#soft tony stark

[amethystarachnid]

Snowed In  – You and your chosen character are stuck in a cozy cabin together as a blizzard hits. Perfect for slow-burn romance or confessions by the fireplace!

WITH TONY AND FEM READER????? THIS IS SO HIM 😻

A BLIZZARD FOR TWO

⤷ 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: 6k

ᯓ★ Summary: You and Tony are preparing the mountain cabin for the team's arrival since you all will celebrate Christmas together but when a blizzard hits and the heating system stops working you are left with nothing to do but cuddle up hoping to warm each other up.

ᯓ★ TW(s): snow blizzard

ᯓ★ with this my first MARVEL Holiday season on this blog officially starts!! Hope you'll like it! <3

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

The faint hum of Tony's voice breaks the quiet of the cabin as he rummages through a box of decorations. "Tell me, Y/N, how did I get roped into this festive horror show again? Oh, that’s right—you batted your eyes and said please. My one weakness."

You roll your eyes, trying to untangle the knot of Christmas lights in your lap. "Because someone thought having a team Christmas would be 'good for morale.' Your words, Stark, not mine."

"Yes, but I pictured a swanky tower party with catered food, not being snowed in on a mountain like the setup for a bad Hallmark movie." He pulls out a garish reindeer ornament and holds it up, mock horror etched on his face. "Please tell me this doesn’t go on the tree."

You snatch it from his hand, laughing despite yourself. "It’s tradition! You’re not putting it back in the box. And don’t knock Hallmark movies—they have charm."

"Charm. Right. That’s what we’re calling terrible plots and questionable acting now." Tony smirks, but there’s warmth in his tone. You’re used to his quips by now; they’re practically his love language.

The two of you have been in this cabin for two days, preparing it for the Avengers to arrive for Christmas. It’s nestled high in the mountains, the perfect snowy escape—or so Tony had declared when he offered it up for the festivities. Secretly, you’d been excited at the prospect of spending some quiet time with him.

Now, though, the snowstorm raging outside the frosted windows is threatening to upend everything.

You glance at the window, concern creeping into your voice. "The forecast said light snow. This isn’t light snow."

Tony glances up from his task, his brow furrowing. "I’ll check the weather system." He strides to a sleek tablet propped on the counter, his confident air slipping into one of mild annoyance as he swipes at the screen. "Great. It’s official—we’re in a blizzard. Power grid’s holding, but the roads? Not so much. Guess we’re not getting a visit from the Ghosts of Christmas Avengers anytime soon."

"How bad is it?"

"Put it this way, unless one of them suddenly develops teleportation powers, we’re on our own for a while." He pauses, turning to you with a raised brow. "Hope you’re not sick of me yet, because we might be playing snowed-in buddy comedy for the foreseeable future."

You sigh, though you’re secretly thrilled to have more time with him. "Could be worse. At least we have power and food. And… each other?"

Tony smirks, walking over to you with his hands in his pockets. "Was that a declaration of friendship, Y/N? Be still, my heart. Someone fetch the smelling salts."

"Don’t push it." You throw a tangle of lights at him, which he dodges with ease, grinning like a kid.

The hours pass in a cozy haze. You string up lights, bicker over where the tree should go, and argue about how to best arrange the stockings on the mantle. When you complain about the uneven hooks, Tony disappears into the workshop he’s rigged in the cabin’s basement and reemerges an hour later with custom-engineered ones.

"Ta-da. Now no one has to suffer the tragedy of crooked stockings."

"You’re insufferable," you say, but your smile betrays you.

Later, as the storm howls outside, the two of you settle on the couch with mugs of hot chocolate. The fire crackles in the hearth, bathing the room in a warm glow. Tony sits closer than he needs to, his shoulder brushing yours.

"Hey, Y/N," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. "This isn’t the worst way to spend Christmas, you know. Being stuck here. With you."

Your heart does a little flip, and you laugh nervously to cover it. "Is that your way of saying you’re having fun?"

"Don’t ruin it. I’m trying to be heartfelt here." He nudges you, a teasing smile on his lips, but there’s something genuine in his eyes.

You hold his gaze for a beat longer than you mean to, and for a moment, the blizzard outside feels like it’s miles away.

You’re woken up by the cold. Not the cozy, crackling-fire type of cold you’ve come to associate with this mountain retreat, but the teeth-chattering, toes-numbing kind of chill that has you pulling your blanket tighter around you, to no avail.

The fire in the living room must’ve gone out. You glance at the clock on the bedside table, its faint glow illuminating the late hour. A shiver runs down your spine as you sit up, and your breath puffs visibly in the icy air.

This can’t be right.

You throw on a thick sweater over your pajamas and venture into the hallway, the wood floors frigid beneath your socks. Tony’s door is closed, but you can hear him stirring inside. The sound of a door creaking open confirms your suspicions—he’s awake, too.

“Don’t tell me,” his voice grumbles from the shadowy doorway, “you’re freezing your ass off, too.”

“No, I woke up because I missed your charming personality,” you deadpan, hugging yourself for warmth.

Tony steps into the hallway, looking far too alert for someone who’s just woken up. His sweatpants and hoodie combo is decidedly less polished than his usual suits, but somehow, the sight of him like this—a little disheveled, a little more human—makes your heart do a somersault.

He raises an eyebrow at your shivering form. “You look like a popsicle.”

“You’re one to talk. Your nose is red.”

“Touché.”

The two of you head to the thermostat in the living room. Tony fiddles with it for a few minutes, muttering under his breath about shoddy wiring and questionable designs. Finally, he steps back with a sigh, rubbing his hands together.

“Bad news,” he says, his tone as flat as his next quip. “The heating system is toast. And unless you know how to jury-rig a thermal reactor in the middle of the night, we’re stuck like this until morning.”

You groan, rubbing your arms. “Can’t you fix it now?”

He gives you an incredulous look. “I could, but it would involve tearing apart half the basement with tools I don’t have. Also, I’m not exactly thrilled about freezing to death in the process. I’ll handle it first thing tomorrow, promise.”

“Great,” you mutter, already dreading the long night ahead. “Guess I’ll just wear every piece of clothing I packed and hope for the best.”

Tony smirks, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes. “Or,” he says, dragging out the word, “you could come sleep in my room. You know, for the sake of body heat and survival. I’ll even keep the innuendos to a minimum. Scout’s honor.”

Your heart skips a beat, though you’re quick to mask it with a skeptical look. “That’s your grand solution? Sharing a bed?”

He shrugs, his casual tone doing little to hide the faint awkwardness behind his suggestion. “Hey, I didn’t say it wouldn’t be weird. But it beats waking up as human icicles. Besides, I’m a gentleman.”

The idea of sharing a bed with Tony Stark—the man who drives you up the wall and makes your heart race in equal measure—feels both mortifying and strangely comforting. After a moment of hesitation, you sigh.

“Fine,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant. “But if you hog the blankets, I’m kicking you out.”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Deal.”

You don’t know why you thought it would be easier.

The bed in Tony’s room is plenty big, but it might as well be a shoebox for how self-conscious you feel. The two of you lie stiffly on opposite sides, a careful expanse of space between you.

“I can feel the awkwardness radiating off you,” Tony says after a few minutes, his voice low and teasing.

You turn your head to glare at him, though the dark hides most of your expression. “I’m not awkward. I’m cold. And trying to sleep.”

“Right. Because you’re the picture of relaxation right now.”

“Tony.”

He chuckles softly, and the sound sends an unexpected warmth through your chest. “Alright, alright. I’ll shut up. Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

At some point during the night, the distance between you disappears.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is warmth—a stark contrast to the freezing air that had plagued the cabin earlier. The second thing you notice is that the warmth is coming from Tony.

Your breath catches as you realize his arm is draped across your waist, his body pressed against your side. And then there’s his face, nestled comfortably against your chest, his soft, even breaths tickling your skin through your sweater.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to move.

You’d expected this to be awkward, sure, but you’d figured you’d be the one clinging to him in your sleep, not the other way around. Yet here he is, looking almost serene in his slumber, his usual sharp edges softened by the quiet vulnerability of sleep.

You’re torn between amusement and something far more dangerous—a deep, fluttering ache in your chest.

As carefully as you can, you shift slightly, trying to get a better look at his face without waking him. His features are relaxed, his lips slightly parted, and you realize with a pang that he looks younger like this.

“Morning,” comes his groggy voice, startling you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes snap to his, which are barely open but sparkling with something teasing. He doesn’t move, though, his head still resting against you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Tony,” you say, your voice hushed. “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” he mumbles, his tone sleep-roughened and shamelessly smug. “You make a surprisingly good pillow, by the way.”

Heat rushes to your face, but you’re too flustered to push him away. “You’re the one who—”

“Cuddled up to you in my sleep?” He finally lifts his head, though his arm stays firmly around your waist. “Can you blame me? You’re warm. And soft.”

“Tony!”

He chuckles, sitting up slightly and running a hand through his hair. “Relax, Y/N. No need to get all flustered. I’m just stating facts.”

Your glare has no real heat to it, especially when he flashes you that disarming grin of his. “You could’ve just stayed on your side of the bed.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You groan, flopping back against the pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are.” He stretches lazily, looking far too pleased with himself. “Tell you what—since I was the offending party, I’ll make breakfast. Pancakes sound good?”

“You’re bribing me with pancakes?”

“Is it working?”

You sigh, unable to fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. But they’d better be good.”

“Please. Have you met me?”

As Tony slides out of bed and heads for the kitchen, you can’t help but feel that, despite the cold, being stuck here with him might not be so bad after all.

The day begins innocently enough.

Tony, true to his word, makes breakfast. You’re surprised he even knows how to cook pancakes, let alone make them taste this good. He doesn’t hesitate to point this out repeatedly.

“See? Stark doesn’t just do genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. I also do chef extraordinaire,” he says, flipping a golden pancake onto a plate with a dramatic flourish.

You snort, reaching for the syrup. “Congratulations, Tony. You’ve mastered the art of boxed pancake mix.”

He winks, sliding into the chair across from you. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

It’s easy, the banter. Comfortable, even. But under the surface, there’s an unmistakable tension that wasn’t there before.

You’re hyper-aware of every movement, every glance. The way Tony’s hand brushes yours when he passes you a fork sends a jolt up your arm. The casual way he leans back in his chair, his hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin at his hip, has your cheeks heating before you can stop yourself.

And then there’s the way he looks at you.

You catch him watching you a second too long when you’re licking syrup off your fork. His gaze lingers, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense, and it sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

“Something on my face?” you ask, trying to sound breezy.

“Just admiring the view,” he replies, so smoothly it feels like a challenge.

The tension only builds as the day goes on.

The blizzard outside continues its relentless assault on the cabin, trapping you in a snow-globe world of swirling white. The two of you decide to tackle the Christmas decorations to pass the time, but the close proximity and the shared task only seem to make things worse.

“Hold that steady,” you say, stretching to hook the garland onto a nail above the fireplace.

Tony stands behind you, one hand braced on the ladder you’re perched on, the other holding the trailing end of the garland. He’s close—too close. You can feel the heat of his body against your legs, his steadying grip firm but gentle.

“If I hold it any steadier, I’ll be up there with you,” he quips, but his voice is lower than usual, rough around the edges.

You glance down at him, your breath catching when you find him looking up at you. His gaze flickers over your face, your lips, and for a moment, the world seems to hold its breath.

“You’re staring again,” you say softly, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.

He doesn’t look away. “Maybe I like what I see.”

The words hang between you, heavy and electric.

You clear your throat, breaking the spell. “Help me down?”

Tony steps back just enough to give you space, his hands reaching for your waist as you climb off the ladder. The contact is brief but searing, his fingers warm and sure against your sides.

“Safe and sound,” he murmurs, his lips quirking into a small, almost teasing smile. But there’s something deeper in his eyes—something unspoken and magnetic that leaves you reeling.

Later, you find yourself in the kitchen, attempting to bake cookies while Tony works on fixing the heating system in the basement. The storm hasn’t let up, but you’ve managed to distract yourself with the comforting rhythm of measuring and mixing.

That is, until Tony walks in, covered in a fine layer of grease and looking far too good for someone who’s just crawled out from under a broken furnace.

“Good news,” he says, wiping his hands on a rag. “The heating should be up and running in about an hour. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Stark,” you reply, focusing on the dough in front of you. It’s safer than looking at him, with his tousled hair and smug grin.

He leans against the counter, watching you with that same unreadable expression he’s been wearing all day. “So, what are we making?”

“Cookies. If you’re nice, I’ll let you have one.”

He smirks, stepping closer—too close. His hand brushes yours as he reaches for a stray chocolate chip, and the simple touch sends your pulse racing.

