests, he stays by your side until your snow angels are complete. You sit up, brushing snow from your coat, and survey your handiwork with pride. “Not bad,” you say, glancing at Tony’s less-than-perfect angel. “Yours has… character.”

“Thank you,” he replies dryly. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

You both lie back down on the snow, your heads close together, and gaze up at the stars. The clouds have parted slightly, revealing constellations that twinkle against the inky black sky. The air is still, save for the occasional whisper of the wind, and the world feels infinite and small all at once.

Tony breaks the silence first, his voice softer than usual. “You don’t get a lot of moments like this, you know. Just… quiet. Peace.”

You turn your head to look at him, your breath catching at the rare vulnerability in his expression. “That’s why we have to hold on to them,” you say gently. “Make them count.”

He smiles faintly, reaching for your hand. His palm is warm against yours despite the chill. “You’re good at that,” he says. “Making things count. Making me stop and just… be.”

You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling. “Someone’s got to keep you grounded, Stark.”

“Good thing I found the best,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

For a while, neither of you speaks, content to simply lie there beneath the stars, your breaths mingling in the cold air. The snow beneath you feels like a cocoon, insulating you from the rest of the world. You lose track of time, the universe above you an endless tapestry of light and possibility.

Then, a nearby church bell chimes, its deep, resonant sound echoing through the night. You sit up slightly, startled, and pull out your phone to check the time. The screen lights up, confirming what you already suspected.

“It’s midnight,” you say, turning to Tony with a wide smile. “Merry Christmas.”

He sits up too, brushing snow from his hair, and grins back at you. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Without another word, he leans in and kisses you, his lips warm against yours despite the cold. The world seems to fall away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, frozen moment. When he pulls back, his eyes are filled with a tenderness that takes your breath away.

“This,” he says quietly, gesturing to the snow, the stars, and you, “is the best Christmas I’ve ever had. Hands down.”

You smile, your cheeks flushing—not just from the cold, but from the overwhelming love you feel for the man in front of you. “Me too,” you reply. “And it’s only just beginning.”

Hand in hand, you walk back through the snowy park, the quiet joy of the moment carrying you all the way home.

39 notes · View notes

amethystarachnid · 19 hours ago

Text

CHRISTMAS KITTY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Request: 26. Decorating the Tree Together – You and your character decorate a Christmas tree together, each putting your personal touch on it. A quiet moment full of holiday spirit, plus maybe a surprise gift hidden in the branches! This prompt with Tony please? 😁 and the surprise gift is a kitten? I love kittens and cats 😻😻😻😻😻 (@ts-rdj-reader )

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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

It's December in New York, and the first snow of the season has just begun to fall in delicate, fluttering flakes. The city, as always, feels like it's bustling with energy, but there's a softness to the air today, a quiet sort of peace that only the holiday season can bring. The kind of peace you can’t help but be caught up in.

You're bundled up in a cozy sweater and thick scarf, watching Tony fumble with his jacket. He looks up at you with a slight smirk as he zips it up, his chest puffed out as if the jacket somehow makes him look even more impressive.

“Think you’re ready for this?” you tease, adjusting your hat as you stand by the door. “I mean, buying a Christmas tree is serious business.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, but there’s a twinkle in his expression that betrays his excitement. “Of course I’m ready. What could possibly go wrong? It’s just a tree.”

You raise an eyebrow, watching him try to act nonchalant. Tony Stark might be a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, but there’s one thing he’s never had to deal with—decorating for the holidays. This is your first Christmas living together in his sleek, glass-and-steel penthouse, and you’ve both agreed that it’s time to make it feel like home. A tree is step one.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen.

“Pepper says she hopes we don’t burn down the building,” Tony mutters, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “I’m thinking a big, grand tree this year, something that’s going to put Rockefeller Center’s to shame. Don’t you think?”

You laugh at his over-the-top enthusiasm. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Stark. Let’s just get the tree first. We’ll save the grandiosity for the decorations.”

