#didn't double check formatting bear with me

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR THREE

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.7k+

→ a/n: quick question - would you guys like me to include chapter summaries at the beginning of each chapter? is that a thing we'd like lol? lemme know! quick edit: totally forgot to thank @boomhauer for the genius idea of the flip phone!!

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

3:00 ──ㅇ──────────────── 24:00

HOUR THREE - 6:00 PM

The pounding on the door is frenetic, nonstop as you stand and make no move to unlock it. It doesn’t take long before Eddie starts to beg.

He tries to repeatedly say your name at first, over and over, voice pathetic and cracking by the seventh time. 

“Just open the door!” he finally shouts in frustration, “I- It’s- Those are private!” 

You look down at the open spread once more, shaking your head, the deviant smile never once leaving your face. “What’s the magic word?”

“Magic word? I- Jesus Christ, you’re fucking impossible!” 

“Sorry,” you say, taking a few steps closer to the door, “‘Fraid it’s none of those.” 

The same thumping from before sounds as Eddie sighs deeply enough for you to hear, and you realize he’s lightly banging his forehead against the door now. 

You start to feel bad, honestly. It was an invasion of his privacy, and if the roles were reversed, you’d be fuming. Kindness wasn’t something you offered to the likes of Eddie, and if he had ever locked you out of your own bedroom and raided your own stash of personal porn, you’d be downright hateful. 

But then you remember his words. 

“Why my friends are so enamored with you, I will never understand.”

Maybe he deserves this. Maybe he deserves all the hatefulness and spitefulness you can manage. 

The two sides of your brain bicker, and Eddie continues to thump his head against the door. It’s a losing battle as the kinder part of you wins over. 

You take a step closer to the door, until the wood is all that separates the two of you, “Try again.” 

Your voice is softer and gentler, and not quite as teasing. 

The banging ceases. 

He doesn’t speak for a few moments and you begin to worry that he walked away. That this latest game of cat and mouse has ended, that he’s decided you aren’t worth the trouble. You don’t understand the pang in your chest at the idea – it’s not like this was supposed to be fun. Arguing with Eddie was something that ruined your day, that always strung out your last nerves and led to you grinding your teeth in your sleep. He had just shot to kill with his words to you; you shouldn’t be on the other side of a wooden door with a fickle spark of hope that he’s still waiting for you. 

“Please,” he says in monotone, almost a hint of pain as if to spit the word out was like pulling blood from stone. 

The spark of hope vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared. Already forgotten.

You open the door reluctantly, still gripping the open and curled magazine in your fist, “The magic word was sorry.” 

He wasn’t expecting you to give up so quickly, clear as his head snaps up and he looks over you with genuine shock. 

“Sorry?” he echoes, “You’re the one who stormed my room and stole my… magazine.” 

“And I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t such an asshole.” 

His eyebrows disappear behind his disheveled bangs. “Because I said that I… I wouldn’t care if you disappeared?” 

It’s more than that. You both know it. He says it with restraint, he pauses because he knows that that wasn’t the comment that struck you hardest. 

“I’m sorry,” he swallows his pride with surprising ease, straightening up, “I assumed the feeling was mutual.” 

“Well, it’s not.” 

“You wouldn’t celebrate my death?” 

There it was. You’re surprised he’s even willing to repeat the words. Acknowledging them is the first step, you suppose. 

You want to say no, but instead settle on, “I wouldn’t tell you to your face.” 

You wouldn’t even think it to begin with. Because while Eddie was awful to you, he wasn’t a bad person. You’d seen his ability to play nice with others, to treat others with the respect that they deserved. For some odd reason, you were the only exception when it came to him. Even the strangers that he’d keep up a brooding act with had never met the sharpness of his tongue when he was within proximity to you. 

He opens his mouth, but you don’t think you can stomach an insincere apology, so you lift the magazine into both your views instead, “Whatever. It’s water under the bridge. I’m far more intrigued by this now.” 

The moment he catches sight of the laminated photo, his expression goes from something similar to remorse to a full-fledged blush. Eddie Munson is blushing because you’re holding his Playboy magazine.

His hand shoots out for it, but you’re faster than him, pulling it out of his reach with ease, “Nope! Not so fast, Munson.” 

“Give that bac-” he starts with ardent desperation, following you with each step back you take.

