witchyverse

[witchyverse]

Whatever That Means

Pairing: Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader Soulmate AU: Your soulmate’s first thought about you appears—permanently—on your hand. Word Count: ~4.2k Warnings: Insecurity, one insecure Hufflepuff, protective Slytherin boy, fluff, canon-level teasing A/N: I got a request to make a soulmate fic for Lorenzo, so here it is! Hope you like it! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You got your soulmate mark at twelve.

It showed up in Potions class, inking itself across your skin mid-stir. You’d been trying to focus on the instructions (clockwise, not anti-clockwise, again, Y/N), when a sharp heat sparked along your left hand.

You looked down.

And there it was.

“Great. Another one of those girls.”

The sentence wrapped around your knuckles like a brand. Cursive. Neat. Cold.

You blinked. Your stomach twisted.

That was it? That was your soulmate’s first thought of you?

No soft gasp? No stars-aligned spark of wonder?

Just… judgment?

You spent the next week trying not to cry when anyone mentioned soulmate marks. Especially the girls who had things like “her eyes are galaxies” or “I think I forgot how to breathe.”

You got: “Great. Another one of those girls.”

Whatever those girls meant.

You didn’t ask. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By sixth year, the sentence had faded to something you no longer noticed most days—tucked behind sweater cuffs or hidden under ink smudges from note-taking.

You'd accepted it. Maybe your soulmate was just a snob. Or someone who didn’t like loud girls. Or maybe they’d just seen you once, made a snap assumption, and that was that.

You tried not to care.

Until one afternoon in the Astronomy Tower changed everything.

You’d been looking for peace. That was all.

The common room had been loud, your dorm full, and your brain itchy with a kind of buzzing restlessness that made sitting still feel impossible.

So you went up.

And he was already there.

Lorenzo Berkshire.

Black hair, green tie, that unreadable Slytherin face. You knew him, of course. Everyone did. He was the kind of boy who looked like he belonged in dark corridors and colder places. He always sat in the back of the class. Spoke only when he had something clever to say. Somehow always smelled like expensive ink and late nights.

He didn’t look at you when you walked in.

He just said, “You’re late.”

You blinked. “For what?”

“For your dramatic rooftop monologue. Thought all your kind did that at sunset.”

You stared.

“What?”

“Let me guess. You’re going to lean over the railing, quote some poetry, and sigh about how nobody gets you.”

Your heart dropped.

The words were too close. Too familiar.

Exactly what was on your hand.

Your mark.

Your breath caught. “What did you say?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want it again, or are you gonna cry now?”

Your stomach twisted. The sentence. That sentence.

This wasn’t happening.

He noticed your silence. Then—slowly, carefully—he looked down at your hand.

And something in his expression cracked.

You both froze.

His gaze moved from your hand to your eyes.

And for the first time, Lorenzo Berkshire looked startled.

You swallowed. “It’s you.”

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even pretend to be surprised.

He just looked… wrecked.

“Fuck,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know it was you.”

You blinked. “It’s been on my hand for four years.”

“I never saw it,” he said quietly. “I don’t go around checking people’s skin.”

“And your mark?”

He hesitated. Then held out his wrist.

There, in your handwriting, scrawled across his pale skin: “Merlin, he’s beautiful.”

You froze.

“That was my first thought,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I read it. And I thought it was a joke.”

“Why?”

“Because no one ever thinks that about me.”

You stared at him.

He was being serious.

Lorenzo, with his sharp tongue and castle-wall confidence, actually believed that someone loving him was impossible.

Your fingers brushed against his.

He didn’t move away.

“I didn’t mean what I thought,” he said, so quietly you almost missed it. “I didn’t mean it. I saw you laughing with your friends, and you looked so… bright. Like you belonged somewhere I didn’t.”

You swallowed. “So your first instinct was to judge me?”

“My first instinct was to be afraid of you.”

That surprised you.

“I’ve never had things like that,” he said. “Bright friends. Warm rooms. People who laugh like they believe in it.”

You reached for his hand.

He let you take it.