It’s only when you step out into the chilly evening air that the weight of the moment settles in—your first holiday together in the place you’ve both made your own. The city feels a little more magical now. Maybe it’s because of the snow, or maybe it’s just the way Tony makes everything feel like an adventure, no matter how mundane the task. You wrap your arm around his, feeling the heat from his body through the layers of clothing. He pulls you in closer with a quick kiss on the top of your head, and the world feels a little warmer.

“So, what’s your ideal tree?” Tony asks as you start down the street toward the small, family-run tree lot he’s insisted on going to. The man is always about supporting local businesses, even if that business happens to be a Christmas tree seller in the middle of a snowy December night.

“Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully. “Something tall, but not too overwhelming. You know, elegant. And definitely one with a strong scent. The kind you can smell as soon as you walk into the room.”

Tony grins. “I knew it. You’ve got that Pinterest board thing going on.”

You shove him lightly, your cheeks flushing at how easily he can read you. He’s right, though. You’ve spent hours scrolling through Christmas inspiration—dreaming up a perfect holiday, and a perfect tree to match it.

As you approach the lot, you can already hear the festive music playing in the background and smell the faint scent of pine and fresh-cut trees. Tony pulls open the gate for you, letting you inside first. The lot is smaller than you imagined, but it’s full of trees of all shapes and sizes, stacked haphazardly but with care.

“I think I see it,” Tony says as he scans the trees, his eyes narrowing. “The perfect one.”

You follow his gaze, and your breath catches in your throat. There, nestled between two slightly crooked firs, is a tree. It’s taller than the others, its branches a deep green, with just enough space between them to be filled with twinkling lights and ornaments. Its shape is symmetrical but not overly perfect—just like the way Tony always manages to balance chaos and precision in everything he does.

“That’s the one,” you agree, giving him a playful shove as you walk toward it. “Well done, Mr. Stark.”

Tony shoots you a wink and saunters over to the tree, inspecting it like it’s a high-tech gadget instead of a holiday decoration. He kneels beside it, reaching out to touch a few of the branches. “I don’t know, I think it’s a little too… nice. We need something that says ‘Tony Stark lives here.’”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips. You love that about him—that he can make everything feel bigger than life. Even something as simple as choosing a Christmas tree becomes a mini-event in his world.

“You’re not putting any of your weird tech inside the tree, are you?” you tease, hands on your hips. “No lasers, no rockets, no holographic star, okay?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, looking far too interested in the idea. “You’re asking the wrong person. But, no promises,” he says, already pulling out his phone to check something on his holographic display.

You give him a playful shove, and this time he stumbles a little, catching himself against the tree. He lets out a dramatic gasp, looking down at it like he’s about to fall in love with the idea of the tree himself. “It’s perfect. We can definitely make this work.”

The seller walks over to you both, an older man with a thick beard and weathered hands. “I see you’ve got a good eye. She’s a beauty, alright. We just brought her in this morning. I’ll have my son help get it to your car.”

You nod, smiling warmly at the man. “Thanks so much. We’ll take it.”

As the seller arranges for the delivery, Tony reaches for your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. The moment feels calm and easy, just the two of you standing in the middle of a Christmas tree lot in the heart of a bustling city.

“I can’t wait to see it in the apartment,” you say softly, glancing up at Tony.

He smirks, squeezing your hand. “It’ll be legendary.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling the joy of the moment settle into your chest. Tony, in his own quirky way, always knows how to make everything seem like an adventure. It’s like he lives for these moments of pure, unfiltered happiness. And you’re lucky enough to experience them with him.

As the tree is loaded onto a delivery truck, you make your way back to the penthouse, arms around each other, sharing quiet smiles. The city is alive with lights and the glow of Christmas spirit, but with Tony beside you, it all feels a little brighter.

You both arrive back at the penthouse just as the first snow of the evening begins to pick up again, turning the streets into a winter wonderland. Tony pulls out his phone, checking the progress on the tree’s delivery. You walk over to the window, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city below, your thoughts drifting to the holiday ahead.