You shake your head and hide the magazine behind your back, “Over my dead body.” 

He goes rigid, as if it reminds him of his cruel words, before his efforts double. There’s no hesitation in occupying your space as he begins to reach behind you to snatch back the private item. 

You’re not quite sure how it happens. It’s a quick succession of mistakes made on both of your parts; he’s grown too determined to get the Playboy back in his grasp, and your mind is solely focused on keeping it away from him. You don’t notice the way your two bodies shuffle farther into the room as you struggle with him. You don’t notice when your knees hit the edge of his mattress. Neither of you do. 

Not until it’s too late. 

One moment, you’re standing upright and Eddie’s arms are wrapping around you. The next, your back is connecting with soft sheets that erupt in the scent of boy upon impact, the entirety of Eddie’s weight now on top of you with a hand trapped beneath your lower back. 

He lets out a soft oof directly into your chest. 

Directly into your boobs. 

Both of you freeze, unsure of what to do. The magazine has fallen to your side, opening to a different marked page, but you can’t even turn your head to properly see it. 

The warmth of him suffocates you, twisting your gut as it sinks into your skin.  You can feel his heartbeat drumming in his ribcage against your own. Racing, racing, racing. Just like your own.

“Get off me,” you grunt, shoving at his shoulders to roll him off of you, the closeness suddenly too much. If you two stay this way a second long, you’re sure you may die. 

As he does lift off of you, still looking aghast, his hand remains pinned against your back. Your shirt had ridden up ever so slightly, a sliver of skin exposed that his palm brushes. It sends shockwaves up your spine. 

Without his weight caging you in, you’re quick to leap back onto your feet, away from him and away from his touch. Your movement must break whatever spell of embarrassment he had been lost in, because Eddie is just as quick as he searches for the Playboy and grabs it so roughly the pages might rip. 

You catch a glimpse of the second marked page. The similarities remain. It could have been the same model, for all you know.

You tell yourself that that’s what it is. It’s not a matter of the model looking like you. Eddie just has a thing for that specific model. It’s all left to chance that you share similar features, that the plush of her thighs resemble yours and that your hips follow the same curve as hers. It’s a coincidence. 

“I can’t believe yo-” you begin to chastise him, chest heaving still as you glare down at him. It must be a residual symptom of anger, of shock. The way your heart hammers is out of contempt. It has to be.

He cuts you off, “That was not my fault.” 

“You were being an…. a….” you falter. You can’t think straight.

“An asshole?” he supplies, sitting up now and looking at you with expectancy. 

Why was it so hard to find your words? This was a dance you’d done a thousand times before with Eddie – the fighting, the bickering, the hurting of feelings and the absence of genuine apologies. What changed? 

His body against yours. The brush of his breath on your chest. His weight firm between your- 

You cut off the ridiculous thoughts and focus on him, “Yes. You were an asshole.” 

He scoffs, “Yeah, well, you’ve already mentioned that. Next time, don’t go through my shit.” 

If you weren’t still recovering, you’d bring up the model looking like you. If you were in your right mind, you’d take that gift from the Universe and put it to good use, sending the dagger straight into his back. 

But your mind has gone hazy for the time being. It swirls with hesitancy and confusion and why the fuck weren’t you laying it into him right now? Where the fuck were you usual words of viciousness? 

“If you’re done staring me down with evil eyes,” he sighs and nods to the clock, “Nancy said we have to send a picture this hour. Or no cash, bet’s off.” 

At first, you’re beyond belief he can brush past it all so easily. It’s damning that it’s only affecting you so vehemently. But then you take a moment to glance over him, to really look at the boy sat on the bed before you.

He’s still blushing, violently so. Rosey cheeks and red nose, his neck aflame with the evidence that he’s not brushing it off. He’s avoiding it. He’s avoiding talking about the magazine, just as he’s avoiding talking about the position the two of you had just been in, just as he avoided apologizing for cruel words spoken so casually. Eddie Munson is avoidant to a dangerous degree. 

“Okay,” you finally supply in defeat. Even if he wasn’t avoiding the topics, what is there to say? 

Oh, hey. I can’t fucking think straight because that’s the closest we’ve ever been after a year of hating each other, and I have no idea why. Care to explain? 

