#soft tony stark

[amethystarachnid]

Hi! I absolutely love your work sooo much (especially “LAZY DAY” with Tony) 🥹💕 If it’s okay, could you write a fluff story of Tony and shy fem reader?

This is just an example... She tends to hold back from telling Tony how she really feels, even when she needs him, because she doesn't want to be a bother (even though he’d love to be there for her). One day, she came home feeling down after a long, exhausting day at work without saying a word. But Tony, always so tuned in to her, noticed right away and cheered her up with sweet words, lots of praise, and warm hugs ❤️

Sorry if this is a weird request, and I’m just a beginner in English! Thank you so much for your amazing work 🥰

SAFE ARMS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: romance fluff, tiny bit of angst but more comfort

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5k

ᯓ★ Summary: you aren't used to ask for help, always scared to be a bother for the people around you, but your boyfriend, Tony Stark himself, is ready to change that.

ᯓ★ TW(s): reader is insecure but nothing that need a tw

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

The sun is just beginning to peek through the blinds when you wake up, casting soft, golden beams across Tony’s penthouse. Everything here is sleek, modern, and feels like it belongs in a world you’re still getting used to. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that this is your home now, not just some temporary stay in Tony Stark’s glamorous life.

You turn in bed, expecting to find him beside you. But the sheets are cold, and you know what that means: he’s already up, probably buried in his lab, tinkering with some new piece of tech or fussing over another upgrade to one of his suits. The thought brings a small smile to your face, but it also settles a familiar ache in your chest.

Living with Tony is both exciting and intimidating. He’s never made you feel anything less than wanted here, even if his world feels overwhelming. Even though he’s Tony Stark—a genius, a billionaire, Iron Man—he’s somehow managed to make you feel like you belong in his universe. And yet, there’s a shyness that sticks to you, holding you back from fully opening up. It's not that you don’t trust him; it’s just… well, you’re afraid of being too much, of being a burden, of pulling him away from things that feel so much bigger than you.

You tell yourself that this is the reason you don’t go looking for him right now. After all, he’s probably working on something important; he wouldn’t want to be interrupted. Right?

With a small sigh, you roll out of bed, pulling one of his oversized hoodies around your shoulders. The familiar smell of him, a mix of his cologne and the faint metallic tang of his workshop, wraps around you like a comforting hug. It helps, a little.

Your bare feet make almost no sound as you pad through the penthouse, moving toward the kitchen. A small army of coffee machines stands proudly on the countertop—Tony has never been subtle about his obsession with caffeine. You pick the espresso machine, going through the motions of making yourself a cup and trying not to think about how empty the kitchen feels without him here.

You sip your coffee in silence, leaning against the counter, your thoughts drifting back to last night. Tony had been working late, as usual, and by the time he came to bed, you’d already been half asleep. You hadn’t even really said goodnight. It’s a small thing, but it gnaws at you now, the missed chance to tell him how much he means to you.

As you finish your coffee, you hear a faint hum from downstairs��the familiar, low buzz of Tony’s lab. You can almost picture him there, leaning over one of his projects, brow furrowed in concentration, the soft glow of his tech casting a blue light over his face.

Before you realize what you’re doing, you’re halfway to the lab, hugging his hoodie close. You stop just before the entrance, heart pounding in your chest. You don’t want to bother him. What if he’s in the middle of something crucial?

You turn, ready to head back upstairs, but then you hear his voice.

“You know, you can come in, right?” His tone is light, teasing. You don’t even have to see his face to know he’s smirking.

You feel your cheeks heat up. Caught. But the way he says it makes you feel a little bolder, like maybe it’s okay to want his company.

Stepping into the lab, you find him exactly as you imagined, bent over a small arc reactor, wires and tools scattered around him. He glances up as you walk in, and his smirk softens into a warm smile.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, setting his tools down and straightening up. “Come to help me save the world?”