“I’m always nice,” he says, popping the chip into his mouth.

You scoff, turning to glare at him, only to realize just how close he is. Close enough that you can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. Close enough that if you leaned in just a fraction—

The thought sends your heart into overdrive, and you step back hastily, almost knocking over the bowl of dough in the process.

“Careful, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Wouldn’t want to make a mess.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, a little too quickly.

His grin widens, like he knows exactly what effect he’s having on you.

By the time evening rolls around, the tension has reached a boiling point.

The two of you sit by the fire, which is now roaring cheerfully thanks to Tony’s earlier handiwork. The heat is a welcome reprieve from the chill, but it does little to ease the restless energy between you.

Tony lounges on the couch, his arm draped over the backrest, his legs stretched out in a way that’s both casual and entirely too appealing. You sit on the opposite end, clutching a mug of hot chocolate like it’s a lifeline.

“So,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence. “Did today live up to your Christmas expectations?”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the part where the heating broke, or the part where we almost froze to death?”

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. “Come on, admit it. You had fun.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Maybe a little.”

The smile he gives you in return is softer this time, almost disarming. He shifts slightly, turning to face you more fully.

“Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

His tone is different now—serious, but not heavy.

“Sure,” you say, your heart pounding for reasons you don’t fully understand.

He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his words. “Do you ever wonder… what this would be like? Us, I mean. If we weren’t—”

“Complicated?” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze locks with yours, and the intensity in his eyes makes it hard to breathe. “Yeah. Complicated.”

The air between you crackles with something unspoken, something that’s been simmering all day—or maybe longer.

Your pulse quickens, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might close the distance between you. But then he leans back, breaking the moment with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“Never mind,” he says, his voice lighter now. “Forget I said anything.”

But you can’t forget. And judging by the way he looks at you—like he’s trying not to let himself hope—you don’t think he can, either.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of half-hearted conversation and stolen glances, the unspoken tension between you lingering like the warmth of the fire. You can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep pretending you don’t feel it, too.

The fire crackles softly, its glow painting the room in shades of gold and amber. The storm outside is still raging, but in the warmth of the cabin, the rest of the world feels miles away.

You’re sitting on the floor in front of the hearth, a blanket draped over your legs and a mug of tea cooling in your hands. Tony sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours whenever he shifts. It’s a quiet moment, comfortable and calm, but your mind is anything but.

You can’t stop replaying his words from earlier, the way his voice had softened, the way his gaze had lingered.

“Do you ever wonder what this would be like?”

The question has been burning in the back of your mind all day, and you can’t let it go. Not when every glance, every touch, seems to hint at something unspoken between you.

You glance at him, taking in the way the firelight dances across his features. His usual sharpness is softened by the flickering glow, and the sight tugs at something deep inside you.

Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out.

“Tony.”

He looks at you, his brow quirking in that familiar way. “What’s up, Y/N? You’ve got that look.”

You set your mug down, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Earlier… when you asked me about ‘us.’ What did you mean by that?”

Tony freezes, his easy smile faltering for just a moment before he schools his expression into something more neutral. He leans back slightly, resting his arm on the hearth’s edge, and you can tell he’s stalling.

“Ah, so we’re revisiting that, huh?” he says, his tone light but not quite as casual as he wants it to be. “I was hoping we could just let that one slide into the ‘awkward but forgettable’ category.”

“Tony.” You give him a look, one that says you’re not letting him off the hook.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. You want the truth? I was trying to ask if… if you’ve ever thought about what it’d be like if things between us weren’t so, you know—”

“Complicated,” you finish for him, your voice softer this time.

He nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah. Complicated.”

You wait, giving him the space to continue.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, his hand gesturing vaguely as he searches for the right words. “We’re friends, and that’s great. I mean, you’re one of the best people I’ve ever had in my life, and I’m not exactly drowning in great people. But sometimes I wonder if maybe…”

He trails off, his voice fading into the quiet crackle of the fire. When he finally looks at you again, there’s something raw in his eyes, something unguarded that makes your heart ache.

“Maybe what?” you prompt, barely above a whisper.

He laughs softly, though there’s no humor in it. “Maybe I want more. But that’s crazy, right? Because you’re you, and I’m me, and I don’t want to screw this up.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you’re not sure if your heart is pounding from his words or the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Tony…” you begin, but he cuts you off with a self-deprecating smile.

“Forget it. I’m rambling. You don’t have to—”

Before he can finish, you lean in and kiss him.

It’s sudden, impulsive, and entirely out of character for you, but you can’t stop yourself. Not when his words are still echoing in your ears, not when the thought of him doubting how much you care makes your chest ache.

For a split second, he freezes, his breath catching against your lips. And then he’s kissing you back, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

The world around you fades away—the fire, the storm, everything. All that exists is the press of his lips against yours, the warmth of his hand on your skin, the way he leans into you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other. His eyes search yours, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief.

“Wow,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with awe. “So, uh… not crazy, then?”

You laugh, your hand brushing against his where it rests on your cheek. “Not crazy. Not even a little.”

A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, and for the first time all day, the tension between you melts away, replaced by something deeper, something undeniable.

“Well,” he says, his tone shifting back to that familiar, teasing lilt, “if I’d known that’s what it would take to shut me up, I would’ve started rambling sooner.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t push your luck, Stark.”

“Too late,” he replies, his grin widening.

And as the fire crackles beside you and the storm rages on outside, you realize you’ve never felt warmer in your life.

Night settles over the cabin with a heavy quiet, the kind that amplifies the faint creaks of the wooden beams and the low howl of the wind outside. The fire in the hearth has burned down to embers, but it doesn’t matter much; the heating system is working again—or so Tony assures you.

You stand in the hallway, awkwardly lingering by your bedroom door while Tony scratches the back of his neck, his usual confidence somewhat muted. It’s strange to think how much has changed in a single day.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” he says, his tone teasing but his eyes searching yours.

You smile softly. “Yeah. We are.”

A small, crooked grin tugs at his lips, and for a moment, you think he’s about to say something else. But then he steps back, gesturing toward his room.

“Alright, then. Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, his voice lighter now, though there’s a flicker of hesitation beneath it.

“Goodnight, Tony,” you reply, your heart squeezing as you watch him retreat down the hall.

Half an hour later, you’re shivering again.

The blankets piled on your bed offer little relief against the creeping chill seeping into the cabin. You groan, pulling the covers tighter around you, but it’s no use.

How is this possible? you think. The heating system was fine earlier. Tony said it was fine.

As if summoned by your thoughts, a soft knock sounds at your door.

“Y/N?” Tony’s voice comes through, low and hesitant.

You sit up, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. “Come in.”

The door creaks open, and Tony steps inside, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. His hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been lying down, but there’s an odd mix of sheepishness and mischief in his expression that immediately puts you on alert.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, though you already have a sinking suspicion.

He clears his throat, leaning casually against the doorframe. “So, uh… funny story. The heating system’s on the fritz again.”

You stare at him, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yup. Totally busted. Must’ve been a loose wire or, uh, something technical,” he says, waving a hand vaguely.

You narrow your eyes. “Something technical, huh?”

His gaze shifts, landing on anything in the room that isn’t you. “Yeah. Technical stuff. Very complicated. I’d explain it, but you’d probably get bored.”

You don’t respond right away, letting the silence stretch just long enough for him to start fidgeting. And that’s when it happens—his carefully crafted nonchalance slips.

“I mean, it’s not like I turned it off or anything,” he says quickly, then freezes, his eyes widening as if he can’t believe the words that just came out of his mouth.

You blink, processing his slip. “Wait. You turned it off?”

“No,” he says immediately, his voice rising a pitch. Then, realizing how unconvincing that sounds, he sighs and drags a hand down his face. “Okay, fine. Yes. I turned it off. But I had a good reason!”

You cross your arms, the blanket slipping slightly from your shoulders. “This should be good. Let’s hear it.”

He hesitates, his usual quick wit seemingly failing him for once. “I just… Look, it’s freezing, okay? And I thought maybe—”

“You thought maybe you’d use the cold as an excuse to come sleep with me?” you finish for him, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Tony’s cheeks flush, and he looks away, muttering, “It sounds worse when you say it like that.”

Despite the chill in the air, warmth blooms in your chest at the thought of him going to such ridiculous lengths just to be close to you.

“You know,” you say, stepping closer, “you didn’t need an excuse.”

His head snaps back to you, his expression shifting from embarrassed to surprised. “I didn’t?”

You shake your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “No, Tony. You could’ve just said you didn’t want to sleep alone.”

His mouth opens, then closes, and for once, he seems genuinely at a loss for words.

“Come on,” you say, taking his hand and pulling him toward the bed. “If you’re going to sneak your way into my room, at least do it properly.”

He lets out a laugh—half-relieved, half-something else—and follows you without protest.

As soon as the two of you settle under the covers, the warmth is immediate and all-encompassing. It’s not just the shared body heat; it’s the presence of him beside you, the sense of safety and comfort that comes with it.

Tony lies on his back at first, staring up at the ceiling like he’s trying to play it cool. But it doesn’t last long.

Within moments, he shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. Then he turns onto his side, facing you, his expression unusually soft.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

You nod, your heart fluttering. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

His lips curve into a small smile, and before you can say anything else, he moves again—settling himself with his head resting on your chest.

The action is so uncharacteristic, so unexpectedly vulnerable, that you’re momentarily stunned. But then he lets out a contented sigh, his breath warm against your sweater, and you realize how natural it feels.

“Comfy?” you ask, your voice tinged with amusement.

“Very,” he murmurs, his eyes already half-closed.

You chuckle softly, threading your fingers through his hair on instinct. His reaction is immediate; he leans into your touch, a quiet hum of approval escaping him.

“Not bad,” he says, his voice muffled against you. “You’ve got a real talent for this, Y/N.”

“For what? Letting you use me as a pillow?”

“Exactly. A-plus performance. Five stars. Would recommend.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. As ridiculous as he is, there’s something incredibly endearing about seeing him like this—unguarded, content, and completely at ease.

Minutes pass, the firelight casting soft shadows across the room. Your hand continues its slow, gentle movements through his hair, and you feel him relax further, his breathing evening out.

“Hey, Y/N?” he murmurs, his voice drowsy but sincere.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

He tilts his head slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. “For letting me in. For this.”

Your chest tightens, and you brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “Anytime, Tony.”

He smiles, the kind of smile that feels like it’s just for you, and you realize in that moment that you’ve never been more certain about anything in your life.

As his eyes drift shut and his breathing slows, you press a soft kiss to the top of his head, letting the warmth of the fire and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

Morning arrives quietly. The faint light of dawn filters through the curtains, soft and golden, painting the room in gentle hues. The cabin is silent save for the occasional creak of wood adjusting to the temperature. It’s a peace you don’t often experience, and for a moment, you let yourself bask in it.

Then you become acutely aware of the weight pressing against you.

Tony’s face is buried against your chest, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, his body molded to yours like he’s been glued there. He’s still asleep, his breathing deep and even, but every now and then, he nuzzles closer, a contented sigh escaping him.

You’re torn between laughing at how clingy he is and feeling ridiculously fond of the man currently using you as his personal pillow.

With a small smile, you reach for your phone on the nightstand, careful not to disturb him too much. The screen lights up, and you blink against the brightness as you read the messages that came in during the night.

The blizzard is over.

The team is on their way, currently en route on a Quinjet and expected to arrive in a few hours. Relief washes over you; as much as you’ve enjoyed this unexpected time alone with Tony, you know everyone will be eager to celebrate Christmas together.

You glance down at him, his dark lashes resting against his cheek, his lips slightly parted. He looks peaceful, younger almost, like the weight of the world isn’t constantly pressing down on him.

“Tony,” you say softly, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “Wake up.”

He groans in response, burrowing further into you.

“Come on,” you coax, trying to suppress your amusement. “The others are on their way. We should get up and make sure the cabin’s ready for them.”

“Don’t care,” he mumbles, his voice muffled against your chest.

You laugh, nudging him gently. “Tony, come on. You’ll care when Steve gets here and starts giving you his disappointed dad look because we’re not ready.”

He shifts slightly, cracking one eye open to peer at you. “Let him look. I’m busy.”

“Busy?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Busy doing this.”

As if to prove his point, he tightens his hold on you and nuzzles his face even deeper against your chest, his breath warm against your skin. His arms are firm around your waist, and despite the fact that you’re trying to wake him up, there’s a traitorous part of you that doesn’t want him to let go.

“Tony,” you say, your voice firmer this time, though it’s hard to sound authoritative when he’s acting so endearing.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the fabric of your shirt as he speaks. “I’m comfortable. You’re comfortable. No reason to ruin a good thing.”