Tony joins you a few moments later, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You tilt your head back, finding comfort in the solid presence of his chest against your back.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hand.

“Doing what?” Tony asks, his voice low and amused.

“This,” you gesture to the apartment, “making our first Christmas together. It feels… right.”

Tony presses a kiss to the side of your head, his breath warm against your skin. “Yeah. Me too.”

The sound of a truck pulling up outside catches your attention. You glance out the window, smiling when you see the delivery man bringing the tree up to the door. Tony squeezes your shoulder gently.

“Ready for this?” he asks, his voice filled with mock seriousness. “The holiday season is about to be officially underway.”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face. “Let’s do it.”

The tree is brought in, standing tall and proud in the center of your living room. It’s a perfect fit for the space, and as the lights shine through the branches, you feel the warmth of the holiday spirit filling every corner of the penthouse.

Tony looks at you, eyes shining with excitement. “What’s first?”

You take a deep breath, glancing around the room. It’s all yours. The tree is just the beginning.

“I think,” you say, your voice full of excitement, “we start with the lights.”

Tony nods, his grin widening. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You kneel down in front of the tree, placing the first strand of lights in your hands. The room feels even warmer now, the dim lights from the penthouse windows softly illuminating everything with their golden glow, but it’s the tree that stands proudly at the center of it all. You reach for the plug to connect the lights, only to hear a faint grunt behind you.

Tony, in his usual enthusiastic style, has already jumped headfirst into the next task: stringing the lights up the tree. Or, more accurately, tangling himself in them.

You glance over your shoulder to find him hunched down, one arm flailing in the air as he tries to reach the highest branch. Unfortunately, the string of lights is now wrapped around his torso, like a garland that has a personal vendetta against him. His expression is one of deep concentration, but also complete and utter confusion.

"Uh, Tony, are you sure you know what you're doing?" you ask, trying to suppress your laughter.

"I’m just… uh, testing the lights,” he mutters, looking incredibly focused on not falling face-first into the tree. "Gotta make sure they work before we get them all in place."

"Uh-huh." You narrow your eyes. "Sure you are. That’s why you're wrapped up like a Christmas present."

Tony looks down at himself, his eyes going wide in genuine surprise. "Well, I didn’t plan for this," he admits. “But… hey, at least now I’m ready for any unexpected electrical malfunctions. Safety first, right?”

You can’t help but burst out laughing, watching him try to extricate himself from the mess of lights. He tugs at the string, but it only tightens more around his chest like a boa constrictor.

"Tony," you say, holding your hand up to try to stifle your giggles. "Maybe you should stop for a second, and we’ll start from the beginning, yeah? You can’t exactly decorate a tree while stuck in a knot."

He pauses, staring at the lights for a long moment before sighing dramatically, like he's performing some sort of grand monologue. "I never imagined my life would come to this," he says with a theatrical sigh, “trapped by holiday lights. Who knew the holiday season could be so treacherous?”

"Maybe if you actually followed the instructions," you tease, walking over to help him. "You know, instead of winging it like everything else you do."

He gives you an exaggerated pout. "I don’t need instructions. I’m Tony Stark. Instructions are for mere mortals."

"Oh, I’m sure the lights will be impressed with your genius," you reply, tugging at the string around his arm. "Alright, hold still. I’m going to help you out of this before you make it worse."

You gently start untangling him, but the more you try to help, the more absurd the situation becomes. At one point, his arm gets stuck in the lights so badly that it seems like they’ve fused into his jacket sleeve. He attempts to free himself by flapping his arm around in exaggerated circles, causing the lights to wrap even tighter.

"I think it's just easier if we burn the whole thing and start fresh," he mutters. "It would save a lot of time and frustration.”

You shake your head, chuckling. "How would you even burn it? You’d probably end up blowing up the building."

“I’m not that bad,” Tony protests, though he still looks tangled beyond belief. “I’ve got it under control… mostly.”

With a final tug, you manage to unravel him from the lights, leaving him looking defeated, his hair a bit more disheveled than usual. He looks at the string of lights in his hands with a defeated sigh.