He stands and moves out of the room, down the hallway, to the living room. He doesn’t even check to make sure you follow. You have to pause to grab your phone off of the ground before you’re speedwalking to catch up with him. 

It’s stupid. It’s stupid and ridiculous. 

“So how are we doing this?” he asks once you’re both in the living room. He’s already sitting down on the end of the couch that he’d taken to the first few hours, looking everywhere but you. “Do we just, like, send a photo? Do we take separate photos?” 

“They want a selfie,” you inform him as if he hadn’t been in the room during all of the discussions of the limitations of this bet. As if he hadn’t encouraged it, even.

He nods to your phone clutched in your sweaty palm, “Let’s get it over with, then.” 

“Remind me again why it has to be my phone?” you question, deciding to sit on the opposite end of the couch. As long as you both were visible in the photo, it should be fine. “You have a phone, too. I know you do - Nancy called you.” 

“I do have a phone,” he nods, watching as you unlock your cell and tap until you’ve opened the camera app, “It’s just not a smart phone.” 

You stop all actions, looking up from where you’d just flipped to the front camera setting, “What?”

“I don’t have a smart ph-”

“I heard what you said. What the fuck do you have then? Do you just communicate with two tin cans and a string?” 

He rolls his eyes, but his hand is still moving to his pocket, tugging out a small flip phone, “No, I just have a phone.”

It’s black and shiny, downright tiny as it sits carefully in the palm of his hand on show for you. You have to bite back your laughter. 

“Oh my God. Why do you have a flip phone? Jesus Christ, what year is it?” 

“Fuck off,” he quips, fingers curling around the phone protectively, “I just… I don’t like all the technology and shit. It can get overwhelming, but this?” he holds up the phone for emphasis, gripping it loosely between his pointer finger and thumb as he waves it around, “This is simple. This doesn’t need a new update every week, or to be replaced every year for the shiniest model, or-”

You reach over and snatch the phone from him, and his hand is still frozen in midair, fingers still pinched from where they’d held the phone, “Oh, what’s this? I think it’s ringing. Let me get that for you,” you dramatically flip the phone open, taking some glee in the nostalgic action before bringing the phone up to your ear and humming tauntingly. Eddie still makes no move to stop you, face contorting in bitter amusement at your unexpected antics, “Yeah? Uh huh, okay. I’ll tell him,” it’s even more fun than you remember to snap the phone shut with one hand. It almost has you reconsidering joining Eddie’s anti-technology cause. You face him and try to pull a straight face, but you can’t help laughing at your own joke before you even finish it, “It was the early 2000’s. They’re calling because they want their prehistoric technology back.” 

You’re giggling at yourself as Eddie sucks in a deep breath. He’s about to break, you know he is. The corners of his mouth are twitching terribly, so you go in for the kill. Not the type of kill you had expected to be delivering tonight, but a kill all the same. 

“Also, I had to put the 80’s on hold. I think they’re calling to ask for their hair back,” you nod towards his dark curls, wild and frizzy around his face. 

That’s all it takes for him to break. Right before your eyes, the stoic and cold front that Eddie Munson had put up crumbles. A smile breaks out across his lips, slowly spreading as he shakes his head and his shoulders shake with the effort to withhold any actual laughs from escaping him. 

He has dimples. You’d never noticed that before.

“Fuck off,” he says with a voice still wavering from unheard laughter. You can’t recall a single time before in which he’d said those words to you in such a lighthearted tone. 

“I’m serious,” you press on, still caught up on his dimples, “I think it might be Jon Bon Jovi himself!” 

He snorts. The battle against the laughter is lost as the apartment fills with your childish giggles. 

“My hair is way better than that old assh-” he’s cut off by the sudden buzzing from your phone on the couch. It effectively shatters whatever resemblance of a moment the two of you were having, and you push back the disappointment at that. 

If it hadn’t been the phone, it would have been something else: jokes taken too far, insults tossed out carelessly, one of you remembering that you shouldn’t be joking around this way. You shouldn’t be joking around friends. 

You glance down at your screen and the notifications that have begun to roll in. 

STEVE-O: you guys have a minute before you both owe me $500

ROBIN 🐦: and me!

STEVE-O: and robin

“Who is it?” Eddie asks, leaning over to grab at your phone. Similar to how you had done to him with the magazine, you throw your hand out of his reach, narrowing your eyes in his direction. Unlike with the magazine, he doesn’t make a move to grab it. He keeps as much space between the two of you as possible. 