You roll your eyes, though the fond smile on your face betrays you. “The team is literally flying here right now. They’ll be here in a few hours.”

“Plenty of time,” he counters, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Tony,” you say again, but before you can finish, he tilts his head up slightly, meeting your gaze with a lopsided grin.

“What?” he asks innocently, though the mischievous glint in his eyes tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though there’s no real heat in your words.

“And yet, here you are, cuddling me anyway,” he quips, looking far too pleased with himself.

Before you can come up with a retort, he leans back down, resting his head against your chest again. His voice is quieter now, almost shy as he adds, “I don’t wanna get up yet.”

Your heart softens at his admission, and you find yourself relenting.

“Fine,” you say, running a hand through his hair. “But only for a few more minutes. Then we really need to get moving.”

He hums in response, his eyes slipping shut once more as he leans into your touch. You feel his breathing even out again, and for a moment, you let yourself relax, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment.

When you finally manage to coax Tony out of bed, it’s a slow, reluctant process.

He clings to you the entire time, draping an arm over your shoulder as you sit up, resting his chin on your head while you stretch. Even when you stand, he follows you, keeping one hand on your waist as though afraid you’ll suddenly disappear.

“Are you always this clingy in the morning?” you tease, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He grins, unrepentant. “Only when I’ve got something worth clinging to.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks flush at the compliment. “Come on, Romeo. We’ve got work to do.”

He groans but doesn’t let go as you make your way to the kitchen. You try to shoo him off, insisting you can handle things just fine on your own, but he refuses to budge, staying close as you start preparing breakfast.

“Tony,” you say, exasperated but laughing, “I need both hands to crack these eggs.”

“You’ve got two hands,” he replies, leaning against the counter with a smug smirk. “Mine are free. Put me to work.”

You shake your head, handing him a whisk. “Fine. You can whisk. But don’t make a mess.”

He salutes you dramatically. “Yes, ma’am.”

By the time the Quinjet lands outside, the cabin is spotless, breakfast is ready, and you’ve managed to coax Tony into releasing you—though not without a fair amount of grumbling on his part.

The team files in, shaking off snow and shedding coats as they greet you warmly.

Steve glances between you and Tony, his brows furrowing slightly. “Everything okay here? You guys managed alright during the storm?”

You exchange a glance with Tony, his expression betraying nothing but smug satisfaction.

“Oh, we managed,” you say, biting back a smile.

Steve eyes you both suspiciously, but before he can press further, Natasha strides in, sniffing the air.

“Did you guys actually cook breakfast?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Tony whisked,” you say, and he preens like it’s the highest praise he’s ever received.

“I whisked,” he repeats proudly.

Natasha snorts, muttering something under her breath about miracles, and the conversation shifts as the team settles in.

Throughout the morning, Tony stays close—always within arm’s reach, always finding some excuse to brush against you or nudge your shoulder. It’s subtle enough that no one seems to notice, but you’re keenly aware of it, and the warmth it brings stays with you long after the blizzard is nothing more than a memory.

It’s going to be a very merry Christmas indeed.

stop guys I love Christmas so much

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Have you ever thought about doing a story about where Peter loses one of Tony's things, let's say it is one of Tony's mit hoodies or something and Peter is afraid to tell him because he is afraid that he will be upset with him🥺💛

Awe poor Peter. He's such a good kid. Of course he'd be worried to tell Tony he lost something of his.

I'm sure Tony would sense something was wrong and badger Peter into talking. Peter would reluctantly confess and Tony would just feel so bad about Peter begging scared to the him something that he is completely unbothered by the most item. Like:

"Peter. Buddy, you don't ever, ever, have to be scared to tell me anything. I can't promise that I'd never get upset but I can promise that it wouldn't change anything between us. You're my kid, Roo. No matter what."

🥰🥰🥰

[popcorn-plots]

my sore throat is almost 100% gone. Yay! The cold has progressed to tired 24/7 (not that that's unusual), and cotton in my ears. plus headaches. because that's what head colds do :')

I got to binge watch Sherlock today though, and I had an entire box of mac & cheese to myself. good times.

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

Stephen woke up for the third time that day to a stuffy nose. Tony was still holding him, but he had fallen asleep and Bluey had been turned off. Stephen groaned when he realized he could not breathe through his nose.

Absolutely wonderful. Truly one of Nature's most magnificent feats.

Stephen wriggled out of Tony's grasp to search for tissues, some painkillers, and possibly some food. He didn't have any appetite, but damn was he hungry.

Finally, after digging through the closet, Stephen finally found a pack of tissues. He blew his nose (not that that helped one bit) and wandered into the bedroom to find his phone.

'We need tissues :(' he texted Wong.

'Is Tony still there? he can get you some. if not, there's some in the closet.' came Wong's near-immediate reply.

'I found those. and tony's asleep.'

'alright, I'll pick some up on my way home. last class ends in an hour. anything else you need?'

Stephen smiled at his husband's text.

'just you <3'

'aww. get some rest, honeysuckle. I'll be home soon.'

'love you.'

'i love you to. send Tony my love when he wakes up.'

'k'

"Stephen?" Speak of the devil. "Stephen?"

Stephen wandered back into the living room. "Hi."

"Hey, Stephy. How was your nap?" Tony asked.

"Good. Wong will be home in an hour." Stephen relayed, sniffling slightly. Tony nodded.

"Bluey until he gets back?"

"Bluey until he gets back."

~~~

That's how Wong found his two lovers when he returned from work, curled up together on the couch watching Bluey, Stephen's favorite show, while Tony brushed his fingers through Stephen's sweaty hair.

"Hello, how are we?" Wong asked, entering the living room. He planted a kiss on Tony's lips and kissed Stephen's forehead. Stephen looked up at him with a dopey smile, his eyes glazed over with his cold.

"Hi, Wong."

"Hey."

Stephen laid his head back on Tony's shoulder. "I want Wong cuddles." he suddenly declared, much to Tony and Wong's amusement.

"Let me just change my clothes and find some food and I'll come give you Wong cuddles." Wong said.

Stephen hummed and went back to watching his cartoon with Tony.

~~~

Like always, Wong changed quickly and scarfed down some leftover pizza from the night before. He joined his lovers on the couch, maneuvering himself so Stephen fit into his arms while still half-laying on Tony.

Stephen sighed and leaned back into Wong. "Missed you."

"I missed you too. And I got work off for the week, and I got work off for you as well. I can stay and cuddle until you feel better."

"Yay. And Tony?"

"Maybe." Tony answered. "I have some big meetings at SI that I can't get out of, but I'll come over whenever I can, Kay?"

"Kay."

Wong pressed a kiss to the side of Stephen's head. "I'm sorry you got sick."

"S'okay." Stephen huffed, shifting so he was laying his head of Wong's shoulder. Tony sent him a scandalized look as Stephen laughed, his voice slightly hoarse. "I have Wong cuddles now."

Wong laughed. "Yes, yes you do. And you got Tony cuddles as well."

"And now I have both." Tony smiled and draped himself across Stephen, mindful of his hands.

"Oof--" Wong groaned at the extra weight. Stephen just chuckled at his husband and boyfriends antics, cuddling closer to the warm heat of his husband and closing his eyes.

"I love you two..." Stephen muttered, feeling himself close to dozing off. His Stephen sandwich was actually quite warm.

Tony and Wong looked at each other and both kissed Stephen's graying temples at the same time. "We love you, too." They echoed in perfect sync.

"Creepy." Stephen muttered jokingly.

Tony laughed. "You love it."

"Mm. I do. Tired now." Stephen returned, barely able to fight the heaviness of his eyes lids.

"Okay. Sleep, and we'll be right here when you wake up." Wong reassured while Tony rubbed at Stephen's head.

"Thank you for taking care of me..." Stephen whispered.

"Anything for you. We love you." Tony whispered back.

"Love you too."

It still hurt, his nose was still clogged and his body still sore, but for the first time that day, Stephen fell asleep peacefully, cocooned by his lovers.

He really did have the best husband and boyfriend a man could ask for.

[togrowoldinv]

Secret Santa

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

When Natasha gets your name for Secret Santa, she tries to think of the perfect gift for you

Note: I’m back! Well, technically I never left but I’ve been up to my ears in studying for the cpa exam. I took what was hopefully my last exam today, and let Natasha come back into my brain lol. Enjoy this holiday fluff!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

“Okay, on to the topic of the Christmas party. What if do Secret Santa names this year?” Tony suggests.

“What does that entail?” Steve asks what everyone else is thinking.

“Well, we’d all write down a few things we like. It gives the person who gets your name an idea of what you want,” Tony explains.

“I like it,” Steve agrees. “What does everyone think?”

A chorus of sures and okays follow.

“Y/n, can you take care of it?” Steve asks.

You agree easily. You’ve always loved the holidays so the idea of helping the Avengers have a good one is exciting. Especially since it’s your first year with the team.

You get everyone’s names on notecards and spend the rest of the day getting everyone to fill them out with gift ideas. Wanda helps you collect them from the team before the next team meeting the next morning.

“Okay, everyone I have all of the names here. Draw one and whatever you get is what you have. No switching allowed,” you tell the team, mainly Tony.

You eyeball him as you say it and he at least pretends to look offended before he grins.

When you get to Natasha, you smile at her shyly.

“What if I get my own name?” She asks with a smirk.

She reaches into the bowl of names before you can answer. Her expression is unreadable as she looks at the card.

“Good?” You ask.

“It’s good,” Natasha replies.

You move on and keep going until everyone’s been picked. You got Wanda, which should be super easy.

On the other hand, Natasha got you. She thinks about it for a few days before deciding that she doesn’t want to get you anything on your list. She decides to go to your best friend on the team for advice.

“You got a second?” Natasha asks, knocking on Wanda’s open doorframe.

“Oh,” the girl is caught off guard. She doesn’t spend much time talking to Nat aside from about missions. “Sure.”

Natasha walks in and closes the door behind her. She sits down at Wanda’s desk across from where the girl sits on her bed.

“Is everything okay?” Wanda asks.

Natasha doesn’t immediately assure her it is and she gets worried. “So, I got y/n for secret santa.”

Wanda’s tenseness goes away and she can’t help a little smirk forming as Nat is talking.

“And I know she has things on this list,” she says. “But I don’t think a single one of these things is good enough for her. I don’t know what I should get for her, but she deserves the best gift.”

“Natasha,” Wanda interjects. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

“Oh,” Nat expresses. “She- well she loves Christmas, right? I saw how excited she’s been about the tree and then the secret Santa and the movies. All of it. I want it to be special for her.”

“That’s really sweet,” Wanda says. “You like her, huh.”

“Can you help me?” Natasha keeps the focus on the conversation at hand. She does like you though.

“Of course. Anything for y/n.”

“Thank you,” Natasha says, feeling the relief set in.

The two brainstorm ideas for a couple of hours. When Wanda shows late for your usual nightly dinner, she wears a grin.

“What?” You ask her. “Fun with Vision?”

Wanda chuckles and you share a laugh with her.

“Who’d you get for Secret Santa?” You ask her.

“I can’t tell you,” she says.

“Sure you can.”

“Who’d you get?” She counters.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Sure you can,” she mocks you.

The rest of the days leading up to Christmas go by fast. Unfortunately everyone had to go on a mission on Christmas Eve, so you’re all exhausted on Christmas Day morning.

Tony postponed the gift exchange until later in the day, and everyone is much more rested by then.

Even with the hustle and bustle, you notice Natasha hasn’t made it to the get together yet.

“Hey Clint, where’s Nat?” You ask the archer. He was working closely with her on the mission.

“I think she just needed to take some time alone.”

“Oh, okay.”

You go about the party for a few more minutes before deciding to go check on Natasha.

You go to her room and knock on the door. She takes a minute to answer, but finally the door opens to reveal a distressed Natasha.

Her hair is messy and she’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. You haven’t seen her this way before.

“Hey,” you say. “We missed you down there.”

“Sorry,” she says. “Uh, come in.”

Her room is clean and exactly like you expected it. There are a few photos of Natasha and Clint’s family on a dresser, but that’s really the extent of the decor.

“Are you okay?” You ask her.

“Yeah, just a bad mission.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Nat says. “It’s a me problem.”

“Hey, we’re teammates. And- we’re friends. It’s an us problem.”

Natasha can’t help but smile a little at that. You make her feel better by just being here.

“I don’t think I’m in the party mood. The guys aren’t so sensitive to my feelings.”

“Hey, that’s alright. I’ll just take your gift if you want me to. I’ll make sure it gets to the right person,” you explain.

“Oh, actually I had you. And I didn’t get a gift off of your list.”