“Alright, that’s it. You finish this part, I’ll handle something else,” he declares, tossing the lights toward you. “But only because I love you, and I’m clearly not cut out for this domestic stuff.”

You roll your eyes but give him a playful kiss on the cheek. “I love you too, even if you’re a disaster when it comes to holiday decorating.”

He grins at you, his usual cocky confidence returning. “Hey, someone has to make the season interesting.”

You take over, carefully stringing the lights around the tree. Tony stands off to the side, looking around at the ornaments you’ve laid out on the coffee table. His eyes immediately light up with mischievousness.

“Now this,” he says, picking up a glass ornament shaped like a small rocket, “this is the kind of decoration we need. A bit of me in this whole thing.”

You glance over, raising an eyebrow at the tiny rocket in his hand. “A rocket? Really?”

“Well, what better way to spice things up than a tiny Tony Stark rocket? I mean, the thing is pretty cool.” He grins, holding it up like a prize. “I could program it to do something flashy. A little jet-powered display, maybe?”

You hold up your hand to stop him. “Tony, no. Please don’t turn the Christmas tree into a mini Iron Man flight simulation.”

He chuckles, finally relenting and placing the ornament back with the others. “Alright, alright, no mini explosions. But can we at least agree on this—when we get the star on top, it’s going to be the most badass one ever?”

You smirk. “If you’re thinking about making the star fly, I swear to God…”

Tony throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine! No flying stars. I promise. But it’s going to be shiny. You’ll see.”

With the lights finally in place, you stand back to admire your work. The tree is looking better by the second. The warm glow from the lights fills the room, and you can already imagine how cozy everything will feel once you start adding the ornaments and tinsel.

“Okay,” you say, moving to the table where the rest of the ornaments are waiting. “Now we get to the fun part. You ready?”

Tony stretches, shaking out his arms like he's preparing for a big game. “Born ready,” he declares, grabbing a handful of ornaments without looking. “Alright, I’m going to start with these. The important ones.”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can stop him, Tony hangs the first ornament—a bright red one—with no regard for symmetry. In fact, it’s completely off-center, hanging at an odd angle that’s almost comical.

“Tony,” you say, biting back a laugh. “What are you doing? You can’t just randomly throw ornaments on the tree.”

He shrugs. “Why not? It’s Christmas. The tree can be a little… spontaneous.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing. “It looks like the tree’s been attacked by a very enthusiastic toddler.”

“Hey, don’t knock the randomness,” Tony defends, sticking his tongue out at you. “It’s… avant-garde.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not sure ‘avant-garde’ is the word you’re looking for.”

“Fine,” he sighs dramatically. “I’ll do it your way. But only because you look so cute when you’re being all decorator-y about it.” He gives you a teasing wink before picking up another ornament.

You can barely keep your smile in check as you show him how to hang the ornaments more evenly. But as you demonstrate, Tony inevitably sneaks in a few of his chaotic touches—an ornament hung upside down here, another off to one side. At one point, he hands you a glittery snowman ornament that is somehow tangled in a length of tinsel.

“Here, put this one up,” he says, looking far too pleased with himself. “It’s got character.”

You burst out laughing as you try to untangle the snowman, holding it up in front of your face. "Character? It looks like it got stuck in a snowdrift.”

Tony laughs with you, the sound of it easy and warm. “I think it adds some charm to the tree.”

As the two of you finish decorating, you step back to admire your work. The tree, though slightly lopsided in places, has a certain charm to it. It’s uniquely yours—full of mismatched ornaments, half-wrapped ribbons, and just the right amount of chaos.

Tony steps back, admiring it with a proud grin. “You know what? It might not be perfect, but it’s got style.”

You glance over at him, shaking your head but smiling. “It’s a little more than that. It’s ours.”

His eyes soften, and for a moment, there’s a silence between you. You both stand in front of the tree, feeling a sense of contentment that only comes with creating something together.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice quieter now, “this is nice. I like this. Decorating the tree with you… it’s something I could get used to.”