“I hated that I noticed you,” he said. “So I made it ugly.”

You nodded, slowly.

And then, to his utter horror, you laughed.

He blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been pining like a Victorian ghost for four years over one judgmental thought you had when you were twelve?”

He scowled. “It wasn’t pining.”

“You watched me like I was the sun, Lorenzo. Don’t lie.”

A beat.

Then, so soft it broke something in your chest, he whispered, “I still do.”

You looked down at your mark.

Another one of those girls.

You met his eyes.

“Good,” you said. “Because I think I’m in love with that grumpy little bastard who wrote that.”

And you kissed him.

Warm, slow, not perfect—because neither of you were—but it felt right. Like maybe the marks weren’t about the first thought.

Maybe they were a reminder that people could change their minds.

[witchyverse]

You're Distracting, Love.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Female!Reader Setting: Hogwarts, post-Quidditch practice Word Count: ~2.4k Warnings: light swearing, shameless flirting, mutual teasing, fluff overload, canon-level tension A/N: It's really short and just a small blurb. Hope you like it! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quidditch practice had run late again.

The Slytherin team had stayed well past curfew, the pitch lit only by enchanted torches flickering in the cold night air, the sound of bludgers cracking against bats echoing into the dark. You’d stayed too, sitting on the stands wrapped in your scarf and watching with a stubborn kind of loyalty as Mattheo flew like he had something to prove.

You weren’t sure if it was to the team, to himself, or to his father’s ghost. Maybe all three.

He landed hard. Fast. Too fast, honestly—but that was Mattheo.

Always dramatic. Always reckless.

Always hot as hell.

You jumped down from the bleachers as he dismounted, pushing his hair back with one gloved hand, sweat gleaming along his temple. His green robes clung to him in all the right places, and you hated how aware you were of it.

He spotted you immediately.

“Still here, sweetheart?” he smirked, tossing his broom over his shoulder.

“Was waiting to see if you'd break your neck,” you said casually. “Disappointed, honestly.”

He gave you a look. “You wound me.”

“You’ll live.”

“Only because I was trying to impress you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “By nearly colliding with the goalpost?”

He shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile tugging at your mouth. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Poor judgment.”

“Admit it,” he said, walking closer, his voice lowering just slightly. “You like watching me fly.”

You tilted your chin up, meeting his gaze. “Maybe.”

He grinned, cocky and gorgeous. “Knew it.”

You reached out, tugged gently at his scarf. “I like the view when you’re on the ground better.”

He blinked.

Then, in a rare moment of genuine softness, he leaned in and rested his forehead against yours, the cold air around you melting with the warmth between your bodies.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your cheek.

“You’re sweaty,” you shot back, scrunching your nose.

“Should I go roll around in the grass to even it out?”

“Oh, please don’t. The team already thinks you're unhinged.”

“They’re not wrong.”

You laughed, the sound catching in the still night air. He smiled at the sound—something softer than usual in his face.

“Come on,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against his side. “You waited out here like a devoted girlfriend. You’ve earned some hot chocolate. Or at least a long make-out session behind the greenhouses.”

“You’re so romantic,” you deadpanned.

“I know. I’m a gift.”

You leaned into him as you both started walking back toward the castle, the grass crunching beneath your boots, the stars scattered above like little pieces of magic.

“Mattheo?” you said quietly, after a beat.

“Yeah?”

“I do love watching you fly,” you admitted. “But only because I know you’ll come back to me.”

He looked down at you, his usual bravado fading.

Then he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I always will, love.”

[witchyverse]

Hey! So I got plenty of requests wishing 'Not Another Rogers' to be longer (hehehe, sorryyyy) so, I will be making a Part 2, and a bit longer than this one. And maybe a relationship reveal (maybe, maybe not, you will have to see)

[witchyverse]

Not Another Rogers

Pairing: Tony Stark x Rogers!Reader Setting: Post-Ultron tower life, Avengers-era Word Count: ~3.5k Warnings: sibling tension, light language, secret relationship, possessive tony, soft moments, lots of banter, implied cuddle scenes ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re glaring again.”