You chuckle, hugging yourself a little tighter. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Lucky for you, I do,” he teases, stepping closer. He reaches out, a gentle hand tilting your chin up so he can look at you fully. “But, honestly, I’d much rather spend my morning with you.”

His eyes are soft, a little tired, but the way he looks at you never fails to make your heart race. Even after all this time together, it’s hard to believe someone like him could look at you like that, like you’re the most important person in the world.

“Don’t you have… things to do?” You gesture toward the scattered tools, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips at his touch.

“Plenty,” he says, shrugging as if it’s the least important thing. “But I can make time. For you? Always.”

You swallow, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. He says things like that all the time, so casually, but you know he means them. And yet, you can’t quite shake the nagging feeling that you don’t deserve it, that you’re just a distraction from the incredible work he does every day.

Tony watches you, his expression softening even more as he picks up on your hesitation. He’s always been able to read you so easily, seeing right through the walls you try to keep up.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his hand moving to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly along your skin. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You want to tell him, to explain all the things you keep buried—the doubts, the fears, the overwhelming feeling that you’re somehow out of place here, with him. But the words stick in your throat, too heavy to push out.

“It’s nothing,” you say instead, forcing a smile. “I just… didn’t want to bother you.”

His brow furrows, and he studies you in that intense way he has, like he’s trying to decipher a complicated equation. “Bother me?” he repeats, a hint of disbelief coloring his voice. “You could never bother me, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

“I just… you’re always so busy,” you say, your voice quieter than you’d like. “And I know what you do is important. I don’t want to distract you.”

He sighs, his hand dropping from your cheek to take your hand instead, his fingers wrapping around yours warmly. “You’re not a distraction,” he says, his voice low and earnest. “If anything, you’re what keeps me grounded. Reminds me why I do all this in the first place.”

You look down at your joined hands, your heart aching with how much you want to believe him. But that small voice in the back of your mind—the one that insists you don’t belong in his world—won’t quite quiet.

He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, and you finally meet his gaze. There’s something raw and vulnerable in his eyes, something that reassures you that, despite all his bravado, he really means every word.

“Besides,” he says, breaking the silence with a soft smile, “I could use a little distraction now and then. Keeps things interesting.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. He grins, clearly pleased with himself for coaxing a laugh out of you, and pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“See?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead. “This is exactly what I mean. I need this. I need you.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly undoes you. You lean into him, letting his warmth seep into you, and feel some of the tension begin to melt away. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re allowed to want him, to need him. It’s not something you’re used to, but he makes it feel… okay.

“Thank you,” you whisper, the words feeling inadequate but all you can manage. He seems to understand, his hold on you tightening slightly.

“Anytime,” he replies, his voice soft. “You don’t have to thank me, you know. I like being here for you.”

As you stand there, wrapped in his arms, you feel a familiar swell of warmth and contentment. It’s easy to forget about the doubts when you’re here with him, when he holds you like you’re his whole world. You want to stay like this forever, to keep him close and hold onto this feeling.

After a few moments, he pulls back slightly, looking down at you with a gentle smile. “How about we get some breakfast?” he suggests, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Unless you’re in the mood for some early-morning science experiments.”

You shake your head, smiling. “Breakfast sounds nice.”

He nods, taking your hand in his and leading you toward the kitchen. You don’t miss the way he keeps his hand on yours, his thumb tracing soft patterns along your skin, as if he’s reminding you that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere.

In the kitchen, he moves around easily, gathering ingredients, cracking jokes about his questionable cooking skills, though you know he’s actually a pretty decent cook when he puts his mind to it. You watch him, a soft smile playing on your lips as he makes his way through the routine with a surprising amount of focus.

As you sit together, sipping coffee and sharing bites of scrambled eggs, the silence between you is comfortable. And for once, you don’t feel like you need to say anything more. His presence alone is enough to chase away any lingering doubts, even if only for a little while.