“Excuse you,” you huff, glancing back down at the group message, preparing to take the quick photo and send it off. 

“What? You can steal my phone but I can’t steal yours?” he questions, almost whines. 

You glance at him, thumbs still hovering over the keyboard, “It was Steve. There, now you don’t need to steal my phone.” 

“Let me respond to him,” he simply makes grabby hands this time, not reaching into your personal space. 

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Maybe you should have a smart phone like the rest of us so you could be part of the group chat.” 

“You guys have a fucking group chat?” 

“Yeah, without you.” 

If it hurts his feelings, he doesn’t let it show. He simply pouts in his corner of the couch. 

You’re about to swipe up, hit the camera icon and get the photo over with, but Eddie interrupts again. 

“C’mon, just real quick. I just have something to say to Steve.” 

He’s holding out his palm again. Another buzz of your phone, surely another text from Steve. 

You don’t know why you do it. But you succumb. You take a leap of faith, and you reach out to drop your phone into Eddie Munson’s waiting hand. 

Once it’s in his grasp, he wastes no time to bring it in close to him. For someone who has a goddamn flip phone, he’s quick with his thumbs, typing out whatever message he had been so desperate to send with ease. You don’t notice that you’ve scooted closer to watch him over his shoulder until he’s hitting send. 

Patience, Harrington. We’re just trying to find my good angle. - E

“E?” you snort, “God, first the flip phone, now the cryptic messages. You’re either a serial killer or a drug dealer.” 

He only flips you off as he hands back the phone. 

Finally, finally, you’re able to open the camera app without interruption, stretching your arm out as you turn your back to Eddie and move your hand until you’re both in frame. Eddie keeps his middle finger held high and forces a scowl onto his face. You huff out, trying to not appear entertained before you flash a half-assed smile and thumbs up. 

If the two of you were friends, it’d be a cute photo. 

But you’re not, and as you hit send in the groupchat, providing them with the proof they so desperately crave, you consider deleting the photo. What use will it serve you after tonight? 

You should probably delete the photo, but you don’t. 

“Don’t look so overjoyed over there,” you comment as you finally lock your phone upon seeing the photo successfully sent, “You look miserable.”

“I am miserable.” 

“You weren’t, like, ten seconds ago,” you’re quick to point out, discarding the smartphone onto his coffee table and facing him once more. You’re closer than before, “You were actually laughing at my jokes. It’s okay to admit I’m funny, y’know?” 

You should probably scoot back over and put the distance back between the two of you, but you don’t. 

“You were funny once,” he puts severe emphasis on the once, “That’s a rare occasion for you, sweetheart.” 

There’s something different in the way he enunciated the nickname this time. He doesn’t sound out each syllable with the purpose of annoying you, and instead it seems to slip effortlessly off his tongue. You try to not think too much of it. 

“Bullshit,” you shake your head and refuse to believe, only because you have proof to back your words up, “I’ve seen you laugh at my jokes when we’re out with everyone. You do this stupid thing when you start to laugh, and then you cough into your fist like you’re trying to cover it up. And everyone knows it’s not a real cough because when you really cough, you cover it with your elbow like a normal person.” 

You probably shouldn’t take so much notice of his mannerisms, but you do. 

To emphasize your point, you bring your arm to wrap around your head as if you were coughing, “Like this. Like… Like Dracula or something.” 

He simply stares, one eyebrow slightly raised as he watches you. Normally, you’d interpret look as unimpressed. But something tugs in your chest, and you nearly convince yourself that he’s watching you with mirth. 

“Oh, come on! Stop staring at me like I’m the giant nerd here for referencing a vampire everyone knows,” you complain, finally scooting under the burn of his gaze.

“You’re not a giant nerd,” he corrects, and it almost seems as if his mouth is working faster than his brain as he continues, “You’re a fucking dork.” 

He lets the word hang heavy between the two of you. Dork. A stranger might find it to be dripping in adorement, all because they don’t know better. But you know better, and you know it can’t possibly be dripping of anything. It’s dry. It’s nothing. 

“I’m a dork?” you counter, “You’re the one with an action figure of Gandalf the Great in your living room.” 

“Oh, so you know who Gandalf is? Maybe you are a nerd.” 