Tony didn’t look up from his tablet. “I’m not.”

“You are. That’s your ‘I hate Captain America’s entire bloodline’ face.”

He paused.

“Okay, maybe I’m glaring.”

You rolled your eyes and reached across the couch to steal a strawberry from the bowl he was definitely pretending not to guard. “Steve didn’t do anything.”

“He exists,” Tony said flatly. “That counts.”

You popped the berry in your mouth. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

You smiled. “Which means you like at least one Rogers.”

Tony finally looked at you.

And softened, just a little. Only a little.

“I like you," he said. “Your brother’s still on my list.”

“Of people to hug?”

“Of people to throw off a quinjet.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had started quietly.

A mission gone wrong. A medical bay late night. Your hand gripping his while the machines beeped. His voice lower than usual. You laughing at something he muttered because your brain was scrambled and the painkillers were strong.

Then: a drink. A rooftop. A kiss you both pretended wasn’t as charged as it was.

Then: more. Texts. Rooms. Late-night walks. Bickering that always ended in kissing.

But there were rules. One, really.

Steve couldn’t know.

Which would’ve been fine, except for the whole living in the same damn tower situation.

So every touch had to be subtle. Every look—timed. Every goodbye—muffled behind elevator doors or dimmed lab lights.

And Tony? For all his bravado?

He was terrible at pretending not to be in love with you. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why are you dressed like that?” Steve asked, frowning as you stepped into the gym in jeans and a too-nice blouse.

“I was out,” you said smoothly.

He looked suspicious. “Out where?”

“Bookstore.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “You hate bookstores.”

“Well,” you said, flipping your hair dramatically, “maybe I’m growing.”

Behind you, Tony entered, swiping through a hologram and doing a frankly terrible job of pretending he hadn’t just kissed you in the backseat of a car five minutes ago.

You glanced at him. He looked up—right at you.

Then immediately turned to Steve.

“She was with me,” Tony said casually.

You froze.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

Tony shrugged. “Breakfast. Nothing weird.”

“Since when do you get breakfast together?”

Tony blinked. “Since she started quoting Tolstoy at me at 1 a.m. and stealing my croissants.”

You wanted to die.

Steve looked at you. “You quote Tolstoy now?”

“I panicked,” you said. “It was one time.”

Tony grinned. “You said something about love being—what was it? ‘The only thing stronger than reason’?”

“Shut up, Tony.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Okay. What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” you both said in perfect unison.

Tony’s voice cracked slightly. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later, when it was just the two of you in the lab, Tony pulled you into his lap like the rest of the day hadn’t existed.

“I ruined it, didn’t I?” he muttered into your neck. “He’s going to kill me.”

You leaned into him. “He’ll get over it.”

“You think?”

“No,” you said honestly. “But he’ll try.”

Tony didn’t laugh.

Just held you tighter.

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” he said. Quietly. “I’m not good at it. And I think—I think I’d be really good at being yours. For real.”

You smiled, slow and soft and slightly stunned that someone like him could sound so… sure.

“You already are.”

[witchyverse]

can you please write a Theo soulmate au with lots of angst but a happy endinggg <3 love your writing so so much 💗

Sure! But I also have like 7 fanfic drafts lined up which I will be posting according to the masterlist I posted ���. So it will come a bit late. Hope that's fine.

[witchyverse]

Helloooo, so I will be gone from July 15th to August 21st, because of something coming up. I will be posting all the requests sent before July 13th, and you can still send requests, but they will be completed and posted around and after August 25th. I am also thinking of starting a series, related to one of the Slytherin Boys, but I am not getting any ideas, so requests are open for that as well. And I may even update during that time, but just in case I don't, I am posting this. (Also, for the series thing, if I do get a lot of requests, I won't be able to do all of them, as it's a series - I am so sorryyyy- I will do it for the one I find most interesting, and I might as well combine two requests or something like that!)

[witchyverse]

Hi, are you okay it's been a while since you updated

Hi! Yes, I am okay, thank you so much for asking 😊❤️. I am currently working on the requests I got, and I will be updating each fic on the assigned date I gave it, if you check my masterlist.