You turn to him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Me too, Tony. Me too.”

And as you stand there, side by side, with the tree twinkling in front of you and the warmth of the holiday season filling the air, you realize that no matter how messy or chaotic things get, this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

The tree stands tall and glowing, a patchwork of holiday spirit reflecting the personalities of its decorators—quirky, vibrant, and just a little chaotic. The warm light dances across the room, and the faint scent of pine lingers in the air. You and Tony sit curled up together on the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs, your head resting on his shoulder as you both admire your handiwork.

“This turned out better than I expected,” you admit, your voice soft as the quiet holiday music plays in the background.

“Better than expected?” Tony feigns offense, turning to look at you. “Did you doubt me? I’m hurt. Wounded, even.”

You snicker, nudging him lightly. “I just wasn’t sure if the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist thing translated to decorating Christmas trees.”

He smirks, his arm tightening around you. “Well, clearly, I’m a man of many talents.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth of the moment keeps you from retorting. Instead, you snuggle closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest as the two of you enjoy the rare quiet of the evening.

For a while, it’s perfect—just you, Tony, and the soft glow of the tree. But after a few minutes, you notice Tony glancing toward the clock on the wall. At first, you think nothing of it. Tony’s always been fidgety, always a million thoughts ahead of himself. But then he does it again, his gaze flickering toward the clock almost absentmindedly, like he’s trying not to make it obvious.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

Tony shakes his head quickly, a little too quickly. “Nope. Just thinking about… stuff. Business stuff.” He waves his hand dismissively, but you can feel the slight tension in his posture.

You narrow your eyes, not buying it. “Business stuff? Tony, it’s almost time for dinner. You’re not supposed to be thinking about business stuff.”

He looks down at you, flashing one of his charming smiles, the kind that usually works on just about everyone. “You’re right. No business stuff. Just tree stuff. And couch stuff. And you stuff.” He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, clearly hoping to derail your train of thought.

And for a moment, it works. You let yourself relax back into him, letting the sound of his heartbeat and the warm weight of his arm around you pull you into the comfort of the evening. But then his phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Your gaze flicks to the screen, but before you can read the notification, Tony shifts forward, reaching for the phone with a quickness that feels just a little… off. He doesn’t open the message right away. Instead, he stands up, the blanket sliding off his lap, and steps toward the window. The soft glow of the city lights frames him as he unlocks the phone and reads the message in silence.

You sit up straighter, watching him carefully. “What’s that about?” you ask, keeping your tone light but curious.

He doesn’t look at you right away. Instead, he stares at the screen for a moment longer before locking the phone and slipping it into his pocket. “Nothing important,” he says casually, turning back to face you. But there’s something in his voice—something slightly distracted—that makes your stomach twist.

“Tony,” you say, tilting your head as you study him. “What’s going on?”

He hesitates, and for the briefest moment, you think he might tell you. But then he clears his throat and puts on that easy, carefree grin again. “It’s nothing, really. Just something I need to take care of real quick. Won’t take long.”

You frown, standing up and crossing your arms as you watch him grab his jacket from the back of the chair. “Take care of what? It’s late, Tony. Where are you going?”

He looks at you, his expression softening just enough to make you second-guess your suspicion. “It’s a surprise,” he says, stepping closer to cup your face in his hands. “I promise it’s nothing bad. You’ll like it.”

“A surprise?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“It could,” he admits, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “But trust me, it’s better if I handle it tonight.”

You search his face, trying to read the truth behind his words. Tony’s always been good at keeping secrets, but this feels… different. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—nervousness? Guilt? You can’t quite pin it down.

“I don’t like it when you’re vague,” you say quietly, your arms dropping to your sides. “If it’s really a surprise, you can just tell me.”

He shakes his head, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I know. But you’ll just have to trust me on this one, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”

You don’t answer right away, your heart tugging in two directions. On one hand, you trust Tony—you love him, and you know he wouldn’t leave like this without a good reason. But on the other hand, something about the way he’s acting feels… off. And the fact that he’s leaving this late, when you were supposed to spend the night together, doesn’t sit right with you.