You walk through the front door, shoulders slumped, heels clicking softly against the floor as you make your way into the penthouse. The apartment is dimly lit, a golden glow spilling from the tall floor lamps that line the hallway, giving the whole space a quiet, warm ambience. But tonight, the usual comfort it offers feels far away, unreachable. Work had been a marathon of stress—a heavy, seemingly unending to-do list combined with a particularly harsh round of feedback from your boss. All you want is to disappear into bed and leave this day behind.

As you move into the living room, your tired eyes scan the familiar space, hoping Tony’s already in his lab or engrossed in some project. It’s not that you don’t want to see him. You do, more than anything. But you feel raw, your emotions precariously close to spilling over, and you don’t want to worry him with this heavy weight you’re carrying. You tell yourself it’s better if you deal with it alone.

But, like always, Tony surprises you.

You’re barely three steps in when you hear him. “Hey, gorgeous.” His voice is low, gentle, and immediately makes you stop in your tracks. You look over, and there he is, standing by the kitchen island, casually leaning against it with his usual effortless charm, a small smile tugging at his lips.

His gaze softens as he takes in your appearance. You’re not exactly hiding how tired you are, and the moment he sees the weariness etched on your face, his expression shifts. His smile fades, replaced by a look of concern.

He’s in front of you before you even realize it, his hands reaching out to rest gently on your shoulders. “Tough day?” he asks softly, his thumb stroking comfortingly along your arm.

You nod, swallowing down the lump that’s been building in your throat. “Something like that,” you manage, trying to force a small smile, but it barely reaches your eyes.

Tony’s brows knit together, and he studies you intently for a moment, taking in every detail, every sign of exhaustion, of stress. He knows you well enough to see through the act, to recognize the way your shoulders slump just a little more than usual, the slight downturn of your mouth that you’re trying to hide.

Without a word, he slips one arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, and with his other hand, he cradles the back of your head, holding you to his chest. His scent—clean, with that hint of metal and machinery that always lingers around him—fills your senses, and you let out a shuddering breath, finally allowing yourself to relax, if only a little.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice a warm rumble against your ear. “You’re home now. You don’t have to keep it together here.”

The words are simple, but the way he says them, so soft and sincere, chips away at the wall you’ve built around yourself today. Your shoulders sag, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning fully into him, letting his strength hold you up.

Tony’s hand rubs soothing circles along your back, and you can feel him swaying slightly, as though he’s rocking you, trying to melt away the tension that clings to you.

“You know, I was going to ask about your day,” he says, his tone light, almost playful. “But something tells me it wasn’t exactly a five-star experience.”

A humorless laugh escapes you, and you nod against his chest. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“Thought so.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands moving to cup your face. His thumbs brush away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen, and his eyes meet yours, full of a warmth that feels like it’s wrapping around you, even more comforting than the physical closeness.

“Listen,” he says, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that he reserves only for you, “you know you’re incredible, right? Like… undeniably, unbeatably, ridiculously amazing.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes a little, even as your lips twitch into a tiny smile. “Tony…”

“No, no, don’t ‘Tony’ me,” he interrupts, grinning slightly. “I’m serious. They’re lucky to have you. They’re damn lucky. And if they can’t see that, then they clearly don’t know what they’re doing.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache in the best way, and you feel another tear slip down your cheek. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. It’s all you can manage, but the gratitude in those two words is enough to make him lean forward and press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Come here.” He guides you over to the couch, still holding you close. He sits down first, then pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you as if he can shield you from all the worries of the world. “Now, I want you to tell me everything, but first… let’s get you a little more comfortable, okay?”

With a gentle tug, he pulls a soft throw blanket around your shoulders, tucking it securely around you. You settle against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours, and let out a long, shaky breath.

For a few minutes, you don’t say anything. Tony doesn’t push, doesn’t try to make you talk. He simply holds you, his fingers running soothingly through your hair, tracing little patterns along your shoulder. Slowly, bit by bit, the tension that’s been coiled tightly within you begins to unwind.