Your eyes go wide. You didn’t even consider that Nat would get you. Thinking back to your list, you hope she didn’t find anything you wrote down as lame.

“Not because they were bad ideas. It’s just- I wanted to do something more meaningful,” she reads your mind.

Natasha crosses the room and grabs a box out of her closet. It’s wrapped nicely.

“You wrapped that?” You ask.

“You seem surprised,” Nat jokes. “I have skills.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” you say before blushing a bit. She smirks.

She hands you the box and you sit down on the edge of her bed together to open it. Nat watches you shyly as you open the gift.

“Natasha,” you whisper as you reveal the gift.

It’s a beautiful locket necklace.

“Open it,” she says.

On the inside of the locket, there’s a photo of your family. Your favorite photo to be exact.

“How did you-“

“Wanda helped,” Nat says. “I know you’ve been missing home since you joined the Avengers. I thought you’d want to have a piece of them with you on missions.”

“Natasha, that’s- well that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” you say, fighting back tears.

“You like it then?”

“I love it. Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Will you put it on me?”

Nat nods and takes the necklace from your hands. She unclasps it and stands behind you to put it around your neck. Her hands are gentle as she clasps the necklace and brushes against your skin.

“Beautiful,” she says when you stand and face her.

“You are, yeah,” you surprise her by saying. You dare to reach out for her hand. She takes it easily and interlocks your fingers. “I wish I got you something.”

“Oh, I think you just gave me the best gift,” Natasha says.

“I did?”

“Mhm,” she confirms. “Come here.”

Natasha leans in, pulling you closer to her with the hand that’s free by the back of your neck. Her gentle hand from before has a bit more urgency.

You can’t help but smile as she kisses your lips. Finally, both of you think. Finally.

“Merry Christmas, y/n,” Natasha says when she breaks for air.

“Merry Christmas, Natasha.”

It doesn’t take long before you add a photo of Natasha to the other side of your locket. She’s with you always. Right beside your heart.

[voidsuites]

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT-THEMED BOT RELEASE !!! (1/15/25) ⌢ 🌊 .ᐟ

steve rogers ・゜゜・．SKINNY. selina kyle ・゜゜・．LUNCH. WLW.

bucky barnes ・゜゜・．CHIHIRO. art and patrick ・゜゜・．BIRDS OF A FEATHER.

jess mariano ・゜゜・．WILDFLOWER. tashi duncan ・゜゜・．THE GREATEST.

tony stark ・゜゜・．L’AMOUR DE MA VIE. natasha romanoff ・゜゜・．THE DINER.

wanda maximoff ・゜゜・．BITTERSUITE. bruce wayne ・゜゜・．TRUE BLUE. loki laufeyson ・゜゜・．BORN BLUE.

got a request? go ahead and leave em here :) THANK YOU GUYS SO SO MUCH FOR FOR 9.5K! love you guys— all of this is surreal. back with another album release… putting my phd in billie eilish’s discography to good use here (she owns more than my soul at this point). HIT ME HARD AND SOFT is so cinematic and wonderful… hopefully i’ve captured a fraction of the world she created with this album in these bots. enjoy. big special shoutout to my beloved juliana @jclolz22 for letting me fire ideas off of her at all hours— time differences are no joke and she’s def the one responsible for this release. loving her always!!! thank u all for making me feel special and have fun okay bye

[hellokittyyyysblog]

𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷/ part 1

Pairing: vampire!𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: You work as an intern at a prestigious law firm, dedicating countless afterhours to your tasks. One seemingly ordinary late night, you encounter a mysterious individual who reveals a discovery that shatters your perception of reality and everything you once believed in. This fateful meeting sets off a chain of events that will forever alter the course of your life.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

It was dark outside, though you only knew by chance. You had caught a fleeting glimpse of the night through a window as you passed by a coworker's office—a brief reminder of the world beyond the law firm's walls.

Working after hours had become routine. Since starting as an intern, you'd quickly realized that your official duties were merely the tip of the iceberg; unseen responsibilities piled up off the record. The firm demanded your efforts but refused to pay for them, yet clocking out on time was a surefire way to lose your job— you'd witnessed it happen to many diligent workers.

The company expected unwavering devotion; free time was a luxury reserved for those at the top. If you wanted to keep your position, you had to play their game, allowing your superiors to exploit your fear of unemployment. They dangled potential futures before you and the other underpaid interns, but in the months you had been there, no one had been promoted who wasn't already wealthy and privileged. Still, you were determined to become that someone, enduring the unethical treatment and the all-consuming nature of your work. You believed that someday it would all be worth it; the challenge lay in enduring the suffering long enough to reach that point.

After all, it was your goal to do what made you most proud in life and felt natural: defending people. You were a natural at it, always standing up for classmates when they were unfairly called out by teachers for some unknown reason or when someone picked on your friends.

You were the one your friends turned to when they were in trouble, the one who could see through the noise to the heart of the matter. — It felt like a calling, an inner drive to protect and advocate for those who couldn't do it for themselves. You had envisioned the courtroom as your ultimate arena, where your skills and passion would converge to champion justice.

Little did you know, your world was about to take a drastic turn.

Lost in your thoughts and consumed by exhaustion, you found yourself staring out the window— the dark cityscape a blurred mosaic of lights.

Suddenly, the sharp click of heels behind you snapped you back to reality. The sound echoed through the empty halls, reminding you of where you were. You turned around to see Ava, your coworker; her short black hair moved with a graceful sway, catching the faint light from the hallway lamps. Her features, distinctly European with delicate French contours, gave her an air of sophistication.

She was more than just a coworker; Ava was your closest friend in the firm. Both of you had come to the States for college—she from France, you from Italy—making a bond over shared experiences of adapting and striving in a demanding professional world.

"What are you doing here so late?" she asked—her voice filled with genuine concern.

"I could ask you the same" you replied, managing a tired smile.

Ava blushed slightly and glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby. "I had a... meeting. Or more like a hookup, actually— with Louis. You know, one of the senior partners? We've been seeing each other secretly."

You raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Louis, huh? I knew it. You can't hide anything from me. How's that going?"

She grinned, a playful glint in her eye. "It's complicated, but he's been really good to me. Just trying to keep it under wraps, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it. Just be careful; this place is a minefield."

Ava nodded, her expression turning serious. "I know. But enough about me. What about you? Why are you still here?"

"I was just going through some old case files and doing some research" you explained. "I was actually about to head to Davis's office to update him on a case we've been working on."

“He really pushes you to work too hard, and no, don’t defend him anymore” she remarked with a sympathetic expression. “AND we haven't hung out in SO long….how about cocktails on Friday?"

You smiled "That sounds perfect. I definitely need a break."

"Great! It's a date then" Ava said with a wink. "Well, I'll let you get to Davis's office. Don't stay too late."

"Thanks, Ava. See you tomorrow"

You both exchanged goodbyes, and you watched as she walked down the corridor—the sound of her heels fading into the distance as you made your way to Davis office. The cold air was making you shiver and the thin fabric of your black slacks and white blouse were not keeping you warm enough. Each step of your high heels echoed softly in the quiet hallway, the usual bustling energy of the office now replaced by a serene emptiness.

Reaching Davis's door, you knocked firmly—the sound punctuating the silence. After a moment, the door cracked open, revealing his assistant, Emily, peering out with a polite smile.

"Hello" she greeted warmly. "Can I help you?"

"I was hoping to speak to Davis" you replied—trying to hide your discomfort from the chill— "I have an update on the case we've been working on."

"Ah, he was actually looking for you. He's in Bowman's office" Emily informed you.

"Thank you, Emily" you replied gratefully, offering a brief smile before saying your goodbyes.

Great. You thought, while making your way to bowman’s office.

Interacting with one of the two CEOs after such an exhausting day wasn't something you relished. Bowman was notorious for his tough demeanor and demanding expectations, and you couldn't shake the apprehension as you headed towards his office— and you weren't exactly looking forward to interrupt his meeting either.

You knocked on the door of his office, expecting to be called in, but you were met with more silence. Emily had said, Bowman's office, you knew she had. — Yet you couldn't even hear someone approaching the door to let you into the room. So you stood there like a deer in headlights.— If your presence was needed, surely you'd be expected to arrive at some point.

You were torn between knocking again and seeming impatient or standing in the hall like a clueless know-nothing. Both impressions were unflattering.

However, you'd rather look too eager, than not eager enough. So you knocked again. This time, you heard murmuring inside. You weren't sure if someone was being instructed to open the door, or if you were being instructed to enter. After another moment of waiting with your mouth hanging open, you took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.

The door didn't open slowly, but it felt like time stood still as the moment you had eyes on the room— you saw Bowman hunched over the desk, blood trickling from his lips. Davis lied lifeless across the tabletop.

Before you could inhale a breath, Bowman was in front of you, with a hand clamped over your mouth. He swiftly pulled you inside the office and locked the door behind you. It took no time at all, but you knew it happened.

"My, my, my, who do we have here…seems like I got myself a delicious midnight snack" Bowman taunted. His chin was dripping with blood that ran down from two prominent fangs. You'd never seen those before.

You wished you had a witty retort, but you were too stilled with fear. He was going to kill you, after maybe taking advantage of your body—that was how things like this worked, or at least that was what films would have you believe. As far as you'd known, vampires weren't real, but crazy men were. Yet you weren’t certain that you were being threatened by that very monster.

"At least you’re still warm”

If you could scream, someone would know. If you could make a lot of noise, they'd catch him in the act, even if you were dead by the time they arrived. You had to make noise.

You couldn't.

But then, you didn't have to. — Bowman’s steely eyes lifted from your face. His jaw tensed and his nostrils flared.

"So they've sent the dogs after me?" He said.

Your vision was obstructed by Bowman’s frame, but someone had entered the office from the window—There hadn't been a sound, yet Bowman hadn't needed to turn around.

"Did you think they wouldn't?" The second voice was the audible equivalent of silk with a twinge of a feminine Slavic accent. "And obviously I came at the right time. How did you plan to clean this up, youngling?"

Bowman’s grip on you waned and he spun around. You hadn't realized your feet were off the ground until your soles hit the floor once more. Bowman reached for your shirt collar to keep you near. At a different angle, you were able to see the woman. She had red hair that complimented her strong features and dark green eyes; like Bowman, she too had longer canines.

You were in awe of her despite feeling the need to stay present in the room—Yet somehow, her presence had made you feel safer—She was clearly unhappy with your boss, but you had no evidence that she would let you live once she was done with bowman.

As if she knew your inner monologue, she addressed you whilst still looking at Bowman. "Human, you may leave."

“Oh no, nope she’s not going anywhere."—Bowman didn't let loose of your shirt.

The woman finally made eye contact with you, and you felt your chest tighten. It felt like the first time someone had ever made eye contact with you—someone had ever seen you. As soon as it happened, it was over just as quickly,and the woman was looking at the man beside you. Her head tilted like a cat sizing up its prey. Whatever she was thinking, whatever she was planning with that look, was not good, but you felt oddly sure that you were not her focus.

It took no time at all for the woman to cross the room. You didn't even catch it with your eyes; she was a blur. But you knew she had to be faster and stronger than Bowman, as she had him in less than a second. His hand was no longer attached to you. You were free. It happened so fast that it didn't register. You were transfixed by the red-headed woman hoisting Bowman up into the air. His feet dangled despite the fact that he was nearly a foot taller than she.

"Human" the redhead said calmly, without looking at you. "Is this your boss?"

"Yes" your mouth felt dry—it was the first time you'd spoken since Bowman had dragged you into the room.

"Then I would say that considering the time, you have the rest of the night off."

Understanding why moving would take some time—but you'd regained enough of your faculties to know that it was time to leave. With a squeaked, "Thank you" you exited the office—The door closed behind you without a need for effort on your part. Whatever the woman was going to do, she didn't want an audience.

You looked disheveled, and your eyes were still wide and pleading for safety, though you were alone and, as far as you knew, you were safe. Though no one would see you and think 'Vampire attack interrupted' if someone took the time to spare you a glance, they would see a person who had clearly experienced something out of the ordinary. You were not the same as you'd been when you'd entered the boss' office—in more ways than one.

You hurried to your office, grateful for the late hour and the deserted offices that ensured no one noticed your swift departure as you gathered your belongings. Amid the quiet corridors, a solitary light emanated from the closed door of the office opposite yours, a reminder that you weren't entirely alone in the building.

Unbeknownst to you at the time, Bowman's parting grip had left a faint smear of blood on your jaw—It went unnoticed until you caught your reflection in the elevator doors.

The front desk attendant gave you an habitual: "Have a good evening."