[witchyverse]

Hi, i am sorry for asking again, but can you do a tony Stark x yn, but she is Steve's sister, like maybe her and tony are married or dating

Hellooo, yes, I am currently working on it. If you check my masterlist, under Tony Stark, there's a fic called 'Not Another Rogers', which I will be updating on the assigned date, as I am still working on it.

[witchyverse]

Soft in the Silence

Pairing: Alex Volkov x Reader Word Count: ~3.9k Warnings: Canon-level emotional repression, soft possessiveness, insomnia, touch-starved fluff (well, as fluffy as Alex Volkov can get), established relationship Summary: Alex doesn’t sleep well. You knew that from the start. What you didn’t know? That one day, he’d let you into the silence too. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke up to cold sheets and a glowing city skyline.

Again.

You weren’t surprised.

The clock on the nightstand read 3:12 AM.

And Alex? Gone.

It was the third time this week he’d disappeared in the middle of the night, and you were starting to recognize the pattern. Long days, longer meetings, and a mind that refused to slow down once the world went quiet.

You pulled on one of his shirts and padded barefoot out of the bedroom.

Sure enough, the light in his office was on.

You didn’t knock. He never liked that. Said the sound grated on his nerves. You just stepped in quietly, already expecting to find him at the desk, half-lit by blue monitors, suit jacket thrown over the chair, sleeves rolled, hair slightly messy in that way that still made your stomach flip.

He didn’t look up when you entered.

Of course he didn’t.

“I’m not working,” he said.

You crossed your arms. “Then what are you doing?”

“Sitting.”

“Productively?”

He didn’t answer.

You walked closer and leaned against the edge of the desk. “Is this your idea of self-care?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Why are you awake?”

“You weren’t there.”

Silence.

Then he blinked, like the words had caught him off guard.

“You need sleep,” you said, reaching for his hand. He let you take it—quiet, but not resisting.

“So do you.”

“I sleep fine when you’re not brooding in the next room.”

A twitch of his mouth. Barely a smirk.

“I don’t brood.”

“You’re literally doing it right now.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back in the chair, your fingers still tangled in his.

“I couldn’t shut it off,” he admitted.

You didn’t press for more. You never did. That was part of why he let you in.

Instead, you gave his hand a squeeze. “Then let me help.”

“You already are.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You ended up on the living room couch, a blanket draped across both of you, city lights spilling through the windows.

Alex didn’t speak much, but he didn’t pull away either—not when your legs ended up over his lap, not when your head tilted against his shoulder, not when your fingers brushed lightly up and down his arm.

“Do you remember,” you murmured, “the first night I stayed over?”

His voice was low. “Yes.”

“You didn’t sleep at all.”

“I wasn’t used to someone being there.”

You smiled. “You still aren’t.”

His fingers slid through yours. “I’m getting there.”

The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It never was. But there was something heavier in it tonight. Something unfinished.

So you turned your head, watching him.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone, you know.”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “I do.”

“No, you think you do.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that easy.”

“It doesn’t have to be. It just has to be honest.”

Alex let out a slow breath, like the weight of those words pressed against his chest.

“I’ve spent years building walls,” he said. “They kept me alive.”

“I know.”

“Letting you in… it’s not instinct. It’s a choice. One I have to make every day.”

You reached up and cupped his jaw, thumb brushing along the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“And I’ll never stop choosing you back.”

His eyes finally met yours. And for a split second—just a blink—something cracked.

Then he kissed you.

Not rough. Not desperate. Just… full.

Like he meant it. Like you were a tether.

And he was so, so tired of floating. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later, you were curled into his chest, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, heartbeat steady beneath your palm.

“I love you,” you whispered into his skin.

He didn’t say it back.

But he held you closer.

And in Alex Volkov language?

That was everything.

[witchyverse]

The world needs more Idia x Reader Here is the idea. Reverse Isekai AU. Idia drags MC into Twisted Wonderland via a strange gadget. He treats them like an unstable experiment rather than a person, but he learns to respect her because he realizes that it is an actual person, with memories and feelings, instead of long lines of code.