Finally, you begin to tell him about your day, about the endless meetings and the impossible deadlines and the feeling that no matter how much you give, it’s never quite enough. You tell him about the criticism, the way it felt like a blow to the chest, and how you’d spent the rest of the day doubting yourself, questioning if you were really cut out for this job.

He listens, his face a mixture of empathy and frustration, his hand never stopping its comforting rhythm. When you finish, he’s quiet for a moment, his gaze intense as he processes everything you’ve told him.

“Alright, first of all,” he begins, his voice firm but gentle, “none of this—none of it—means you’re anything less than extraordinary. I know it’s hard to see that right now, but you need to know it. You’re one of the most capable, hardworking, and downright brilliant people I know, and anyone who says otherwise clearly doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

A tear slips down your cheek, and Tony wipes it away, his thumb lingering on your skin. “I mean it,” he continues, his tone softening. “You’re allowed to have bad days, but don’t ever think that one rough day—or even a hundred—defines who you are. You’re incredible, and you don’t have to prove that to anyone.”

You can’t help the small, shaky smile that tugs at your lips. “Thank you, Tony. I… I needed to hear that.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good. Because I’m not done yet.”

You chuckle, feeling the weight on your chest ease a little more. He shifts slightly, so you’re facing him, his hands still cradling your face as he looks at you with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“I need you to know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “that you’re not alone in this. You have me, always. And I’ll be here, on the days that feel impossible and the days that feel amazing and every single day in between. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, okay?”

The tears come more freely now, but this time, they’re mixed with relief, with gratitude, with the overwhelming feeling of being truly seen, truly loved. “Thank you,” you whisper again, your voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” he replies, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, lingering kiss, as if he’s pouring all the reassurance, all the comfort, all the love he has for you into that one, tender moment. You sink into it, feeling your worries and doubts melt away, if only for a little while.

When he pulls back, he studies your face, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “How about a little pampering tonight?” he suggests, his tone warm, playful. “You’ve had a rough day, and I happen to have a few ideas for how to make it better.”

A small laugh escapes you, and you nod, leaning your forehead against his. “That sounds… perfect.”

He grins, kissing the tip of your nose before he stands, carefully lifting you in his arms. You let out a surprised laugh, clinging to his shoulders as he carries you into the bathroom. He sets you down gently, and you watch as he begins filling the large, luxurious bathtub with warm water, adding your favorite bath oils, the ones that smell like lavender and vanilla.

When he’s done, he turns to you, his eyes warm and gentle. “Go on,” he says, nodding toward the tub. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

You smile, the weight on your chest almost completely lifted now, and slip into the warm, soothing water. As you sink down, feeling the stress and tension dissolve, you can’t help but feel a sense of overwhelming gratitude for him, for his love, for the way he always seems to know exactly what you need.

After a while, you hear a soft knock on the door,

and you smile as Tony peeks in, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. “Thought you might want some company,” he says, his voice soft and tentative, as though he’s giving you the option to say no.

“Come on in,” you reply, your heart warming at the sight of him.

He sits on the edge of the tub, placing the tea within reach, and opens the book, reading softly to you as you soak. His voice is a comforting background, and you close your eyes, letting the words wash over you.

When you finally step out of the bath, he’s there, wrapping a towel around you and pulling you into his arms once more. “Feel a little better?” he asks, his tone gentle.

You nod, smiling up at him. “A lot better, actually. Thank you, Tony. For… everything.”

He brushes a damp strand of hair from your face, his expression tender. “Anytime, sweetheart. You’re worth it. Every single bit.”

In that moment, you know that no matter how hard the days get, you’ll never have to face them alone. And that’s more than enough.

Over time, something shifts within you. At first, it’s subtle—a moment here and there where you catch yourself hesitating, wondering if you should share your thoughts, your concerns, the little pieces of your day that feel too insignificant to mention. But then you remember the way Tony looked at you that night, the way he held you close, told you you’d never be a bother to him, and slowly, that hesitance starts to fade.