The dimples are back. This time, you try to not stare at them, to now acknowledge their existence. Because every time you do, you think of his hand passing over that sliver of skin on your lower back. Because every time you do, you remember the time when you thought there was hope for you and Eddie to be friends. 

For a moment, it’s been easy. The banter has been friendly between the two of you, and if you close your eyes, you could pretend you’re having just another night in with Steve or Robin. Another day of sitting in Nancy’s living room as she asks for your opinions on her latest articles or another afternoon of smoking with Argyle. If you close your eyes, it’s not Eddie you’re here with, it’s a friend.

The realization seems to hit the two of you at the exact same time. All the merriment of the banter drains out of both of you. Eddie clears his throat, and you scoot back to your original placement on the couch. 

You’re not here with a friend. You’re here with Eddie, the boy who has gone out of his way to make you miserable at every chance he’s offered. Eddie, the boy who’s made you cry twice now. 

You probably shouldn’t still cling to the what-could-have-beens of a friendship with Eddie that had long since been buried, but you do.

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[polyamphilza]

Baby steps

I wrote a short soft fitpac thing as a gift for @routeriver because they're very cool and I don't know how else to befriend people other than writing for them - please enjoy <3 -🍄#2

AO3 link if that's easier to read, the formatting got messed up on both I'm sorry

Fit often wondered why he'd been allowed to keep most of his memories. 

Sure the others had some of theirs from the far past. Phil remembered Techno and their adventures together, he seemed to remember Wilbur though a lot more recent history was fuzzy. Cellbit could remember his time in prison. 

None of them seemed to remember as much as Fit did though. He felt the only time he’d lost was how he ended up on the train to Quesadilla island in the first place. 

Maybe they weren't all there, and he couldn't tell what was missing, but when he sat in bed at night staring at the ceiling, memories replayed in his mind. 

2B2T, first logging in and seeing the chaos of spawn. The first time he'd made friends, been given gear, only to be double crossed. The sleepless nights, wondering if he'd die, flinching as the sun rose only to realize he'd made it through another night. 

His first kiss, rough and messy, nothing he'd ever wanted from a first kiss but it got the job done as skin grew heated beneath grabbing hands. 

He'd tried to ask Cucurucho once, why he remembered. The bear had just stared with that same ever present creepy smile. 

Fit often wondered who he would be if he had forgotten his past. If he'd arrived on the island as a new person, a fresh start, unworried about possible old grudges coming for him and forgetting the calluses on his hands were made from fighting. 

Would he still hesitate? 

"Fit?" 

He startled, though you wouldn't know it from the outside. He stayed still as he looked over at the voice that had said his name, trying to figure out when he'd left his room and gone outside for fresh air. 

"Hey Pac, what's up?" He asked with a tired smile. 

Pac came to sit beside him with a small grunt of effort. He wasn't wearing his leg, instead using a crutch to keep his balance. He must have been in bed, or about to be when he'd come outside instead. 

Fit couldn’t ignore what a huge sign of trust that was. He didn't know if he could lose his prosthetic with anyone, it made him too vulnerable. 

Maybe for Pac he could. 

"Nothing, nothing. I was uh, coming to check on you and you were not there." Pac explained. The darkness hid his blush for the most part. 

"Aw, I'm sorry. Did you need me?" Fit asked, worried he'd let his roommate down. 

"No! No, I did not need you." Pac cleared his throat. "I just had not got to see you today. I wanted to, before I slept." He admitted shyly. 

Fit's mind took a moment to process that, and translate the meaning behind the words. "Oh, you missed me." He realized and smiled. 

Pac pulled his hoodie up to hide the lower half of his face a bit, clearly flustered at being called out. 

He nodded, keeping his gaze elsewhere. 

"I just get used to seeing you, you know?" He tried to explain. "You are a uh, a here always." 

"A constant?" 

"Yes, yes a constant." Pac smiled and nodded. "So I wanted to see my roomie before sleep." He bumped their shoulders together and chuckled. 

Fit looked over at him and felt warmth flow through his veins stronger than a good shot of whiskey. 

Pac's hair was dark, a beautiful contrast to the bright moon haloing behind his head. His smile was small, but still showed the dimple on his cheeks. He knew that if Pac pulled his lips back a bit more he'd get to see his sharpened teeth and the adorable gap between the two front ones. 