“Alright,” you say finally, your voice tinged with reluctance. “But if you’re not back in an hour, I’m calling Pepper to tattle on you.”

Tony grins, clearly relieved that you’re letting it go, at least for now. “Fair deal,” he says, pulling you into a quick hug before heading for the door. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered. Just enjoy the tree and keep the couch warm for me.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, the glow of the Christmas lights suddenly feeling a little less warm. You glance toward the clock, then toward the door, a knot forming in your chest as the silence settles over the room.

You sit back down on the couch, pulling the blanket over your lap, but you can’t relax. Your eyes keep drifting toward the door, your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of surprise could he be planning? And why did he seem so anxious about it?

The minutes tick by, and though you try to focus on the tree or the soft music playing in the background, your thoughts keep circling back to Tony. Something about this doesn’t feel right, and the longer he’s gone, the harder it becomes to shake the uneasy feeling in your gut.

The ticking of the clock grows louder with each passing minute, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the room. You glance at your phone for the hundredth time, debating whether you should call Tony. It’s been an hour and a half since he left, and your mind has wandered to every possible worst-case scenario.

Maybe he’s stuck in traffic. Maybe he got sidetracked by some last-minute business emergency. Maybe he’s planning some kind of over-the-top stunt, and it’s taking longer than expected. You try to reassure yourself, but the knot in your stomach refuses to loosen.

Then, just as you’re about to give in and dial his number, the sound of the elevator whirring to life snaps your attention to the front door. You sit up straighter, your heart thudding in your chest as the door slides open to reveal Tony stepping inside.

He’s carrying two things: a large cardboard box with small holes punched into the sides and a massive shopping bag that looks ready to burst at the seams. His hair is slightly tousled, and there’s a sheepish grin on his face as he meets your gaze.

“Miss me?” he asks, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Tony!” You rush to your feet, half-relieved and half-annoyed. “Where have you been? You said you’d be quick!”

“I know, I know,” he says, setting the box down carefully on the coffee table. The shopping bag follows with a dull thud. “And I’m sorry, sweetheart. But, uh, this couldn’t wait.”

Your eyes flick to the box, then back to Tony, your suspicion immediately kicking back into gear. “What do you mean, ‘couldn’t wait’? What’s in the box? And why does it have… holes?”

Tony scratches the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Okay, so, remember how I said I had a surprise? Well, this is it. Or, uh, part of it.”

“Part of it?” you repeat, crossing your arms. “Tony, if there’s a bomb in there, I swear—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he interrupts, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No bombs. I promise. Just… open it, alright? Trust me.”

You eye him warily, but curiosity gets the better of you. Stepping closer, you reach for the box, lifting the lid slowly. At first, all you see is a bundle of soft, orange fur curled up in a cozy blanket. Then, as the light filters in, two tiny green eyes blink up at you, followed by a delicate little meow.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Tony… is this—?”

“A kitten,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “Your kitten. Merry… well, pre-Christmas.”

You stare down at the little creature in disbelief as it stretches and lets out another soft meow. Its fur is a vibrant orange, its tiny paws tipped with white like it’s wearing little socks. Its tail flicks lazily, and it looks up at you with the kind of wide-eyed innocence that melts your heart instantly.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, gently lifting the kitten from the box. It’s warm and impossibly small, its tiny body fitting perfectly into your hands. “Tony, I—where did you even—?”

“It’s been in the works for a while,” he explains, watching you with a fond smile as you cradle the kitten against your chest. “You’ve mentioned wanting a pet a few times, and I figured, hey, why not make it happen? But the shelter called me tonight and said they couldn’t hold him any longer. Apparently, he’s a popular little guy.”

“You… went to a shelter?” You glance up at him, your voice soft with surprise.

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I might be a genius, but even I know you’d never forgive me if I bought one from some fancy breeder.”

Your heart swells, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Tony, this is… this is amazing. He’s perfect.”