The shift is gradual, like the way daylight slowly warms the early morning sky. You don’t wake up one day suddenly unburdened by your worries. Instead, it’s the little things, small instances where you catch yourself reaching out, sharing something with him that you might have once kept to yourself. And each time, his response is the same—warm, attentive, and never anything but patient. The more you share, the more you feel a weight you hadn’t even realized you were carrying begin to lift.

One evening, after another long day, you’re sitting on the couch, thumbing absently through your phone, waiting for him to finish up in the lab. Normally, you’d keep to yourself, not wanting to intrude on his work time. But tonight, something is different. You remember the way he’d told you he wanted to know everything, even the little things, and you feel a gentle nudge inside yourself to let him in, to trust that he means it.

So, instead of waiting in silence, you pick up your phone and shoot him a quick message:

“Hey, I’m out here missing you. How’s it going in the lab?”

It’s a small step, but it feels significant. Not even a minute later, you hear his phone chime, followed by the sound of his quick footsteps coming down the hall. He appears in the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel, a curious grin on his face.

“You missing me, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes alight with playful warmth. “Well, in that case, the lab can wait.”

You laugh, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. He crosses the room and sits beside you, slipping an arm around your shoulders as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The fact that you reached out, that you asked for him instead of waiting in silence, feels like another small triumph, a step toward something better, something more open.

Over the next few weeks, you find yourself testing this new sense of freedom more and more. At first, it’s little things—telling him about a frustrating conversation at work, venting about the coworker who talks too loudly on phone calls, or sharing a funny meme that you know will make him laugh. He listens, reacts, and responds with the same steady interest, the same comforting warmth, as if there’s nothing in the world he’d rather do than sit and hear you talk about your day.

Then, on a quiet Saturday night, you reach another milestone without even realizing it. You’re lying together on the couch, your head resting on his chest as he absentmindedly traces patterns along your arm. You feel safe, calm, and in a moment of vulnerability, you decide to share a worry that’s been nagging at you.

“Tony,” you begin, hesitating as you search for the right words. He hums, a gentle sound of encouragement, his gaze steady on you as he waits for you to continue.

“I’ve been… worrying about my performance at work,” you admit softly. “I know I do a good job, but sometimes I feel like I’m not as capable as everyone thinks. Like, any day now, they’re going to figure out I’m a fraud.”

You’d never have admitted this before, would have held it tight, afraid that voicing it would make it real. But here, in his arms, under his reassuring gaze, you feel safe enough to let it out.

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you worry that you’ve said too much, that maybe this is one of those things he doesn’t want to hear. But then, he shifts, sitting up slightly so he can look directly into your eyes.

“You’re serious?” he asks, his voice laced with genuine surprise. “Y/N, that couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re incredibly talented—you’re doing a great job because you are great at what you do. Do you have any idea how impressive you are to me?”

You bite your lip, feeling the usual wave of doubt, but his words are grounding, steadying you. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze filled with a sincerity that makes your heart race.

“And even if you did stumble—because let’s be real, everyone does sometimes—you’d still be amazing. You’re allowed to have moments of doubt, but don’t let them make you forget how incredibly talented you are.” He pulls you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Besides, anyone who can put up with me is automatically a superhero in my book.”

His lightheartedness draws a laugh from you, and you feel a weight lift from your shoulders. His faith in you is unwavering, and bit by bit, you find yourself starting to believe in it, too.

After that, opening up becomes a little easier. When you’re feeling overwhelmed, instead of bottling it up, you find yourself seeking him out, talking things through rather than sitting in silence. You start leaving little notes for him around the house—sticky notes on his desk, text messages while he’s working, small reminders of the way you feel, of your gratitude and love.

One evening, after an especially stressful day, you come home and immediately collapse onto the couch, letting out a long sigh. Tony’s head pops around the corner a moment later, a curious grin on his face.