They sat there for awhile in silence, enjoying the presence of the other. Fit's mind continued to spin. 

"Pac," He started, stopped, licked his lips. He dragged his palms over his thighs, suddenly feeling sweaty. His throat was dry. He opened his mouth to continue only to pause again. No words would come out. 

"Fit?" Pac said after a moment, promoting him to continue. 

What if he had forgotten? Would he still hesitate? 

"... I like being your constant. You're mine too. I don't want that to change." Fit blurted out quickly, then bit his tongue and looked away. He covered his mouth with his hand as he found an interesting bit of grass to stare at and inspect nearby. 

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. 

It was as truthful as he could be at the moment, and already he was wondering if he’d gone too far, if it was too much too soon. 

"I like it too." Pac mumbled, and it was the specific tone of voice he had when he was blushing and embarrassed. "I like it a lot." 

Silence stretched between them, and Fit thought that was okay. It was a comfortable kind of silence, with the wind blowing past softly. 

Maybe in another timeline, maybe another universe, he wouldn't hesitate. Maybe he would pick Pac up and kiss him soundly and admit just how much he cared about him. Maybe they would share a bed every night, and Fit would feel comfortable taking his prosthetic off in front of him. Maybe they would hold hands, and cook together. 

Maybe he could be happy. 

He wanted to believe he could have that here too. 

"Do you want help back to bed?" Fit offered. 

Pac blushed and giggled. "Yeah, yeah if you don't mind. Put those janitor muscles to the test." He joked. 

Fit laughed softly as he stood and picked Pac up. He thought about how nicely that color red suited his cheeks. 

"Alright, no funny business or I'm tossing you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes." He warned playfully. 

Pac giggled and rested his head on Fit's shoulder, his hand laying flat against his strong chest. "Okay, no funny business. Professional business only." He joked. 

Fit brought him to bed with a smile on his face. He watched as Pac's eyelids grew heavy and he started nodding off. 

In the dim light of the room, with only God as his witness, he pressed the barest hint of a kiss to Pac's forehead and pulled the blanket up over his shoulder. 

Baby steps.

[nikoruistyping]

Tony Stark x Reader (fem)

It's some Holiday or weekend and Tony is going to meet the reader's family for the first time, he is really nervous but everybody loves him and sees how much he loves the reader, he so cute with her, he hugs and kisses in front of everyone 🥰

Home for The Holidays || Tony Stark || Headcanon

Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Fem!reader​

TW: Fluff, Light Swearing (Does god damn count as a curse word?), Playful Banter

A/N: Y/DFN = Your Dad’s First Name

I decided to do this one in the format of a headcanon since I wasn't sure how to fully make the concept into an actual completed piece and also because I had a lot of just random tid bits of information but not enough to make a full in detail one-shot. I tried to fit in all the Christmas stuff I could think of that is traditional to what I myself/my family does together, hopefully it’s still relatable to people. I hope you enjoy and thank you for the request Anon!

So finally the time has come...to meet the parents

Tony was literally shaking the whole private jet ride to your hometown

and to make things 10x more exciting it was Christmas, the holiday he knew was the most important to you and especially your family

Your whole family are Christmas Fanatics

Mom had at least 3 different Christmas trees around the house decorated from top to bottom, not a single open space of green was poking out of the tree by how filled up with Christmas ornaments it was

The inside of the house looked like it had become Santa’s home

Dad was in charge of all the lights that were both inside and outside the house, he would put up so many lights that you didn't even want to know what the electricity bill that month would be

Your parents were the type to have “friendly” neighborhood competitions to see who had the best decorated house on the block

Your siblings were the real talented ones, they would cook and prepare all the holiday favorites for the table

Roasted Turkey & Ham? Check, Mashed Potatoes? Check. Mixed Veggies? Check. Eggnog? Check. Gingerbread House? Double Check.

They didn’t miss not a single dish on the table and they both would cook it all together as a family

You on the other hand you were nervous out of your mind to finally be presenting your boyfriend to your family

Trying to tell your parents that now you were dating the biggest genius, billionaire, philanthropist of New York wasn't exactly an easy task

You warned your parents on the phone specifically NOT to embarrass you in front of Tony

But asking them was like asking Tony not to bring his Ironman suit everywhere

Obviously that wasn't happening

You were tapping your foot nervously as the both of you stared at your house waiting to go inside

“Wow your parents really go...all out.”