"Thanks" you managed to say. Your voice was a bit shaky, but the attendant didn't notice. He actually looked at you, but you knew it was a part of his routine. He'd send you all off, nod in your direction, and then he'd go back to his computer. At least someone had acknowledged you, you thought—though, he was as oblivious as anyone else. The front desk was probably not the best place for a person who apparently had tunnel vision.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The chill of the night greeted you as soon as you stepped outside, accompanied by a wild wind that seemed to howl through the air. You knew the sound was just the wind—familiar yet eerie after your recent encounter with the supernatural. If vampires were real, as you were now certain they were after what you had witnessed, then the possibility of werewolves seemed just as plausible.

You took a deep breath, trying to process everything. Your supervisor was dead, and your boss—a vampire? It was all so nonsensical, yet you had seen it with your own eyes. The memory of her, pale and powerful, lingered vividly in your mind.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the red-haired woman who appeared suddenly in your path until she was right in front of you. You gasped and instinctively took a step backward. The woman made no move to invade your personal space; instead, she stood calmly, confident that you wouldn't flee. Despite the flight alarms blaring in your mind, you found yourself rooted to the spot.

"Human” the woman said. It was a word you had never been addressed with before, yet tonight it had been uttered several times already in reference to your kind. Despite knowing it to be an undeniable fact, hearing yourself labeled as merely 'human' felt oddly surreal. Normally, you might have laughed it off or made a light-hearted comment or a teasing remark, but the intensity in the woman's eyes quelled any inclination for humor or banter.

"You cannot tell another about what you witnessed tonight."

She was fast. She must have “finished” Bowman while you were in the elevator—maybe even before. You envisioned the nightly cleaning staff stumbling onto a horrific crime scene. You liked the night staff, they didn't deserve to clean up such a mess—disposing of viscera was not in their job description.

"I won't" you replied. The thruth is you wanted to tell someone; holding in that kind of information was going to make you sick. But you knew, deep down, that the moment you opened your mouth, others would think you were insane. "No one would believe me."

"Unfortunately, that is a chance I cannot take." the redhead woman replied with a gentle, almost mocking smirk.

You instinctively took another step back, feeling the edge of the wall against your back. People streamed out of the building, oblivious to the tense encounter unfolding just steps away; oblivious of the fact that maybe those were your last moments on earth.

"You don't have to—" Your voice faltered, shaky with fear. The woman's threat hung heavy in the air. If she intended to kill you, there was little you could do to stop her. You had witnessed her power in action, if only briefly, and it left you unnerved. You gulped, "I won't say anything. I promise. You don't have to kill me." Maybe you should’ve said something more convincing than “I promise”when someone was about to take your life. Did promises bring any value to her kind? She would’ve never believed you.

She arched a brow, studying you with a mixture of amusement and disdain—her frown deepened, as if she disliked your assumption. It was clear she was capable of violence and you were uncertain if she had any inclination towards mercy. Her words had left little room for interpretation—she intended to eliminate any witnesses, and you stood alone as the only witness.

"I do not wish to kill you" she said. Her voice was so soothing that it made your shoulders soften. You hadn't realized how stiff you'd gone.

Her presence held power over you, and when she said she didn't want to kill you, you believed her.

"Then what do you want to do? I meant it, I won't tell anyone. I don't even know your name."

"And you won't. I will take away the memory of tonight for your safety and the safety of my people."

"Your people...you mean uh…"

She nodded and made no effort to verbally confirm your suspicions.

You were silent as you stared at the confirmed vampire in your presence. She was mysterious in a very dangerous way—but a feeling was burning in your stomach. It felt like a need, but you hadn't a clue as to what you needed and how the red-haired vampire could help you.

Apparently, her way of helping you was erasing a piece of your mind. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but she had expressed the explicit desire to tamper with your memories.

It would feel better, you sensed that much. You knew that the shock would go away, as would the fear, and unanswered questions. But, with those negative things would go the knowledge that you as a human were not alone. Knowledge was power, even if you weren't sure how to wield it yet.

"I don't want to forget" you admitted quietly.

When the woman approached you again, you didn't step back. "I want to know what happened to my friend.”

The vampire reached out and rubbed away the blood from your chin, she hadn’t asked, and you didn't need her to. You stood still and let her.

"You want to remember the way he met his end? for what purpose?”

"Someone should know; someone who knew him."

"And when your boss is missing and you know the truth, what will you say?"

You weren't sure how to answer the vampire's question. Everything had moved so fast, you didn't have time to plan what you'd say to everyone else.

"I don't know."

She considered you, and most likely what she was going to do with you. You weren't convincing, you knew, but she hadn't acted without consulting you. So maybe, just maybe, you had a way out of having your mind wiped.

"Go home, human" she said—and you thought you'd taken a kickball to the gut—you were taken aback so abruptly.

She was letting you leave, or so it seemed. "You have twenty-four hours to consider this choice. I hope you will see reason. I will find you tomorrow night."

You should have focused on the deal the vampire was making you, rather than the fact that she was promising another meeting.

Maybe she would answer some of your questions.

Maybe she would satiate your curiosity.

Or maybe she would make you forget she existed at all.

"How will you find me?" you asked— It was a wonder, but it was one of the last questions you should have asked— she'd scaled a building and entered through a window without so much as a sound. She could find you easily. You wasted your breath asking a question that didn't need to be answered.

"Don't worry about me. Keep your wits about you, and your mouth closed. Consider my offer and the alternative. Your knowledge is yours for now, but understand that should you speak of this night to anyone in the next day, my offer will be revoked." She said before turning around and disappearing behind the crowd.

The vampire woman was not suggesting that she'd lay off and leave your memories alone. She was suggesting that you and your knowledge would cease to be. She was essentially giving you a day to come to your senses and realize that you wanted to forget the ordeal.

But you were stubborn and embarrassingly naive, and she was too interesting to forget. You had to figure out a way to keep your knowledge and gain some answers in the process, if only for a chance to see her again.

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

[kyuyua]

Hands <3

[draculasfavoritewife]

Idle Hands

Summary: Whenever Tony forgets to go to bed, it's always been up to you to bring him back to your side.

Pairing: Tony Stark x fem!Reader

Warnings: Heavy on the softness compared to most of my other stuff; I was in a very sentimental (read: sad and touch-starved) mood back when I wrote this lol. Tony Stark is a TEASE both in word and deed -- I have said it is canon therefore it is now. The feral way he makes me feel should be illegal. Also you can read the...implications of my vague wordings towards the end as tame or as smutty as you wish ;)

I feel the need to mention here that Tony Stark has been my most favorite comic book character since I was but a mere 11 years old. He holds the distinction of being my longest-running fictional crush/object of my obsessions and I love him so deeply and for so many little reasons that I could write a PhD dissertation on him. So please enjoy my little love letter to the man that has held my heart for nearly a decade and a half <3

It's that point of the night where you really can't decide if it should be counted as ungodly late or ungodly early. 4:00 am does tend to scramble the thoughts.

You've been drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep for what feels like forever, and as you roll away from the digital clock display on the wall with an annoyed sigh, you suddenly see why.

The other side of the bed is utterly untouched.

He hasn't been here with you at all.

You sit up, trying to remember if he had plans tonight. The calendar app on your phone has no record of a gala, awards ceremony, board meeting, or anything else that might have taken up his time.

Which means he's probably down in the lab again.

Briefly, you contemplate trying to call him, but you know from experience that he probably isn't taking calls right now, even if FRIDAY tried to put one through for you. He's in that zone that only designing and building can put him in, the one mindset where his too-busy brain is crystal clear and the world at last makes sense to him.

So you pull yourself out of bed, throw one of his old sweatshirts on over your cami and pajama shorts (he keeps the AC cranked all the way whenever it's warm outside) and pad out of the bedroom and on your way downstairs.

His lab is awe-inspiring as always, no matter how many times you see it. The purring thrum of the generators and the comforting pulse of dimmed lights, the heavy, electric feeling of the air itself -- he's described his workspace to you as having a life of its own before, and you can understand so well why time escapes him down here.

You just hope he's not using it to escape from other things as well.

He's deeply absorbed in his work on something at a station opposite the door, and your heart skips a beat even as you smile fondly at the familiar sight. Clad in sweatpants and a black tank through which you can just barely see the blue glow of his arc reactor, he looks all at once more human than usual and like some being from another world entirely.

It's the Stark curse, he told you once, and you recall the wry slant of his lips as he said so. To know you're a god trapped in a mortal body, an infinite mind with a finite number of years to use it. It's the reason behind all his greatest triumphs -- and all his harshest falls from grace.

And somehow, you were lucky enough to be the one he fell in love with.

It still feels like a dream sometimes.

Realizing he isn't going to look up on his own anytime soon, you stifle a yawn and knock sharply on the doorframe.

"Tony?"

He stiffens as if he's been shocked (always a possibility, when he's rewiring) and shoves the safety glasses high up on his forehead. "That would be yours truly. Everything alright?"

With a laugh, you cross the room, warmth rising in your chest as he immediately sets down his tools and steps out from behind the table to meet you. And damn, he always looks good -- he is Tony Stark, after all -- but there's always something about him when his hair gets all unruly and he has THAT look of intense concentration on his face that really drives home to you all over again just how gorgeous he is.

You cuddle up to him, and he kisses the top of your head.

"Asked you a question, Honey."

"Do you know what time it is, Tony?"

There's a prolonged moment of answering silence as he glances up at one of his nearby monitors. "Crap. Well, why are you up?"

Pulling back slightly so you can tease the protective eyewear off his head, you give him a look. "Can't sleep."

An eyebrow tilts; he's playing dumb.

"And that's my problem why?"

"Jerk." You take your time playing with his glossy dark hair, neatening it back up before raking your fingers through it to mess it up again. "Maybe because you love me...?"

"Oh, so you're down here looking for sympathy, got it." He smirks at you, a well-practiced and infuriatingly handsome look. "In that case, sorry about your insomnia, Beautiful. There's melatonin in the drug cabinet upstairs." He snares the safety glasses from your fingers once more and makes as if to return to his work. "Sympathetic enough for you?"

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, stopping him from going any further, though the smug son of a bitch starts tinkering with his new designs again even through your persistent clinging. It mesmerizes you for a couple seconds, always has, the way his hands work with such delicate precision and dexterity, and you can't help selfishly wishing he would turn them towards other, less...mechanical endeavors at this moment.

He probably would, in all honesty, but Tony Stark is the king of making you work for it. Philanthropic he may be, but some things even you have to earn from him when he's feeling particularly devilish.

"I don't want your pity," you hum, pressing a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. "I was lonely without you."

"Perfectly understandable. I've been told by many that I'm scintillating company. You can, by all means, stay and watch me work, you know. Feeds my humble ego."

You roll your eyes and impatiently reach up under his shirt, feeling his muscles tense at the unexpected coldness of your hands.

That finally gets his attention and makes him turn around. Before you can even fully comprehend it, he's swept his work out of the way and lifted you up onto the worktable instead, restless fingers drawing intricate patterns on your inner thighs, though his eyes never leave yours, crystalline blue pinning your attention to his amused face instead of his very distracting hands.

"That," he grins, "was adorable. Sleepy version of you is so much more demanding. Maybe I should stay down here too long more often."

You try to frown at him, though his sparkling gaze and mischievous touch make that impossible. "How dare you."

"I do a lot of dumb things to see where they get me. You know that." He nods at the thick gray sweatshirt still keeping you warm. "Why don't you take that off for me, Sweetness. You make me cold, I get to return the favor."

Unable to come up with something snarky to say in return with the way his hands are making you shiver now, you do as he suggests with little resistance, the exposed skin of your arms and chest prickling at the much cooler air.

He leans in to tenderly kiss your neck, and your breath leaves in a sigh at the way his facial hair scratches at your throat. He's always been a helluva kisser and the meticulously maintained goatee is just the icing on the cake. Making out on his worktable was not the original plan when you first came down here, but even by his own admission Tony's best plans are usually improvised.

And you're certainly not complaining.

"What did you want from me again?" he murmurs, close to your ear.

The absolute audacity of him.

"Mmmmmmm," seems to be about all you can manage at the moment, and you know very well what's coming next.

He pulls you closer to him, the movements of his fingers turning agonizingly slow and prompting a slight gasp from you.

The smile that gradually spreads its way across his mouth is absolutely wicked.

"What was that, Sweetheart? I didn't quite catch it."

You try to reclaim some semblance of coherence, but his firm hold on you prevents you from escaping his delightfully systematic torture, so instead you grab on to his well-defined shoulders, your forehead resting against his chest. The mechanically-stabilized beat of his heart echoing beneath his skin a brief reminder that he's alive, despite everything he's been through, and he is yours. There's no one else on his mind, no one else he's let this far into his messy and often painful world.

The world may know him as Iron Man, the one who has saved them more times than they could ever count, but how many people really know the Tony that you know?