The kitten nuzzles into your chest, purring softly, and you can’t help but smile. You’ve always wanted a pet, but between your busy life and Tony’s hectic schedule, it never seemed like the right time. But now, holding this tiny bundle of fur, everything feels just right.

“I’m glad you like him,” Tony says, his voice unusually soft. “Because, uh, that’s not all.”

He gestures toward the shopping bag, which you now realize is overflowing with supplies: a litter box, bags of kitten food, a variety of toys, a cozy little bed, and even a scratching post. There’s enough in there to keep the kitten happy and spoiled for months.

“You really went all out,” you say, laughing through your tears.

“Hey, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, you deserve it. Both of you.”

You place the kitten carefully back in the box so you can throw your arms around Tony, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “This is the best surprise ever.”

He holds you close, his hand running gently up and down your back. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I just want you to be happy.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “I’m more than happy,” you say, your smile widening. “I’m completely in love. With both of you.”

Tony chuckles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Well, I can’t compete with a face like that,” he says, nodding toward the kitten, who’s now batting at a loose ribbon in the box. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

The two of you spend the rest of the evening introducing the kitten to his new home. You let him explore the penthouse at his own pace, watching as he pounces on the smallest shadows and skids across the hardwood floors in an adorable flurry of fur and energy. Tony, for all his swagger and bravado, is just as smitten as you are, crouching down to dangle toys and laughing when the kitten leaps after them with wobbly precision.

“What should we name him?” you ask at one point, sitting cross-legged on the floor as the kitten curls up in your lap.

Tony tilts his head, considering. “Well, he’s orange. How about something like… Rusty? Or Cheeto?”

You give him a look. “Cheeto? Really?”

“What? It’s cute!” he defends, grinning. “Alright, fine. Your call. I’ll just veto anything boring.”

You laugh, looking down at the kitten as he blinks up at you sleepily. “How about… Pumpkin?”

Tony pretends to mull it over, then nods. “Pumpkin. I like it. Festive, cute, and just a little bit cheesy. Perfect.”

“Pumpkin it is,” you say, gently stroking the kitten’s soft fur.

As the night goes on, the three of you settle back onto the couch, the kitten curled up between you and Tony. The Christmas tree glows softly in the corner, casting the room in a warm, golden light. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly as it should be—cozy, peaceful, and filled with love.

Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as you both watch Pumpkin doze off. “You know,” he says softly, “this might be the best Christmas ever.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It definitely is,” you agree. “And it’s not even Christmas yet.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Well, consider this a warm-up. The real show’s just getting started.”

And as you sit there, wrapped in Tony’s arms with Pumpkin purring softly beside you, you can’t imagine anything better.

Tony Stark doesn’t consider himself the jealous type. Not when it comes to humans, at least. He’s Tony Stark, after all—billionaire, genius, and your boyfriend. Why would he ever need to compete for your attention?

And yet, as he stands in the living room of his penthouse, watching you coo at Pumpkin for what feels like the hundredth time that day, Tony feels an unfamiliar twinge in his chest. The kitten, curled up in your lap and purring loud enough to drown out the faint hum of the city below, soaks up every ounce of your affection like he’s been in your life for years instead of just a couple of days.

“Pumpkin, you’re such a good boy,” you murmur, stroking the kitten’s soft orange fur. He stretches lazily, his tiny paws reaching out to bat at your hand, and you giggle in response, your face lighting up with pure adoration.

Tony clears his throat, hoping to grab your attention. When that doesn’t work, he tries again, louder this time. “You know, I’m still here,” he says, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. “Your human boyfriend. The one who, might I remind you, actually got you the furball in the first place.”

You glance up at him with a grin, clearly amused. “I know, Tony. And you did a great job. I love him.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony replies, raising an eyebrow. “You love him. And what about me?”

“Oh, I love you too,” you say, laughing lightly. “But Pumpkin’s just… so cute. Look at him!”

Tony sighs dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “Yeah, he’s cute. But I’m cute too! I’m fun. I’m Tony Stark.”