When I meant Twisted series, or Twisted men, I mean the Twisted series by Ana Huang. Though I would like to play the game once I get the time too. But I am really sorry.

[witchyverse]

Please, please, please, beauty and the beast but with Leona.. Beauty! Reader x Beast! Leona (Twisted Wonderland) No cursed or enchanted items 🥀🥀🥀 Just enemies to lovers...

I am so sorry, but when I mean the Twisted series, I don't mean the game but like the Twisted series by Ana Huang. I would definitely try to play the game once I get the time to, though. Sorry!

[witchyverse]

Just telling, but you guys do know requests can be made right? LIKE I AM NOT GETTING ANY IDEAS, EXCEPT ONE MATTHEO RIDDLE FIC AND THE OTHER A PETER PARKER ONE!

[witchyverse]

Undeniably Yours (Unfortunately)

Pairing: Theodore Nott × Reader Word Count: ~3.9k Warnings: Flirting, protective Theo, interrupted moment, tension, denial, snark, light angst, coworkers who see too much Summary: You and Theo are very much not dating. And he’s very much not in love with you. So when someone walks in on a very compromising moment and your next mission goes sideways, he handles it in the only way he knows how—by acting like he totally doesn't care. (He does.) A/N: A part 2 to Coffee Stains and Closed Doors, but can be read as a standalone. The trope is workplace romance. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were not dating Theodore Nott.

You were just... emotionally entangled. Occasionally tangled physically. Sharing way too many biscuits. And one time, you fell asleep on his shoulder and he didn’t hex you off.

That didn’t count.

You’d made it three full weeks without anyone catching on. A miracle, considering he stared at you like you hung the stars, and you looked at him like you were trying to memorize the shape of his mouth.

Still. You had rules.

No touching at work.

No looking at each other like you're in a romantic drama.

And absolutely, under no circumstances, let anyone walk in on anything suspicious.

Which is exactly why you were sitting on his lap in your office chair, half-laughing, half-kissing him, when the door burst open.

"—Hey, do you guys have the—holy shit."

You froze.

Theo's hand was still on your waist. Your fingers were in his hair. His face buried in your neck.

Slowly, like he could somehow make it worse, he turned toward the doorway.

Thomas Avery stood there, blinking.

“Oh my God,” Thomas said again, louder. “Oh my actual God.”

You scrambled off Theo’s lap, tripped over the chair, and nearly broke your kneecap on the filing cabinet.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you blurted.

Thomas blinked again. “So you just sit on each other recreationally?”

Theo muttered something that sounded like kill me now. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The news spread like wildfire.

By lunchtime, you counted three raised eyebrows, two badly-concealed winks, and one floo message from Daphne Greengrass that said:

"I KNEW IT. YOU OWE ME TEN GALLEONS."

Theo, to his credit, looked exactly the same as always: expressionless, cold, mildly inconvenienced by everyone’s existence.

But he didn’t speak to you the entire day.

You cornered him in the file room after your shift, arms crossed, frustration simmering just under your skin.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re hiding.”

He looked up from the folder in his hands, gaze steady but tired.

“This was easier when no one knew.”

You stepped closer, hurt blooming across your chest before you could stop it.

“You think I don’t know that?” you said. “You think I don’t wish we could go back to sneaking around and pretending we’re just coworkers?”

He didn’t say anything.

You turned to leave.

His voice was soft when it came.

“I just didn’t want them to ruin it.”

You turned back.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. Just holding the file like it was a shield.

You stepped in again, slower this time. “They didn’t ruin anything, Theo.”

He finally met your eyes. And this time, there was no wall behind them.

“Promise?” he asked, so quietly it nearly broke you.

You nodded.

And that was the end of that conversation.

But not the end of everything else. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later, you were sent into the field together. Low risk, easy observation. No big deal.

Except Theo was quiet the entire way there.

“Okay,” you said, finally snapping, “what is it?”

“I don’t like the way that guy looked at you.”

You blinked. “What guy?”