That same Tony who now raises one hand to tip your head back, whose sharp eyes soften with affection for the slightest of seconds before the anticipated words fall from his tongue, the words he knows will always unravel you.

"You just have to tell me what you want. Come on, Princess. Use your words."

You shudder and lean in to beg for another kiss.

"You, Tony. Always you. Please."

He kisses you back with renewed intensity, leaving you completely breathless.

"There we go...was that so hard?"

[meidui]

"It's gonna be okay, you know." "I know. I've got you."

[amethystarachnid]

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 - part I

⤷ 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: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Part II

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

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Imiange Peter hurting his finger and like it's nothing bad but he's just been so stressed and this makes him feel bad :( tony ends up kissing Peters finger to make it hurt less

Yes please! 🥰

I would read this scenario and every single one like it 100 billion times.

[hainethehero]

This is your daily reminder that Steve Rogers is a needy, whiny bottom who likes d!ck, ice cream & cuddles.

[togrowoldinv]

A True Love’s Kiss

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

When Natasha gets brainwashed, it’s up to you to bring her back to her formal self. It’s not an easy task, but maybe your love for her is the key to unlocking her memories

Note: Woohoo Natasha. Just a fun (kinda angsty) little idea I came up with today. Enjoy this one!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

It’s a quiet morning as you run through the park. Memories of the last few years flash through your head, but you shake them away.

It’s been six months since you’ve heard from any of the Avengers. The so called ‘family’ left you out to dry the moment that things ended with you and Natasha.

In hindsight, it was a terrible idea to date the woman you worked with. But you knew you were in love with her and life felt too short to deny that.

You’re on the way back to your car when you sense it. A few moments later, two of your ‘old friends’ walk into your view.

“Y/n,” Steve begins. You don’t look at him.

“Come on, y/n. Look at us,” Clint adds.

“Why should I? I haven’t heard from any of you in months. All you did was side with Natasha,” you say bitterly.

“We’re sorry,” Steve says. You hate that it really seems like he means it. “Things got messy and we weren’t there for you.”

“Understatement of the century,” you remark.

You decide you’ve had enough of this. You move to open the car door but are stopped short by Clint’s next words.

“It’s Natasha,” Clint says. “She’s been compromised and we think the only person she’ll talk to is you.”

You sigh.

“And why do you think that?” You ask.

“We’ve tried everything. It’s our last idea,” Steve says. His tone has a sadness to it. “Will you come with us? Please. For Nat?”

You don’t reply, but you simply grab a bag of clothes from your car and walk closer to Steve and Clint. They’ll take that as a yes.

After walking to the quinjet, Clint takes the reins while Steve explains to you what happened to Natasha.

“She’s not herself. None of us have been able to stop her from these missions she’s been on,” he explains. “It seems like it could be the red room again. Like they’ve brainwashed her.”

“How did this even happen? How did she get that far out of reach in the first place?” You ask.

Steve hesitates to answer.

“Tell her,” Clint says.

“Tell me what?”

“Y/n, when you and Natasha broke up she went into hiding,” Steve says. “You never heard from us because we’ve been busy trying to find her. Now that we have, we have to figure out how to bring her in.”

“We found her in Russia,” Steve continues. “She’s good at what she does, you know that. But her heartbreak made her incredibly vulnerable. Even before she left the Avengers, her focus was somewhere else. Probably on how she broke your heart.”

“So this is my fault?” You wonder aloud. You don’t know if that makes you angry or sad. Maybe both.

“No,” Steve says. “It’s no one’s fault. Nat chose to leave.”

“But she’s not choosing to act like this,” Clint says. “I can tell. I can almost bring her out of it when I mention my family. And since she’s in love with you-“

“Was,” you correct him. “She was. Not anymore.”

“Right,” Clint says noncommittally. “We hope once she sees you, she’ll snap out of it.”

“So all of this is based on a hope?” You ask.

“Well, yeah,” Steve says.

“Great,” you say sarcastically. You stand up and push your way to the back of the jet to sit alone.

Truthfully, you’ve imagined reuniting with Natasha a million times. In your fantasy, she would show up at your door in the pouring rain with flowers and a romcom style apology for how she hurt you.

But this reuniting will be no romcom. You can tell from the way Steve can’t really meet your eyes that it’s bad. He cares for Natasha as deeply as you and Clint do. You can sense his fear. And Clint’s.

“We’re here,” Clint announces, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Where’s here?” You ask. You look out the front and notice the landscape is not the Avengers compound where you thought you were heading.

“There’s no time to prepare,” Steve says. “You can do this, y/n. Approach the house carefully and expect resistance. We’ll back you up but if Nat sees us we’re sure she’ll be quicker to turn against you.”

“Here’s coms,” Clint says, handing you a piece for your ear.

“Okay. Here goes nothing,” you say, taking a deep breath.

You step out of the quinjet and walk over one hundred paces to where Natasha is supposedly staying. As you expected, she doesn’t answer the front door when you knock.

Instead, you’re struck in the back of the knee. She effectively brings you down to the ground. Her legs straddle your waist. Your breath is taken away in more ways than one.

She looks beautiful yet sad. You try to shake off the fact that you’re seeing her for the first time in so long and focus on the way she’s crushing your ribs.

“Natasha,” you say.

“You don’t know me,” Nat says.

“I used to,” you answer. That throws her off briefly and you manage to squirm free. Natasha catches up fast and pins you against the door this time.

“What do you want?” Natasha asks. She feels an odd attraction to you. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to help you,” you say.

Natasha punches the wall behind you and wraps her hand around your neck.

“Okay, you don’t like that answer,” you whimper out.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Natasha commands.

You bring your arm up to pull hers away from your throat but she doesn’t stop. You plead with her with your eyes and once again she hesitates long enough for you to slip away.

She pulls her gun on you, but waits to shoot. You hold your hands up in surrender. You try again to make her remember you.

“Natasha, please,” you beg for her to relent. “You know me and I know you. It’s me, y/n.”

She doesn’t appear to have any recollection, so you go deeper.

“You love peanut butter sandwiches,” you say. “And you secretly love M&Ms but only the red ones even though they all taste the same.”

“I-“

“And you get up every morning and go for a run not because you love running but because you like to see the world before it becomes too loud and unsteady,” you continue. “And you love me. Or at least, you used to.”

“I don’t- I’m not who you think I am,” Natasha says.

“Yes you are,” you argue back.

“I’m not,” she says. Her voice breaks. You feel like you’re making progress.

“Natasha, baby, please,” you say.

She’s fighting her internal turmoil. Her objective is to take down anyone in her way.

“Y/n, get out of there,” you hear Steve in your ear.

You don’t dare reply. She’ll shoot if she thinks she’s surrounded.

“You’re an Avenger,” you say. “You’re a friend. You’re a sister. You are an aunt to Clint’s kids. You’re the love of my life.”

Natasha’s hand shakes. She thinks she knows you, but she has a mission.

You look into her eyes as she aims at your chest. Steve and Clint run towards you knowing what’s about to happen but it’s too late.

Natasha fires the weapon and you feel a lot of pain before you feel absolutely nothing. Steve hits Nat with a tranquilizer before she can shoot him and Clint as well.

The next thing you remember is waking up in the medbay at the compound.

“Hey,” Steve greets you. “You’re okay.”

“Where’s Nat?” You ask, sitting up.

“She’s detained,” he says. “And asking for you.”

“What?”

“Welcome to the world again,” Tony interrupts as he enters the room. “Dr. Cho fixed your wound up perfectly as always.”

“Oh,” you say, remembering why you’re here. The ache in your shoulder becomes more noticeable when you try to move it. “I need to see her.”

“No can do, buckaroo,” Tony says. “We’ve got Hill in there talking to her.”

“You mean interrogating her,” you correct him.

“Maybe,” Tony replies. “But we need to know whose side she’s on now.”

“Steve, please you have to let me see her,” you say. “She recognized me. She just- she needed to continue her mission.”

“I don’t know,” Steve replies. “It’s too dangerous.”

“She already shot me,” you say dryly. “What else could happen?”

Steve relents. After a couple of hours of resting, you get dressed the best you can, putting your arm in a sling.

You approach the detainment area carefully. Natasha is sitting at a table with her hands cuffed to it when you enter.

“Take those off,” you instruct the guard.

“I’m not supposed-“

“Just do it,” you say.

“Ma’am-“

“Take them off,” Steve says over the intercom.

The guard complies and unlocks the cuffs. You frown at the way they’ve rubbed her wrists raw.

“Hey,” you say to Natasha.

“How’s your shoulder?” She asks.

“Fine. Why didn’t you shoot to kill me? I know you could’ve,” you say.

“So we’re jumping right in,” Nat remarks. “You said you know me and you told me facts that no one knows. I needed to talk to you more. I needed you alive.”

“Do you know me?” You ask.

“I don’t,” she says. You can’t help but frown. “But you do feel vaguely familiar.”

“You’ve had your memories of us taken from you,” you say. “Probably by the Red Room.”

“What did you just say?” Natasha asks. She stands up and pushes you against the wall.

“Nat,” you say. Your shoulder is throbbing.

“We’re coming in to help,” Steve says urgently.

“No wait! I can do this,” you shout. “Natasha please, you wouldn’t hurt me. Not again.”

“Stop acting like you know who I am!” She shouts. “How did you get that name? The Red Room? How did you know?”

“Because Natasha we dated for over a year,” you say. “You told me everything.”

“No,” she says. “I would- I would remember if I had loved you.”

“Natasha, I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Stop,” she cries out. “Stop. You don’t- stop it.”

“I do. I love you. Please, I love you. Find yourself in me again, Nat,” you beg her.

Natasha’s eyes fill with tears. It’s beginning to click. You think of the last effort you can make to help her remember it all.

You lean toward her and pull her in for a hug. Your good arm goes around her waist and pulls her in. Natasha doesn’t hug you back but she doesn’t pull away either.

“Please, Natasha. I need you to come back to me,” you whimper into her neck.

It feels so familiar to her. Holding you in her arms as you bury your face into her neck, but she still can’t figure out who you are to her.

“I’m sorry,” she says, pulling away from your embrace. “I just don’t remember you.”

You nod in understanding. She doesn’t know why but she doesn’t flinch when you place your hands on the sides of her face. Her cheeks feel hot under your touch.

“Can I try?” You ask her. She gets what you mean.

“Okay,” she says.

You lean in and kiss her lips softly. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to make Natasha’s heart flutter. And yours too. Under different circumstances, it would be an amazing reunion kiss.

“Y/n?” She asks when you pull away. There’s a light of recognition in her eyes.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Detka,” she begins. You could cry at the pet name. “I don’t- are you okay? Shit, this is my fault.”

She tries to inspect your wound, but you just hug her again.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so so sorry that I hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I did when I broke your heart,” she says regretfully.

“Natasha-“

“Let me just,” she interrupts. “Let me apologize. I’m so sorry, y/n. I love you. I haven’t stopped. It’s just I got so protective of you that I couldn’t let you go on missions. I was holding you back.”

“You weren’t holding me back, Nat. I understand that you’re protective over me, but I can handle myself.”

“I know that,” she says. “I’m just so sorry.”

“Let’s go home, Natasha. We can talk about this over a cup of hot chocolate,” you suggest.

“Yeah. Let’s go home,” Nat says.

You both ignore the other Avenger’s requests that you stay at the compound and they evaluate Nat’s situation and your injury.

The hope of a true love’s kiss curing Natasha seems to be really true. Maybe fairytales are real. Maybe they’re not. But you both love each other and you were always meant to end up together again.

[m00nagedreamin]

imagine tony stark getting home after a long day of meetings and dealing with people he really hates dealing with

he’s tired. he wants to rest. but when he gets back he sees that pepper is still awake and in the living room

he asks what’s wrong and she informs him that they had a late night visit from a certain teenage vigilante

low and behold, their bed has been taken over by a very unconscious spiderman who stumbled in at night injured, exhausted, and seeking comfort

[hellokittyyyysblog]

𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷/ part 2

Pairing: vampire!𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

You couldn't sleep all night. Tossing and turning in bed, every small detail of the previous night played on an endless loop in your mind. The window into the world of the supernatural had been thrown wide open, and nothing could have prepared you for the realization that everything you had read in books as a kid was real. But the revelation wasn’t enough—you wanted to know more, needed to know more. The red-haired woman who had saved and threatened you consumed your thoughts. Who was she? What was her story? How many were there?—These thoughts kept you from sleeping until you eventually drifted asleep due to exhaustion.