“Rough day?” he asks, coming over to sit beside you, his hand immediately finding yours.

You nod, squeezing his hand. “One of those days where nothing went right,” you admit, sinking into the couch with a groan. Normally, you’d put on a brave face, act as though it didn’t bother you, but tonight, you feel safe enough to let him see the truth.

He chuckles softly, pulling you into his side. “Well, lucky for you, I have the perfect solution,” he announces, his voice filled with that familiar mischief.

Before you can ask what he means, he’s standing up, tugging you along with him into the kitchen. He moves around with practiced ease, grabbing ingredients from the fridge and pantry as he explains his plan.

“We’re making pizza from scratch,” he declares, rolling up his sleeves. “Trust me, nothing takes the edge off a bad day like smashing some dough around. Plus, I happen to know a certain someone who loves pizza.”

You laugh, feeling a flicker of excitement push back against the fatigue. Together, you roll out the dough, sprinkle on toppings, and laugh as flour ends up on both of your faces. It’s messy, fun, and by the time the pizza is in the oven, you realize you’ve completely forgotten about your bad day.

As the pizza bakes, you sit at the kitchen island, resting your head on your hand, watching him with a soft smile. The gratitude you feel in this moment is almost overwhelming, and for once, you don’t hold back.

“Thank you, Tony,” you say softly, reaching out to take his hand. “For… for all of this. For always being there.”

He looks at you, his expression shifting from playful to sincere in an instant. “Always,” he promises, giving your hand a squeeze. “And, hey, thanks for letting me be there. I love that you’re opening up to me more. It means a lot.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. It’s a reminder that this is a two-way street, that your openness matters to him as much as his support does to you.

The more time passes, the more natural it becomes. You talk about everything now—your fears, your hopes, your triumphs, and your failures. The walls you’d once held up so carefully have crumbled, replaced by a new sense of trust and security that you never thought possible.

One night, you find yourself lying in bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He’s already half-asleep, his breathing slow and even, but you reach over, slipping your hand into his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, Tony?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He stirs, squeezing your hand in return. “Yeah?”

There’s a long pause as you gather your thoughts, trying to find the words to express the depth of your gratitude. “I just… I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. For… helping me feel safe enough to be myself with you.”

He turns toward you, his eyes soft and filled with a tenderness that takes your breath away. “You don’t ever have to thank me for that,” he says, his voice gentle. “I love you for exactly who you are. And I’m just glad you’re letting me in.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. In his embrace, you feel a profound sense of belonging, a feeling of being loved and accepted completely, and for the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to believe it fully.

if you liked the story leave a like and a reblog and drop a follow if you want to read more! <3

[defenestrationinc]

i believe lemony snicket was a loki variant

every day for the month of their anniversary, tony found a single sentence written in loki's calculated calligraphy on a paper. it varied the place, but was always set just where he would notice it in his next glance. they had a number at the bottom corner.

he tried to approach loki but the god would simply smile and hold a lone finger to his lips. "delayed gratification is always worth the wait,"

tony dutifully stored the letters in his workshop desk drawer. evry morning he would roll over and be excited to meet loki's eyes, and would try to guess the content of the day's message. he was always wrong.

at the end of the month, tony gathered the letters and pinned them to the wall of the living room and stood back, taking in the love stored in each single letter.

his gift of cufflinks made from arc reactor metal seem a bit lackluster now. this was a breadth of thoughtfulness of loki's heart.

loki though, thought that the actual pieces of tony's actual heart were worth more than any words on a piece of paper.

[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

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #87: Percy Jackson, but make it MCU

Look, I didn't want to come up with yet another crazy PJO crossover, but here I am. Because instead of just coming up with the lightest, fluffiest, gayest PJO romance possible - which is what I wanted - I had to turn it into an MCU identity reveal fic too.