“The clerk. At the coffee shop.”

You stared. “Theo. He asked if I wanted a receipt.”

“He was smiling.”

“Oh no,” you gasped. “The horror.”

He shot you a glare. “You’re not funny.”

“I am funny. You’re just wildly jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

You raised a brow. “Theo. You almost hexed a nineteen-year-old because he gave me extra whipped cream.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“It was an iced latte.”

“I don’t like whipped cream.”

“You don’t like feelings.”

He said nothing.

You grinned. “It’s cute when you get possessive.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

He glared.

You poked his arm. “I like it.”

That shut him up real fast. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mission was supposed to be boring.

It turned out to be not boring at all when your target noticed you tailing him and hit you with a nasty Disarming Charm in a crowded alley.

You hit the ground hard, breath knocked clean out of your lungs.

And then Theo was there.

No hesitation. No pause.

Just wand out, sharp curse in his throat, spell slamming into the attacker hard enough to send him flying.

He ran to you immediately.

“Hey,” he said, voice tight. “Look at me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “You’re gonna yell at me, aren’t you?”

“I just—fuck, you scared me.”

You blinked again.

He looked pale. Angry. Terrified.

And when his hand touched your face—gentle, shaking—you realized this wasn’t about the case at all.

“I’m fine,” you said softly. “Really.”

He didn’t answer.

Just leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, breathing like he’d just survived Voldemort reincarnating than a mission gone wrong. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at headquarters, you sat beside each other in the locker room in total silence.

Then, out of nowhere:

“You’re not allowed to die before me.”

You turned to him slowly. “I wasn’t planning on dying.”

He looked straight ahead, jaw tight. “Still.”

You nudged his leg with yours. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being honest.”

“You are jealous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

You smiled, warm and slow. “I like you jealous.”

He side-eyed you. “Don’t push it.”

You bumped his shoulder. “Then kiss me and I won’t.”

He hesitated.

Then leaned in and did exactly that.

Right there. In the empty locker room. Like nothing else mattered.

And maybe, right then, nothing did.

[witchyverse]

read king of sin🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣 -a.m

It's on my list. I am going to start Fearless soon, and maybe after that Shatter Me, then King of Sin.

[witchyverse]

All Systems Off

Pairing: Tony Stark × Reader Word Count: ~5.2k Warnings: Overworking, soft caretaking, stubborn Tony, kisses, fluff, mentions of insomnia, implied established relationship, sarcasm, domestic comfort Summary: Tony Stark has a bad habit of disappearing into the lab for days at a time. You have a worse habit of loving him enough to drag him out—every time. He doesn’t make it easy. But then again, neither do you. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The lab looked like a war zone.

Scratch that. The lab smelled like a war zone—burnt wiring, energy residue, and whatever the hell Tony had poured into his mug six hours ago.

You stood in the doorway in silence, watching him mutter to himself while adjusting the same component for the fifth time.

He hadn’t slept. You could tell by the slump in his shoulders and the fact that he was still wearing the same t-shirt from yesterday—wrinkled, inside out, with a streak of oil across the chest.

“You know,” you called, leaning against the doorframe, “there are easier ways to die than slow-cooking your own spinal cord over a workbench.”

Tony didn’t look up.

“I’m ignoring you on purpose,” he said.

“Sweetheart, I know. I just enjoy being a thorn in your side.”

He huffed, which you decided was his version of a greeting.

You crossed the room slowly, eyeing the mountain of tools, scrap metal, and three half-finished gauntlets scattered around his station.

“Whatever this is,” you said, poking the glowing circuit board with one finger, “it can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” he replied, snatching it away like you were some kind of hardware bandit. “This is delicate. It’s balancing plasma and kinetic regulation. You don’t just walk away from it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You also don’t just sit here for eighteen hours straight like you’re made of pure caffeine and bad decisions.”

“I am,” he muttered, then pointed a small screwdriver at you. “Don’t test me.”

You plucked it from his hand. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“I wasn’t finished—”

“You’re never finished,” you said, setting the tool down and folding your arms. “But that doesn’t mean you get to wreck yourself in the process.”