The day after your chaotic brush with death, the office was abuzz with an uneasy energy. No one knew why there were cops on your floor, but the sight of one of the cleaning staff wrapped in a shock blanket painted a grim picture. Despite your own innocence, you were racked with guilt. You knew the truth about Davis, and only you could provide closure for his friends and family. But if you said anything that resembled the truth, you'd die. So, instead, you listened carefully, curious as if someone would remember that you'd been in Bowman’s office the night before. Though if no one said anything, the cameras would likely enlighten the detectives.

Your mind drifted to your red-haired savior and would-be killer. She said she'd come to you again, and though you knew nothing about her, you felt it was wise to trust her word. You wondered and hoped she'd at least let you beg for your memories. You didn't like being able to remember the fear you'd felt, and your survivor's guilt was creating a hole in your stomach, but it was real. You wanted to know the bigger truth: humanity wasn't alone, and supernatural existed.

The knowledge struck you cold with something akin to fear, but you wanted to cling to it. Now you understood why people in horror films made terrible and irrational decisions.

Naturally, as you thought about the existence of vampires, you began to daydream about the way the redhead had stood before you. Her skin was flawless, her green eyes piercing into your soul, her jawline appeared as though meticulously crafted by an artist, and her lips were plump around the fangs you assumed had ripped into countless humans. The woman in her fitted black outfit had carved a space out for herself in your mind, and you doubted she intended to. Even in your confused terror, you had made a note of the vampire's form.

It was embarrassing how being in extreme peril couldn't thwart your libido. You'd heard something about fear response and sexual response being quite similar; you hadn't paid much attention, but you grabbed onto the idea to make yourself feel better about lusting after who you sensed was an incredibly dangerous being.

"No one's seen Bowman" a woman whispered interrupting you from your noisy thoughts.

A voice from the adjacent cubicle replied, "I’ve heard the night staff found a body in there. Could be his.”

Though you weren't a part of the conversation, you followed the instruction all the same and looked towards the elevators reliving the haunting and life changing events of the previous night.

Suddenly, Ava snuck up behind you by touching your shoulder "Did you hear what happened?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "Jesus , Ava, you almost gave me an heart attack” you confessed putting on a fake smile— “uhm yeah I heard people murmuring about the night staff finding a body" you replied, feeling the weight of the lie. You felt bad for lying to your friend, and lying about something this important, but you couldn’t say a word to anyone. That was the price you had to pay for knowledge. And if that included a dreamy redhead, then you were more than willing to pay that price.

Ava nodded, glancing around nervously. "I talked to Louis, and he knows nothing either."

"That's strange" you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I wonder what's really going on."

Before Ava could respond, two people with 'Coroner' jackets wheeled a gurney in the direction of the office. Immediately, it struck you as odd. As far as you knew, there were two dead bodies to be found. Your mind began to theorize as to why only one body would be left behind and whose body it might be.

The HR manager and building manager stood outside Bowman's office, frantically whispering to each other. Then, a man you'd only seen in emails and charity events emerged from the office with a hanky over his mouth. If it was a crime scene, surely he, the CEO, shouldn't have been in the middle of it. He looked like he regretted going in—if it was in the state you assumed it was, you didn't blame him.

Though he'd never set foot on your floor, he waved his hands around for everyone's attention. An officer emerged behind him to add effect.

"While I am sure that you are curious as to the events of this morning, we are going to ask that everyone goes home at this time."

The officer put his hand up to add, "Stay in the area; do not leave town in the next few days." They were going to interview people, but they didn't know who to call first.

"So no one is going to tell us what is going on?" A voice pressed.

"You will learn the important and relevant information as we understand more" the investigator replied. He really couldn't tell you anything because any information would have to be reported to you by the company board, and they loved to play keep-away with facts. You'd likely be the only one who ever knew the truth, and you only knew some of it—the cops may never know the disturbing reality behind it.

Though there was grumbling and whispered questions, your coworkers did not wait around. They gathered their belongings and left willingly—they didn't want to stay and work when they could be dismissed for something that concerned someone else. Selfish but nosey people, you thought.

"Do you need a ride home?" Ava asked you, concern etched on her face.

"Don't worry about it" you replied. "I have errands to run anyway"

"Alright, but keep me updated, okay?"

"Of course” you said, forcing a smile —"talk to you later."

You waited until Ava left, then made your way to the restroom. You knew you'd never hear the whole truth about Bowman's demise from the higher-ups, and perhaps that was for the best. But acknowledging this didn't satiate the curious feeling. Whose body was going into the body bag, and what happened to the other one?

As far as plans went, the one you devised was comically simple: stay in the restroom and wait until the cops took a break. Then, you'd steal away into the office and do some investigating of your own.

The restroom was quiet, save for the occasional drip of a faucet—you paced back and forth, your mind racing with possibilities. You couldn't shake the feeling that something important had been left behind, something that might give you more insight into the mysterious red-haired vampire’s world.

You bit your bottom lip as you remembered the hallway cameras. Nothing would make you seem more like a person of interest like sneaking into a crime scene. Maybe you could lie and say that you'd left something inside the office, something that would show that you and Bowman were having an affair. It was a gross lie to imagine, but people loved a scandal, and presenting an 'embarrassing' story might get you out of suspicion.—everyone loved the chance to gossip—But the more you considered it, the less you could live with the lie.

Getting caught couldn't be an option. You had to be careful.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, ears straining for any sound that might indicate the coast was clear. It was close enough that you could hear the louder officers. Of course, it was still difficult to know the actual moment the scene was left unattended.

Your head began to rob with tension, for something that seemed so simple, it felt increasingly impossible.

It took twenty-three minutes for one of the beat cops to loudly announce that they were breaking for coffee. You counted ninety seconds and then you emerged from the stall—you washed your hands—you hadn't actually used the toilet, but you'd flushed—which meant the noise had to be followed up with the noise of a faucet. It was expected bathroom ambiance. You'd seen how movies went, it was the little things that got people caught.

The moment you entered the hall, you saw something that would change your plan for the better, the absolutely better. For lying on the floor, was a cop’s badge. Some careless detective, Jonathan Herrera, had dropped his badge. His loss was your gain, but you'd think about the incompetence of your local police department another time—a lost badge gave you a reason to double back to Bowman’s office.

Sure, you might appear nosey in the process, but you'd have the badge to return so you'd be a nosey do-gooder.

"Hello?" you asked cautiously, making sure that you weren't entering an occupied crime scene.

You were hyper-aware of the cameras at your back. No one was watching you, but all it took was a rewind button to rat you out. You did your best impression of someone who didn't want to do exactly what you planned to do.

No response—you didn't know if you were relieved or upset that you couldn't be stopped.

Inhaling deeply, you opened the door to Bowman’s office. The scene was far less horrific than it had been the night before. The blood on the desk and floor had dried, and the coroners had already taken the body and any additional remains. If it weren't for the smell, you could pretend you were seeing a painting session that got out of hand. What really struck you was the singular outline that laid upon the desk. It was Davis’s outline— it marked where you'd seen him. Bowman’s body must have been missing if he'd been killed there at all.

There would have been larger stains for a body's worth of viscera explosion. The absence unsettled you and shoved more questions into your already spiraling curiosity.

Before you could tumble too far down the rabbit hole, the desk began to vibrate. The sound was unmistakable— a phone was ringing somewhere in one of the drawers judging by the way the vibration was muffled. You could hear that the phone was bouncing around against wood.

Police were meant to thoroughly search a crime scene. Clearly, the ones assigned to your workplace case had missed something. You wondered if it was the responsibility of the man whose badge was still in your hand.

You hurried to the desk and found that the drawers had all been opened and rifled through.

Papers and pens were askew. The police had searched the desk, yet the phone, which you assumed was Bowman’s was still somewhere to be found. The muffled vibrations seemed like they were coming from the long drawer directly underneath the center of the desk. Carefully, you felt underneath the drawer with your fingertips. It was very likely that the cops had done the same move, if it was obvious to you, it was likely routine for them.

Nevertheless, they had missed something— and something that was so well hidden had to be noteworthy.

Stilling your fingers, you felt the vibrations coming from the underside of the desk. Yet as you looked, you saw nothing. The drawer had a false bottom. When you placed your hand on the inside of the drawer, you could feel the vibrations underneath the wooden board. They were strongest near the back joining of the drawer. Again, you wondered about the usefulness of the police in your area. However, once again, police incompetence was working in your favor.

You felt a catch, a small hole that was just big enough to be felt by your fingertip. By applying a little pressure, you triggered the false bottom to shift slightly. The shift revealed the seam of a small panel. Quietly, despite the noise from the phone bouncing around, you slide the panel to the side. There, underneath in a small secretive pocket, was a phone. Whoever was calling, they were serious and Bowman didn't have a voicemail set up. You turned the phone off and stashed it in your pocket. In addition to the phone, a money clip was sitting inside the hidden compartment.

You took that too and without remorse. Bowman’s had threatened to kill you, the money clip was deserved—Or was it? nobody deserves anything after all; it’s simply a matter of who’s willing to go and take it for themselves. No one is just a victim or a victor. Everyone is somewhere in between. People who go around casting themselves as one or the other are not only kidding themselves, but they’re also painfully unoriginal.

Feeling that you had a live bomb in your pocket, you knew you needed to leave the office. Any other spoils would have to go unclaimed. You were certain that you had the jackpot anyway— a secret phone in a vampire's desk was sure to have all sorts of juicy information for you. Even if your memories were wiped, you'd have proof in your possession waiting for you to learn once again.

You sped towards the door, fully prepared to seem 'confused' and 'in search', but you nearly collided with a detective. He instantly frowned, but luckily for you, you recognized him—his face was in your hand. "You!" you said excitedly, though you wanted to vanish into thin air.

You brandished the badge. "I was looking for you. I found this" you handed the item to its rightful owner. At that moment, you realized how to turn suspicion into guilt; some of you're more overbearing family members would be delighted. "I didn't want to leave it with just anyone because I'd imagine it's pretty embarrassing to lose your badge.”

You laid it on thick, eyes wide in false innocence like the liar you knew you could always be. The detective hurriedly took the badge from you with a hushed ‘thank you' and a soft smile. After that, you both went your separate ways. He had a job to do poorly, and you were meant to be on your way home, a place you genuinely wanted to be.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was there that you were able to snoop through Bowman’s mystery phone. The money clip didn't actually hold money. There were some tickets or passes inside, to something you knew nothing about.

What you found on the phone on the other hand, made you immediately regret snooping, but the more you discovered, the more you realized that you had found a way to keep your memories. Not only did you believe that you had found your saving grace, you believed it could keep you in contact with the red-haired woman. Time flew by as you imagined the possibilities. You never saw yourself as a sidekick, but perhaps it would suit you. You hadn't been this interested in someone since high school. Yes, you have had your share of crushes on boys and girls, but you never acted upon them. You were never interested enough to take it further than friendship. You weren’t that interested in knowing about people's lives—but now, you suddenly were. But this wasn’t a crush you reminded yourself, this was just you being reckless and wanting to discover things that didn’t belong to you—to your race.

"Human" the voice was like a purr, but the sudden noise made you jump.

You looked up to see that at some point, the red-haired vampire had entered your apartment. At first, you stammered, wanting to figure out how she'd achieved the feat, but your attention was stolen by the way she stood before you. Wearing a black leather jacket, black t-shirt, black jeans and black boots. She was confident, and you could practically feel the power swirling around her. You knew it was appropriate to be afraid of such a woman, and you were, but you were also captivated by her very existence.

"I have a name" you replied, hoping she'd inquire. You assumed, based on nothing, that it would be harder to kill someone if you knew their name. You wanted the woman to know your name.

“I would assume that you do, but it is unknown to me, so I call you what I know you to be."

"What if I called you 'Vampire'? It seems offensive." you say.

"Only because that is a name given to us by humans and not what I call myself" the woman replied.

Her eyes glanced around the room, studying your living room.

"Wait how did you...aren't I supposed to invite you in?" you asked—certain that you'd heard the rule many, many times. And if it appeared in countless stories and films, it had to be based on something true.

She arched a brow. "I've never understood that one" the woman replied, "as if my legs are bound by a spoken statement. I go where I please. I did tell you to expect me." She walked around the room, touching your things as she clearly studied you. Then she stopped at your library, taking in all of your books. Your most precious possessions.

"How old are you?" you asked abruptly, surprising yourself.

"This is rude" she replied. "You have someone into your home for the first time, and you ask them, 'how old are you?'"

Though her tone was fairly light, you wanted to apologize. Many people would have taken offense to such a question. You'd been impulsive, and it made you nervous that any additional poorly asked questions would put a preemptive end to your plan to endear yourself to the vampire woman. Your jaw began to fumble at the words of your apology.