Or: What if post-ToA Percy Jackson was Peter Parker's caseworker following Aunt May's untimely death?

aka the I would stay forever fic

Just imagine it:

Tony Stark first meets Percy Jackson in the ICU of Metropolitan General the day after Peter and his aunt are caught in a terrible subway accident. May dies on scene. Even with his advanced healing, Peter is badly injured and taken to the nearest hospital - where it quickly becomes apparent he's Enhanced. It takes about 24 hours for the news to make its way to Tony, who immediately storms the hospital with the intention of taking Peter back to his Tower to heal-

-only to be told Peter's not going anywhere by the social worker assigned to the case.

This is remarkable for many reasons, not the least because the social worker is an unassuming, overworked 27-year-old wearing Finding Nemo socks and a faded Save the Oceans t-shirt. That the case worker - Percy Jackson - stands his ground in the face of Iron Man's wrath is even more remarkable, but Tony is forced to admit the kid has a point: he can't just let someone without any obvious connection to a minor walk off with said minor, particularly when that minor is Enhanced.

It takes Tony a couple days to get his ducks in a row, proving that he is not only able and willing to take in Peter, but is the one his aunt wanted to take care of him in the event something happened to her. During that time he has JARVIS research everything he can on Percy (lives in a Central Park penthouse owned by his long-time boyfriend, a successful music producer; volunteers for a NPO started by his best friend dedicated to restoring the wild; brief stint as the youngest ever on the FBI's most wanted, etc), but finds nothing to suggest he's anything other than a social worker trying to do what's best for his charges.

Percy becomes a semi-regular fixture at the Tower. At first it's just business, checking in on how Peter is doing and facilitating the foster care/adoption paperwork. Later it becomes something akin to friendship, with Percy being utterly unimpressed by Tony's fame but remarkably charmed by his inventions and philanthropic efforts. (He also comes to have strong feelings about the Rogues and their actions during the Civil War once he learns of them, helping Tony to see their betrayal for what it is. This alone makes him one of Rhodey and Pepper's favorite people.)

This goes on for quite some time - though I see this as happening post-CACW, we don't jump straight into the Infinity War, with there being several years wherein the Accords are ratified, the Rogues found and tried for their actions in the Civil War, and for the most part allowed to return to the Avengers on a probationary basis - until Thor finally arrives with news of Thanos' impending arrival.

Only Percy happens to be visiting when Thor arrives and the Avengers naturally have questions after Thor addresses him as Prince Perseus.

The truth of Percy's identity comes out in fits and starts (demigod son of Poseidon, saved the world a couple times, ascended to become God of Heroes, Natural Disasters, and Poison as well as Patron God of New York City; has been dating Apollo since he was fourteen; yes, is actually a social worker, albeit one who takes cases across the country to protect demigods and Enhanced), which is not helped by Thor (who can't help but comment on what he knows of Percy's heroics) or Apollo (who shows up after Percy texts an SOS but can't help but talk up his boyfriend either.)

The Infinity War still happens, albeit rather differently than in canon - perhaps Thanos turns out to be a disgruntled child or sibling of Gaia out for revenge, justifying Greek/Roman interference? But the details don't really matter as much as the identity reveal.

And... that's really all I have with regards to plot. But there should be a lot of character moments leading up to the reveal that hint at who Percy really is but which don't form a coherent narrative until the truth is revealed.

Bonuses include:

The softest, fluffiest romance possible for Apollo and Percy, with the pair more or less falling head over heels at first sight at the start of TTC, having their first kiss at the party at the end of the book, and dating throughout the rest of the Titan War. Apollo goes absolutely batshit insane when Percy goes missing at the start of HOO and breaks out of Olympus to crash the Senate meeting at the end of SoN and check on his boyfriend, and eventually gets made mortal for helping too much during the Giant War. The broad strokes of ToA occur with Percy fighting at his now-mortal boyfriend's side, and Percy ascends to godhood when Apollo regains his. There's some tension (Zeus is not happy about his firstborn son's choice of lover, fearing overthrow; Poseidon fears Apollo will end up breaking Percy's heart, but softens after Percy ascends and his chance of becoming a flower diminishes; many CHB campers think Percy's mad for dating a god, etc) but for the most part it should be as fluffy as circumstances allow.