Pumpkin chooses that moment to yawn, his tiny mouth stretching wide before he curls back into a contented ball on your lap. You immediately let out an “aww” and start petting him again, completely ignoring Tony’s faux outrage.

“Unbelievable,” Tony mutters, shaking his head as he flops onto the couch beside you. “I bring you a kitten, and suddenly I’m chopped liver.”

You nudge him playfully with your elbow. “You’re not chopped liver. You’re just… second place right now.”

“Second place?!” Tony stares at you, his jaw dropping in mock offense. “I didn’t spend a fortune on that scratching post in the corner so I could be demoted to second place.”

“Tony,” you say, trying to keep a straight face as you turn to him. “Pumpkin is a baby. He needs attention.”

“I need attention!” Tony counters, pointing to himself. “What about me? Who’s gonna scratch my ears and tell me I’m a good boy?”

You burst out laughing, and Tony can’t help but grin despite himself. There’s something about your laugh that always makes him forget whatever point he was trying to make, even when he’s “arguing” with a kitten.

“Alright, alright,” you say, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You’re a good boy, Tony.”

“Too late,” he replies, huffing as he leans back against the couch. “I see how it is. I’ve been replaced. I might as well start growing whiskers and eating kibble at this point.”

Pumpkin stirs in your lap, his green eyes blinking open as he lets out a soft, high-pitched meow. You immediately coo again, leaning down to nuzzle the kitten. “Aww, did you wake up, little guy? You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Tony watches this exchange with growing exasperation. “Oh, come on. He meowed. That’s it. Do you want me to meow? Because I will. I’ll meow right now.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but it’s a losing battle. “Tony, please don’t.”

“No, no,” Tony says, sitting up straight. “I’m serious. If that’s all it takes to get your attention, I’ll start practicing my feline repertoire. Meow. There, how was that?”

You’re laughing so hard now that Pumpkin looks up at you with what can only be described as mild concern. “Tony, stop,” you manage between giggles. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?!” Tony gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is my penthouse. My tree. My girlfriend. And now, my replacement.” He gestures at Pumpkin, who has climbed onto your shoulder and is pawing at your hair like it’s his new favorite toy.

You reach up to steady the kitten, still smiling. “Tony, you’re being jealous of a kitten. A kitten.”

“Not jealous,” he says quickly. “Just… concerned. For my well-being. Do you know how much of my lap space he’s taking up? And what about my snuggle quota? I’m going to be malnourished from lack of affection at this rate.”

You shake your head, still laughing as you set Pumpkin down on the couch between you. The kitten promptly curls up into a ball again, seemingly unbothered by the ongoing drama. “Tony, you’re ridiculous,” you say, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “But you’re my ridiculous.”

“Damn right, I am,” he mutters, though he can’t hide the pleased grin that tugs at his lips. “Just remember that next time you’re fawning over the furball.”

You roll your eyes but settle against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you both look down at Pumpkin. “You know, you’re the one who brought him into the house. You did this to yourself.”

Tony groans, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize I was signing up to be the third wheel in my own relationship.”

You glance up at him with a smirk. “If it makes you feel better, you’re still my favorite billionaire genius.”

“Favorite billionaire genius? That’s a low bar,” he grumbles. “How about favorite everything?”

“Fine,” you say, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Favorite everything.”

He grins, finally looking smug again. “That’s more like it.”

Pumpkin chooses that moment to let out a soft snore, and you both look down at him. Despite all of Tony’s grumbling, you can see the fondness in his eyes as he watches the tiny ball of orange fur sleep peacefully.

“He’s pretty great, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Tony sighs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, he’s alright. But if he starts hogging the bed, we’re gonna have words.”

You laugh, snuggling closer to him. “Deal.”

For the rest of the night, Tony continues to play up his faux-jealousy, sneaking exaggerated glares at Pumpkin whenever you’re not looking. But deep down, you know he’s already completely smitten with the kitten—even if he won’t admit it. And as the three of you settle into the glow of the Christmas tree, it’s clear that Pumpkin has brought even more joy into your already chaotic, love-filled life.

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