"The less you know about me, the better." she said whilst she picked a picture from your bookshelf—you watched her look at the photograph with a quizzical expression. It took you a whole ten seconds to spit out another invasive question.

"Do you show up in photographs?"

"Why would I take pictures of myself? So others can find out that I don't age as they do? Why would I do this to myself?" she asked.

"But you could? If you wanted to?"

"You've been watching the fairy tales, darling" the woman said, slightly chiding you in her faint Eastern European accent. The pet name made you flinch. It sounded so good coming from her mouth. Okay, that’s enough. Control yourself, you thought.

"Have you also considered why you were able to see your boss during the day? Surely that must have given you reason for concern."

"Yeah, I did actually. Why is that?" you asked while she stopped examining your household and came near you.

"Human" the vampire said firmly. She seemed unwilling to offer you any genuine or in-depth answers. "You do not seem like a person who has changed their mind."

"Well, about that." You clutched the phone in both of your hands. "I got a hold of Bowman’s phone. Not the one he used for business, but one he had hidden in his desk, in a secret compartment. You would think the police would have found it before me, but they didn’t." you said with a proud smile.

The woman was next to you, the phone in her hand before you could utter another syllable. You spoke to her as you remained at her side. Even the shock of her speed didn't deter you—you wanted to stand beside her. It gave you the opportunity to really take in the features of her face.

"He's been in contact with others. They've been rounding up humans to trade for a fighting ring, and what I'm assuming is a slave trade. If you're worried about sloppy vampires getting found out, this is probably something you'd want to look into" you said.

By the way the woman looked at you, you could tell that she wasn't buying your selfless informant act. "How did you find this?"

"I told you…he had a secret compartment in his desk."

"Why were you in his office?"

She asked something so simple, but you didn't have an answer. You didn't want to lie, but the truth would sound so bad. You'd seem so desperate. You tried to modify the reality to save as much face as possible.

"I was curious to see what happened after I left."

"Please do not make me read your mind" she said arching her left brow again, apparently she seems to do that often, and you seem to notice every small thing about her.

"I’m telling the thruth" you grumbled, as your hand began to rub a phantom neck pain—"I needed to know what happened. Even if it was just for a little while. I went in, and then I heard his phone from some unfound place in his desk. You may not know this about us humans, but we're often slaves to our own curiosity."

Again, you left out the part where you studied the phone like a possessed woman in order to find a bargaining chip. However, you could tell that she knew. Even if she wasn't reading your mind, she could tell you were gearing up to negotiate.

The redhead sat down on your couch—despite meeting her less than twenty-four hours earlier, you'd pictured her on your couch many, many times.

"We knew he was reckless, but this is new information. I do not recognize all of the names here; this is most likely purposeful." The woman looked up from the phone and saw you standing.

"This is your home, sit" she said, smirking at your hesitation. And you did. You followed directions to sit on your own couch. "I assume you want to make a trade for this information"

"You assumed right" you confirmed, "But, I don't want anything tangible. I'd like," You took a breath, "I'd like to keep what I've learned. All of it, I don't want you to take my memories away".

The woman looked at you, she really looked at you. This made you feel vulnerable, exposed, and oddly hopeful. She hadn't immediately told you off for your attempts at being crafty. That had to be a good sign.

"I could take this phone, your memories, and you'd know nothing" she admitted honestly with a small grin.

You fell silent, unable to even hear your breathing.

"Why do you wish to keep this knowledge when I can feel your fear?"

"Truth is truth, and I want to know the truth even if it's terrifying."

"I have seen what this knowledge does to humans, you would not like it. You would assume anyone who acts a certain way is forever living and therefore a potential threat. You'll think you ought to convince someone else so you feel less alone with your information. This knowledge will devour you."

"But at least it would be my choice to make" you responded honestly.

“This knowledge, these truths, can put you in the path of things far more dangerous than you realize; and this knowledge will never be enough for you. You will crave more.” She says with a stern look.

"The truth may set you free, but first it will shatter the mirror you hold to your soul." you murmur with a soft fake smile.

Natasha arches her brow and lips curled into a mischievous smile, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

“It’s a quote from..” before you could finish to explain, Natasha cuts you off “Oscar Wilde, ‘The picture of Dorian Gray’” she interjected smoothly, her tone nonchalant yet laced with subtle amusement. “I noticed it on your shelf earlier”

Her confession caught you off guard, making you realize how observant she truly was. "You noticed?"

“Of course, I notice many things, darling”

Her teasing nickname and confident demeanor added to the mystique that surrounded her, realizing that Natasha's keen perception extended far beyond her supernatural abilities. She was not just a vampire with god knows how many years of experience but someone who paid attention to details that others might overlook.

"Well, I suppose you do" you murmured, a mix of fascination and admiration coloring your voice.

Natasha leaned back against the couch, her gaze holding yours. "So, about your insistence on getting involved..."

You closed your eyes and sighed, "I want to remember for me. If I utter a word of it to anyone else, I give you permission"—you shouldn't, you really should have kept your mouth shut— "to do what you do...to me."

"Kill you, you mean." She murmured whilst another smug smirk appeared on her face. It was almost as if she was enjoying this way too much.

You nodded with a cringe. The woman's face was unchanged as her hand reached out to you.

Gently, she curled her fingers under your jaw and traced your chin with her thumb. Her hand was cool to the touch, but not cold like you assumed she would be. Her eyes were deep pools of green that made it impossible to think of anything else but her presence.

You stopped breathing as her eyes penetrated yours, her fingers gently caressing your chin, sending a shiver down your spine. You had never felt like this, this vulnerable. Her touch was a paradox, firm yet tender, shattering your preconceived notions with every passing second. You would think a vampire wouldn't be this gentle, this soft—but now you realize how little you actually knew about her, and vampires in general. Maybe this was just a facade—you wanted to know more about her though; you ached with an intense desire to truly know her.

“Breathe” she murmured, a soft smile curling at the corners of her lips.

You exhaled sharply, realizing your body had instinctively halted your breath, captivated by the spell of her touch and gaze.

"Human, you're asking for far more than I think you realize. But I will honor your request for now. You did right to give this to me." Your heart felt like it was going to burst from your chest in an extremely dramatic way. "I will take this information back to my people. Did anyone see you get this phone?"

"No, and only one cop saw me in the office. But I had a good excuse to be there"

The woman didn't seem like she approved of the news, but made no efforts to chastise your behavior. She didn't need to, you could feel her disproval. She stood up from your couch, phone in hand. "I'm going to take this. Leaving it here will only draw attention to you. And I worry you may not have been as elusive as you would like."

"You don't know that" you said with a small frown.

Assuredly, the woman replied, "I do." She headed to your front door. "I will be in touch."

"Do you think...I should be worried about the people Bowman was texting?" You asked, trying desperately to seem less concerned with the possibility than you were.

"Yes." She didn't mince words. "But I can take care of them."

Your stomach flipped in your abdomen. "How will you know? How can I get in touch with you?”

"So many questions. You're asking me to trust you, human. I am asking you to do the same without asking so many questions with answers I will not answer."

You said your name, just your name. If the woman was going to return, and if she was going to be concerned with your well-being, she needed a name, and so did you. "That's my name..."

"Figured”— “You may call me, Natasha" she said looking at you intensely one more time, and then she left. She offered no, 'good-bye', but at least you'd gotten a name; a name as gorgeous as she was.

Upon realizing that you had one final question, you hurried into the hall to catch Natasha before she departed. But the door had been a formality, and you found no trace of her.

It didn't matter; by the sound of it, you'd have a few more chances to ask Natasha about herself.

And she would have plenty of opportunities to refuse to answer any your questions.

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

Note:

hello!

this was originally part of the first chapter, but it became too long, so I've decided to split it into a second chapter.

please, let me know if you have something to suggest or to say, because i have literally no idea of what im doing. lol. This is my first attempt at writing after I don’t know how many months or even years…aaand English it’s not even my first language, soo pls bare with me, I can be very paranoid:)

xx

[romanoffshouse]

Secret Santa

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader, Tony Stark x reader, Avengers x reader

Word count: 1060

A/C: Hi everyone! This is a Christmas fic I wrote. Thank you @lives-in-midgard for helping me with this idea. I hope you and everyone else likes how it turned out.

Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It was Christmas time and the avengers decided to play the Secret Santa game this year. Today you all gathered in the living room. Everyone wrote their name on a piece of paper, then they put their name in a bowl and each person picked a name from the bowl. When you saw which person you got, you were really desperate because you got Bruce Banner. You had no idea what to get him. You looked around the room to see the reactions of the others when they looked at their paper. You saw others cheering or smiling because they were happy. Were you the only person, who had no idea what to buy the person you picked? You would have known what to give to others like Natasha, Wanda, and maybe even Bucky.

You thought a lot about it over the next few days but couldn’t come up with an idea of what to get him.

Time passed and there was only one week left, and you still haven’t found a gift. Then an idea crossed your mind. Maybe Tony has an idea what Banner would like, you thought. You went to the lab where Tony was currently working and knocked on the door.

“Hey Tony”

“Hey” he said and looked at you with a smile.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” You said shyly.

“Oh of course not, Come in.” He said and waved you over to him. Tony stopped what he worked on while you walked over to him.

“I wanted to ask you for advice.”

“Since when does someone need advice from me?” Tony joked and you shook your head by this sarcastic joke, but Tony then went serious again.

“How can I help you?”

“It’s about the secret Santa game…I’ve got Bruce and don’t know what to get him.”

“Oh, I have the same problem but with Natasha.” Tony confessed.

“I think I know what you could get her.”

“And I know what Bruce would like.”

“I have an idea. How about you get a gift for Banner, and I'll get one for Natasha?” you suggested.

“That’s a great idea.” Tony agreed with you.

 

It was now finally Christmas, and you were very looking forward to the Christmas dinner at the compound and you were very excited to see which person got you by the Secret Santa game. You hoped that Natasha will like the present you got her and of course that Bruce likes the one Tony got for him.

You went to the living room to place your present under the tree. When you turned around, Natasha suddenly stood in front of you with her present in her hands.

“Hey, y/n.”

“Hey, Nat.”

“Are you also excited to see what you got?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah, definitely and you?”

“Me too, but I hope it’s not something stupid like the thing I got from Thor last year.”

“I bet you get something great.”

“I hope so.”

 

It was time for dinner, and you all gathered in the kitchen to eat the meal Wanda cooked. You were looking for a place to sit when Natasha waved you over to her.

“You can sit here Y/N.” She said and you walked over to her with a smile and then sat on the table next to her.

“Thank you for saving me this seat.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

After dinner you all went to the living room to give each other the gifts. Thor had Peter, Peter had Steve, Steve had Wanda, Wanda had Clint and Clint had Tony.

Then you gave your gift to Bruce. “Thank you so much, Y/N. This is exactly what I wanted.” Bruce said when he opened his gift.

“You’re welcome” you said and smiled at him, but you weren’t exactly sure what it is.

Then it was Tony’s time to give his present to Natasha. When Natasha opened her gift, she began to smile and was so happy about it.

“Thank you so much” she said and gave Tony a hug.

After that it was Natasha’s time. She picked up her present and walked with it over to you.

“This is for you y/n.” She said and handed the present to you.

“Thank you so much Nat.” You said and opened the present. When you saw the book you wanted for a while you began to smile and looked back to her. You thanked her again and then you hugged each other.

 

After everyone gave each other a present you watched a Christmas movie together in the living room. During the movie you looked over at Natasha who had a thoughtful look on her face.

Natasha was thinking about the present she got. She wasn’t sure how Tony knew that she wanted that. She didn’t tell many people about it; she only remembered you.

Then she looked at you and you looked at her at the same moment. You smiled at her, and Natasha smiled back at you.

After the movie ended you went to your bedroom. A few minutes later you heard someone knock on your door. You walked to the door, opened it and saw Natasha standing there.

“Oh, hey Nat come in.” Natasha walked in.

“I wanted to thank you for the present.” Natasha said and you wondered if Tony told her.

“How do you know it’s from me?” You asked.

“Tony would have never known that I like this and you’re also the only person I talked about it. So, I guessed that it is from you.”

“Oh, then you guessed right. It really was from me and I’m really happy you like it.” You said and silence began to grow between you and Natasha.

“Do you maybe want to stay and watch a movie?” You asked because you didn’t want her to leave now.

“Sure.” She said and you both sat down in your bed. You opened Disney + and then looked over to her.

“What movie would you like to watch?” You asked her.

“How about a Christmas movie? You can choose which one.” She said and you decided to choose your favorite Christmas movie. While watching the movie you sat very close to her and after a while you laid your head on her shoulder. Natasha placed her hand around your shoulder. You enjoyed watching the movie, but after a while you fell asleep next to Natasha.