Percy having been really obvious about his background, but in ways that seem reasonable ("How did you meet your boyfriend?" "I was at a really bad party when a friend ended up calling her brother to pick us up early. I fell in love with his car and then with him.") or like jokes ("Those sea turtles really seem to like you." "I like them too." "I guess they're kind of cute." "Excellent conversationalists too.") until the full truth comes out; and

Thor attempting to make up for blowing Percy's cover in dramatic (and hilarious) ways. This should include the gift of at least one native Asgardian water plant ("Dude, have you never heard of invasive species?") and end in a bakery's worth of Asgardian baked goods.

And that's all I have, though given the way this has been living rent-free in my head all week there may be more. As always feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do anything with it.

More PJO Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

[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

[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?"

[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.

[huffelpuff210]

Fighter part 11 Alpha Steve Roger’s x Alpha Bucky Barnes x Alpha Tony stark x omega reader

you were in the nursery humming to yourself as you folded the pink clothes you got from the baby shower, you are now pregnant with your fifth child this one finally a girl,

Your alphas kept their promise of keeping you pregnant, but now that you have four rambunctious boys, you couldn’t be happier sure there are days when your fighting spirit gets the better of you and your alphas need to put you back in place,

But seeing the twins for the first time you never knew what love was really about until you had them, it was a difficult pregnancy and birth but your alphas got you through it,

The twins, grant and James looked exactly like their fathers, they are strong and stubborn five year olds, Howard looks like Tony except for he’s got your eyes, and Noah looks exactly like you, all of the boys are exactly one year apart,

“Mommy?” You felt a tug on your leg

You looked down at Noah

“What is it sweetheart?” You asked stooping down it was a bit hard since you were six months pregnant,

“Someone is at the door.” He says

This concerned you it was almost eight at night you were at the house off site from the towers meaning it was a house just for your family, the alpahs didn’t want you alone in your current state but you assured them you would be fine,

“Okay.” You say with a smile

With one hand on your belly and the other holding Noah’s hand you both walk down the stairs,

“Why don’t you tell your brothers it’s time to get ready for bed okay.” You say

Noah smiles,

“Okay mommy!” He runs off,

You open the door and your heart dropped you stood there frozen,

“Hello sweetheart,”

It was your father and four brothers,

“After all this time we finally found you.” Your father says with an intense glare you could feel your heart hammering against your chest,

All the hell these men put you through, the abuse, the torture all of it ,

Your alphas asked you about your family a few times, you just told them you don’t talk to them shutting down the conversation,

You knew you were terrified but the other part told you to protect your family,

Your fathers eyes landed on your pregnant belly,

“Seems like you’ve made quite the life here huh… omega.” He says making the omega sound like venom

“What do you want?” You asked crossing your arms

They all smirked,

“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Your brother asked

“No.” You said sternly

They all growled but you didn’t even flinch, the only growls you react to are your alphas and sometimes that doesn’t work,

“Are you done?” You asked they were a bit taken back,

You were all in a glaring contest when grant came running downstairs you looked over your shoulder,

“Grant get your brothers and go to your room now.” You say he stopped in his tracks he seen your eyes glowing he knew something was wrong and ran upstairs locking his door and dialing his father’s number

“Hello?” Steve sounded confused because he was him, Tony and Bucky were in a meeting when his phone rang he seen it was the house phone,

He put it on speaker,

“Dad something is wrong with mom!” Grant says

They all stood up at first they thought she was going into labor early again,

“there were these four alphas at the door and mom looked scared and her eyes were glowing” he says

All three alphas growled

“We’re on our way, don’t do anything okay.” Tony say

Suddenly there was a loud crashing sound heard in the background

“Hurry!” Grant yelled and hung up

[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.

[meidui]

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

[hainethehero]

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