He leaned back in his chair and finally looked at you—hair messy, eyes tired, stubble catching the lab light. And yet, still stupidly handsome.

“You worry too much,” he said.

“And you don’t worry enough.”

He gave you a lazy grin. “That’s what makes us work, babe. You panic, I deflect—it’s a system.”

You stepped closer and leaned down, palms braced on either side of his chair.

“That system ends tonight. Come upstairs.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m a genius in the middle of a breakthrough—”

“You’re a man in the middle of a breakdown.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That was uncalled for.”

You raised a brow. “Was it, though?”

He stared at you for a second. “You’re really doing this, huh?”

“I brought the big guns,” you said, pulling his hoodie out from behind your back and holding it up. “Come upstairs, wear something warm, lay down for five minutes, and I promise I’ll let you tinker with your toys tomorrow.”

Tony crossed his arms. “You are manipulative.”

“Correct.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You love it.”

He squinted. “Five minutes?”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

You smiled. “Deal.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

The tower was quiet when you got to the living room. You handed him the hoodie and watched with far too much fondness as he tugged it over his head.

It swallowed him whole. Not that he cared. He still looked unfairly good in it.

“I look ridiculous,” he muttered, flopping down on the couch.

“You look like someone I love who needs a nap.”

“That’s worse.”

You settled in next to him, and he immediately stretched out, head landing in your lap like gravity had made the choice for him.

You ran your fingers through his hair, gentle and rhythmic. He sighed, eyes fluttering shut.

“I hate how good this feels,” he mumbled.

“No, you don’t.”

“…Fine, I don’t. But I’m still not sleeping.”

“Sure,” you said, already smiling.

“I’m serious.”

“Mmhmm.”

He went quiet for a beat.

Then, softer: “I don’t know how to turn my brain off.”

You looked down, your hand pausing in his hair. “You don’t have to. Just let me be the volume knob.”

He laughed under his breath. “That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“You liked it.”

“Unfortunately.”

You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’ll always be here to turn down the noise.”

He looked up at you, lashes low, smile barely there.

“You’re dangerously close to earning a forehead kiss.”

You grinned. “Bring it.”

He reached up lazily and kissed your forehead, then let his hand fall over your arm.

His voice was quieter now. “You know you’re the only person I let pull me out of the lab, right?”

You brushed his hair back from his face. “I know.”

“Because I trust you.”

You froze, just a little. He never said that out loud.

“I know,” you said again, but gentler this time.

He closed his eyes.

You let the silence hold for a while. Just the two of you. The city below. His breathing evening out.

Then—

“You’re gonna fall asleep,” you whispered.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“…How lucky I am.”

You blinked.

Then leaned down, just enough to kiss the bridge of his nose. “You’re soft when you’re tired.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured, already half-asleep again.

“Secrets safe with me, Iron Man.”

He didn’t respond.

And for the first time in days, he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for his tablet. Didn’t flinch at the silence.

He just stayed there, curled into you, hoodie sleeves too long, mouth parted slightly in sleep.

You rested your head back and closed your eyes, one hand still in his hair.

And for once, everything was quiet.

[witchyverse]

Masterlist

Started: 16/06/2025 Last Updated: 20/06/2025 Total Works: 6 Harry Potter Slytherin Boys: Mattheo Riddle Written In Ink You're Distracting, Love. Theodore Nott Coffee Stains and Closed Doors Undeniably Yours (Unfortunately) - Part Two to Coffee Stains and Closed Doors. Seconds Between us - Coming on 04/07/2025 Nine Lives and One Very Confused Slytherin - Coming on 05/07/2025 Draco Malfoy You Order's Ready - Coming on 30/06/2025 Lorenzo Berkshire Whatever That Means Marvel Cinematic Universe Tony Stark Only Mine It's Time to Rest All Systems Off Not Another Rogers You Okay Kid - 12/06/2025 Peter Parker *Will update by time and requests.* Steve Rogers *Will update by time and requests.* Twisted Series Alex Volkov Soft In The Silence Rhys Larsen *Will update by time and requests.* Josh Chen