“Yeah its overkill I know Tony.”

“It’s not overkill, just your house is so bright it looks like the god damn sun.”

“Tony! Language!”

“Oh god please don’t tell me Cap is now rubbing off on you too?!”

“Tony for one minute just shut up and smile.”

You both tried to act normal holding hands as your mom swung the door open and gasped

“Oh look who it is everyone! You both make the cutest couple ever! I need to take a picture!”

“Merry Christmas to you too mom...please do not get that old camera!”

“She seems lovely...”

“Tony do you want me to hit you?!”

“No ma'am.”

“Then do what you do best, smile and wave. I’ll do the talking.”

You Dad is up next and Tony immediately tries to go in for a hand shake but your dad ends up going for the bear hug and you could tell Tony was laughing through the pain of how hard your dad was hugging him

“Welcome to the family son!”

“I-I nice to meet you sir-”

“Oh no need to be so formal call me Y/DFN.”

“Do you want a drink son?”

“It would be irresponsible not to drink, am I right?”

“Indeed son! Oh you’re going to fit right in come follow me.”

Tony was being whisked away by your dad, probably for him to have a serious talk with him and you just stared at him in worry and well more embarrassment

Your siblings hugged you immediately and you smiled at them both being as you haven't seen them in quite some time since both were going to college out of state

“Hey sis! So how is billionaire boyfriend doing? You’re not a gold digger are you?!”

“I will slap both of you if you don’t shut up”

“Well someone is clearly the Grinch of Christmas.”

Finally it was dinner time and everyone was sat at the table and my god did it look like a feast for 10 people when there was only 6 people there

Your Dad kept badgering you with personal questions and every time he turned to Tony you would kick his leg under the table to shut up

Maybe some of those kicks under the table turned into some flirty footsie too and Tony was clearly enjoying it

It was almost midnight and it was time to open presents

Your parents got you and Tony cute matching sweaters and of course you both just had to wear them in front of everyone

It was corny but also kinda cute

Tony tried to steal hugs and kisses here and there when your parents weren't looking

Meanwhile your siblings would just laugh and point at you two lovebirds

Finally it was your turn to give your present to Tony and god was shopping for him so hard to do

He could have anything he wanted, whenever he wanted it and buy it with all the money he had

So you opted to make him something rather than buy, it’s the thought that counts right?

“Oh sweetheart you didn’t have to get me anything-”

“I insist.”

He opened the gift bag and pulled out a scrapbook that was filled with photos of the two of you and cheesy stickers plastered over the pages all decorated in all types of decorative papers and it even had little notes stuck to the pages

If Tony wasn’t already crying he definitely was now

He hugged you so much and littered your face with kisses not caring who was watching

Your parents and siblings all watching and “Awww”ing behind the camera while your mom continued to insist on taking pictures

“This is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever gotten me. I love you.”

“I love you too. Merry Christmas Tony.”

You both kissed once more and your mom somehow with her shaky hands was able to snap the perfect picture of you too with her vintage polaroid camera

She gave you both the picture as it was developing and you both looked at it smiling while Christmas music started to play throughout the house

Tony got up and encouraged everyone to start dancing and you followed his lead as the both of you slow danced around the Christmas Tree and everyone was laughing and having such a good time

The two of you danced closely and nuzzled noses as Tony tried to respectfully put his hands on your waist knowing your Dad was watching him with Hawkeyes

“What about my gift to you? You still haven’t opened it.”

“Tony I swear to god if it’s another giant bunny rabbit I’m returning it-”

“I promise no giant bunny rabbits this time, I swear.” 

“I’ll open it later then, plus did you really think that the scrapbook is the only gift I’m giving you?”

“Oh really?”

“That gift is being saved for when we are alone.”

“Oh, it’s that type of gift.”

“We better go to bed early tonight then.”

He just smirks at you as you playfully hit his arm laughing as the two of you embrace by the tree and the both of you look up seeing the mistletoe above your heads

You both smirk to each other and kiss once more while your family was distracted in the background drinking, eating gingerbread cookies and talking about other things

“I’d say this Christmas and meeting your parents was a success.”

“You’ve definitely completed Mission: Home for the Holidays Ironman.”

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