*Will update by time and requests.* Christian Harper *Will update by time and requests.* ----------------------------------------------------

[witchyverse]

It's Time To Rest

Pairing: Tony Stark × Sister!Reader (Platonic) Word Count: ~4.1k Warnings: Emotional burnout, anxiety, fluffy comfort, sarcastic banter, tired Tony Summary: When Tony starts unraveling again, you find him exactly where you always do—buried in his workshop. But you're not just another person trying to fix him. You're the one person who sees him when the suit’s off—and that's what makes all the difference. A/N: I might as well write another one shot related to Tony Stark x Sister!Reader, because it was honestly so fun to write ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “You’re building without me? Rude.”

Your voice echoed off the high ceilings of the workshop like it had a hundred times before. You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching your brother hunch over the table like it owed him something.

Tony didn’t look up. “I was hoping you’d stay away long enough for me to finish before you ruined the whole thing.”

You smirked. “Oh, sweetheart. If I’d ruined anything, you’d already be fried like an arc reactor on its period.”

He snorted—just enough to acknowledge your presence without fully inviting it. Typical Stark move.

“You’ve been down here all night again,” you added, stepping closer.

“I’m aware,” he said flatly.

“No sleep. No food. Probably on your fifth cup of coffee and your eighth mental breakdown.”

“Three breakdowns, thank you very much. Let’s not exaggerate.”

You pulled up the stool beside him and sat, letting the blue glow of the holographic schematics spill across your face.

“Okay. So which part of the suit are you currently making obsessive eye contact with?”

Tony finally glanced at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, face pale, and you could practically see the caffeine sweat leaking from his pores.

“I’m upgrading the stabilizers. Again. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m halfway to a nervous breakdown and trying to engineer my way out of it.”

You blinked. “If the guilt fits…”

Tony dragged a hand down his face. “I can’t stop thinking about the what-ifs. What if I miss something? What if I’m not ready next time? What if I sleep and someone dies because I took five minutes off?”

There it was. The thing underneath all the sarcasm. The sharp edge under every joke. You watched him fiddle with the hologram again, fingers twitchy, eyes darting like a storm brewing in his head.

“You’re not God, Tony,” you said softly.

“I know.”

“You don’t act like it.”

He looked at you again—quieter this time. “If I’m not three steps ahead, someone gets hurt.”

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, voice low. “You’re not responsible for the entire goddamn planet. You’re allowed to break down sometimes. You’re allowed to rest.”

Tony’s mouth twisted like he wanted to argue, but the words didn’t come. His hands stilled on the table.

“You ever think that maybe you keep building all this armor because you’re trying to keep something out?” you asked.

“I’m trying to keep everything out,” he muttered. “Including me.”

The silence between you tightened. You reached over, gently pushed the holoscreen away, and placed your hand over his. Warm, grounding. Real.

“You don’t have to be Iron Man with me,” you said. “You’re just Tony. And that’s enough.”

He exhaled, shoulders sagging. “God, you’re sappy.”

“Shut up and go to bed.”

“Is this how you mother me now?”

“Someone has to. You’re basically a toddler with lasers.”

He smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was real.

“You still make waffles?” he asked after a beat.

“Only the cinnamon kind you pretend not to like.”

He stood slowly, cracking his neck as he winced. “God, I’m getting old.”

“You’re not old. You’re just full of trauma and Red Bull.”

He grinned tiredly. “That’s... fair.”

You walked beside him as he headed toward the elevator. His steps were heavier now that he’d slowed down enough to feel them.

“I missed you,” he said suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.

You looked up at him. “You don’t have to miss me, idiot. I’m right here.”

He nodded, like maybe that mattered more than he’d realized.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An hour later, Tony was passed out on the couch with half a waffle on a plate and Casablanca playing softly in the background. You sat nearby, blanket draped over him, sipping your own tea in the silence.

He twitched once in his sleep, but didn’t wake.

You smiled.

Iron Man might save the world. But you? You saved the man.

And honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.